I pull myself away from staring at our parents, but not before locking their image in my mind. Make up a background where they’re swinging out on the porch.

“Me too.”

“You think he’s okay?”

“Yeah,” I say, even though I don’t know.

“I hope he never comes back.”

“Corinne.” I grip her chin, so she doesn’t turn away. “Why would you say that? Jamal’s coming back. He has to come back.”

“They’ll take him away.”

I meet her worried eyes, pause before speaking. “Jamal is coming home, and he’s going to be fine.”

She gives me a smile, but the rest of her expression is empty. I hug her close, and she stays limp. A tear escapes down my cheek, and I wipe it away with my sleeve so she doesn’t see. I don’t want her to lose hope.

Daddy sits up when it’s my turn. I can barely exhale until I sit down. His eyes are red. I want to give him a hug, but it’s against the rules, so I hold tight to his palms, bending my head onto them, an old habit from when I was little. I look at him.

“Baby girl. How you been?” He rubs his hands together. They’re dry and cracked. An aching regret builds. We’ve neglected him by not adding money to his account this month. My eyes well for not making life a little bit easier. A little more comfortable for him. By the roughness, I can tell he’s out of Vaseline. A necessity for those long days working outside in the heat.

“We’ll leave you something.” My voice cracks. “For your account today.”

“Don’t worry about me. Your daddy’s fine.” He rubs between his fingers and makes it worse, so he hides them below the table.

My chest aches from being so close but so far away. Although I want to be strong, hold back my fear, I let out a slow sob when he holds my cheeks in his palms.

“Ahh,” Daddy says. “Baby girl, don’t let me see you like that.”

It’s like we’re back home again before his trial. Mama cooking after a long day at church. Trying to fill us up so we start our Monday right. I don’t see the gray-painted brick walls or the white uniforms around the room. Just home, like it was.

I want to tell him we had trouble seeing him today. But that could make things worse. I’m not the one who would have to face repercussions on the inside. Daddy is.

Daddy doesn’t say it, but the stress is all over him.

“Jamal says he didn’t do it,” I whisper. Desperate to give him some sense of relief.

“Have they picked him up?”