Page 53 of Dying to Meet You
There’s suddenly a lump in her throat. “Curious George?”
“That’s the guy.” He gives her a sad smile. “Still a big fan, I bet? A little Curious George—a little Post Malone?”
She startles herself by laughing.
“No? What are the cool kids into these days?” He puts a hand over his heart. “If you say Taylor Swift, I can handle it. I swear.”
She laughsagain. “Don’t throw shade on TayTay. Mom got us concert tickets last summer. It was a really good time. But we had to drive all the way to Foxboro, and we didn’t get home until five a.m.”
“Aw, you went to a concert with your mom?” His smile is pure delight. It’s a little shocking how happy he looks right now. She had no idea what to expect.
“You think I had a choice? She was paying for those tickets.”
They both smile, but then his expression grows serious. “I hope she calls me. It’s not on you if she doesn’t, but I’d like a chance to apologize to her.”
Oh boy. “She’s got a lot on her plate right now. There’s a lot happening at work.”
“You mean that dead guy?” He rubs his jaw.
“You heard about that?”
“It was on the news.” His gray eyes lift to hers. “They said the mansion’s architect found the body in front of the building. That was her, wasn’t it?”
“Well, yeah.” The back of her neck tingles, because her mother would hate this conversation. Also, she doesn’t remember that detail on the news. Didn’t they say “an employee” found him?
“Is she okay?” he asks quietly. “That’s pretty dark. I’ve been thinking about her.”
“She’ll be okay. She’s tough.” She’s one of the strongest people Natalie knows. Not that she’s ever paid her mother that kind of compliment.
His jaw flexes, and it makes him seem harder. Less familiar. “I know I wasn’t there for your mother when she needed me. But I’m here now, and I’m in a better place.” He raises those gray eyes to hers, and they’re steely. “I’d do anything for you two. You probably don’t believe me, but it’s true.”
That just sounds like an excuse—too little, too late—and she hates herself a little for not calling him on it.
“When can I hear your band?” she asks instead.
18
Rowan
Over the next two hours, I edge toward a total breakdown. Natalie’s phone doesn’t reappear on the map.
Without my digital tethers, I feel helpless. I realize phones sometimes run out of batteries or accidentally get dropped off the pier. There could be a perfectly rational explanation.
On the other hand, there’s a murderer loose in Portland, and my daughter might have been in my dead ex’s car.
So I’m apoplectic.
That phone is practically glued to my daughter’s hand. Why has it suddenly gone dark?
With the school directory in hand, I do what I can. I call the mother of her friend Tessa, who connects me with Tessa herself.
But Tessa tells me she has no idea where Natalie is. “She was going to hang out with some kids, I think,” she says casually.
“Which kids?”
“Dunno, she didn’t say.”
I don’t believe a word of it. Those girls tell each other everything.
