Page 69 of Dying to Meet You
I shiver. I’d never been so scared, and I’ll never forget the sound of that man’s head hitting the concrete floor.
“The question is—do you think Harrison was capable of murdering Tim Kovak?”
Air rushes out of my lungs. “I just don’t see why he would.”
“Can’t you? Tim had what he once lost.”
“He didn’t really.”
“But Harrison is sometimes capable of great violence, and he has a history of drug use, correct?”
“Yes,” I say softly.
“Did you speak with him tonight? How did he seem to you?”
“We only spoke for a second. I sent my daughter outside and then told him not to come around. He seemed...” I close my eyes and picture his gray eyes. I hadn’t expected them to still look kind. I thought I’d see a monster. “He seemed a little angry, but also embarrassed. He said Natalie told him that she’d cleared their meetings with me. He fell for it.”
“Did he sound mad at your daughter? At you?”
“A little? At me. He said ‘If you’re never going to answer any of my messages...’ But I cut him off. I said I had a lot on my plate and told him not to bother us anymore.”
“What was his response?”
“He just looked sad. And then he asked me not to be too hard on her.”
“Hmm,” the cop says. “We have a man with a violent past who wants to get back in touch with his family. And your recent ex turns up dead. It doesn’t seem like a coincidence.”
“Maybe.” I sure hope it is a coincidence, though. “What are you going to do now?”
“I’m sorry. I can’t share that information. But I’ll be in touch if we learn anything or have any more questions. You’ve been very helpful, Rowan. You did the right thing by letting me know.”
If only I was sure it was true.
25
Thursday
Thursday crawls in on its hands and knees. My head aches, but I get up early to make banana pancakes and thick-cut bacon.
My kitchen is the nicest room in the house, with its warm wooden floors and cozy dining table. When Natalie was a kindergartner, I redesigned the space for the two of us. This was our refuge.
But now it feels as though our sanctuary is being invaded.
Whenever people ask me about Harrison, I say “I was young and dumb.” As if falling for a felon is just a thing teenagers do. But the truth is we had several good years together, starting with that first summer at Docksiders. I was so obsessed with him. And when fall came, and I had to return to school, I cried in his arms when he said goodbye to me.
“You’re something else, Gallagher,” he’d whispered to me. “I’m going to miss the hell out of you.”
I didn’t believe him. I thought he’d move on and find another nerdy girl to worship him.
But then he didn’t. I went back to school, and we spent the next eight months on the phone together or texting. Or sneaking away to be together on the weekends. I used to borrow my roommate’s car to meet Harrison halfway between Ithaca and Maine. There’s a little motel off 190 in Massachusetts that became our hookup spot.
Our second summer together in Portland went by in a flash. But then we were facing a new kind of separation—my semester abroad in Rome. And since architecture is a five-year program, I’d have another year in Ithaca after that.
I couldn’t bear the idea, so I was looking for architecture programs in New England when Harrison made a startling offer. “What if I found an apartment in Ithaca while you’re in Italy? I can’t afford to fly to Rome,but I don’t want us to be apart forever. I can find a job in upstate New York while you’re gone.”
It had never occurred to me that he’d leave Maine for me. “But what about your band?”
“That’s a hobby, baby. You’re my whole life. I’d follow you anywhere.”
