Page 99 of Dying to Meet You
“Ohgreat.”
She laughs. But luckily, she begins typing again.
I sneak another look at my phone but there’s no news. Which means I have too much time to think.
Back when I was twenty-one and deeply in love with Harrison, I would never have believed that at almost forty, I’d be waiting for a call about his release from jail.
My faith in him had been unshakable. When I got unexpectedly pregnant, I proudly told everyone in my life that we were expecting a child.
My college friends looked at me like I’d suddenly sprouted an extra head, but my mother’s reaction was even worse. She cried and begged. “You don’t have to do this! I’ll help you.”
Help me do what? This is what I want.
We’d fought. Bitterly. Luckily, my mother changed her tune after Natalie was born. She and my father helped me a lot. But I’ll never forget her disappointment. Or how glad she was that graduation robes were baggy, so I wouldn’t look so pregnant in the pictures.
My phone buzzes, and I read the screen.
Martha: We won. He’s released but with electronic monitoring stipulated. Restricted to home and work only. We’ll discuss details and next steps tonight. Can you meet him at your place in 15? He’s got a ride there.
I’m stunned by how much relief I feel right now. For Natalie, of course. I send Martha Bean an affirmative reply, and then wait ten minutes to text my daughter:
Rowan: Natty—it worked. He’s out. Can you go to the hardware and make keys for him?
Natalie: YES. OMG.
Rowan: Do it now. He needs a set.
Natalie: I’m going!
That done, I grab my keys and my phone and try to slip out while Beatrice is on the phone with the decorator. Unfortunately, she hangs up just as I rise to leave.
“Rowan? Should we get some lunch?”
“I can’t. I...” This is awkward. But since Natalie has no filter, Beatrice is going to find out anyway. “They released Harrison from jail, and I have to run home and let him in.”
Her eyes widen. “To yourhouse?”
“Just for a few days.”
“Is that safe?”
Something hardens inside me when I gaze back at her perfectly made-up face. “Do you really think I’d risk my life—or my child’s—if I thought it wasn’t?”
“Of course not, but...” Her expression fills with distress. “It’s bad optics, Rowan. Even if they had to let him go, he’s probably still a suspect.”
“Optics,” I say coolly. That’s one of Hank’s favorite words. “He’s my daughter’s father. I don’t have the luxury of thinking about optics just now, okay?”
She looks away, as if she clearly has more to say on the subject but has opted not to. “I guess not.”
“Gotta run. I’ll be back within the hour.” Without another glance in her direction, I leave.
***
As I hurry up the street toward my house, I see an Audi idling at the curb. Both doors open at the same time. Harrison gets out of the passenger side, and a gray-haired man exits the driver’s door.
It’s Cal, the owner of Docksiders and my first boss. He comes around the car, and Harrison offers him a hand to shake.
Cal pulls him into a hug, instead. “Anytime, buddy,” he says. “You’ll get past this.”
