Page 101 of Dying to Meet You
I turn slowly around again, confused.
“Thank you for sending me that lawyer. She’s a badass.”
“I’m glad,” I say, my throat tight.
“You don’t understand—I didn’t know how much I needed her. Then she dragged Cal in. I wouldn’t have asked. But he told the judge...” Harrison swallows suddenly. “He said some nice things I don’t hear very often. And the lawyer argued for me, which nobody ever does, you know? It meant a lot. It made all the difference.”
“Oh,” I say brilliantly. We just stare at each other for a second. And he’s still holding my hand.
He drops it when the front door swings open and Natalie comes inside, Lickie at her heels. “I got keys!”
She stops and stares at her father, who’s still got a cat draped over one arm. I can practically see hearts in her eyes.
This was a terrible idea.
But it’s too late now. I hurry upstairs for the towels and the bedding. I need to get back to work. It’s suddenly very crowded here.
38
Natalie
Natalie’s mother shoots out of the house so fast she practically leaves contrails behind.
Her father stands there in the living room—his arms full of the linens that were thrust at him—looking a little lost.
Natalie doesn’t mind. She can ask more questions this way. She perches on the back of the sofa. “Do you need to unpack?”
“Nothing to unpack,” he says. “I guess that makes it easier. But I could use a shower.”
“Okay. Then we’ll have lunch,” Natalie says. “I’ll see if there’s anything good in the refrigerator.”
“All right.”
She buzzes around the kitchen while she waits for him, opening and closing the refrigerator, puzzling over what to make. She’s aiming for competence, but not like she’s trying too hard.
He joins her ten minutes later, hitching his hip against the counter. “What’s your go-to?”
“Honestly, I’m not feeling it.” The contents of the refrigerator aren’t promising. “Looks like it might be a grilled-cheese day. I’d say salads, but we’re out of lettuce. We could go out?”
Slowly, he shakes his head. “I can’t do that. I’m supposed to stay on the property if I’m not at work.”
She tries and fails to keep the shock off her face. “Wait. Do you have one of those... ?” She points at her ankle. She’s only seen those things on television.
His expression turns grim. “I will. Tomorrow, I think. I don’t know the rules yet, but I don’t wanna break them while I’m waiting to hear.”
“Okay. Fair. That’s gonna be a drag.”
“You’re telling me.” He rubs his forehead. “I don’t know how I’m supposed to find an apartment to rent when I can’t go look at them. Your mother is a saint for letting me stay here.”
“Grilled cheese it is then.” She pulls the cheese slices out of the drawer and gives the refrigerator a last look.
“Got a can of garbanzo beans somewhere?” he asks, looking over her shoulder. “I could make a chopped salad with that cucumber and that pepper and some feta cheese. To go with your sandwich.”
“Uh, sure?” She goes over to the pantry, finds a can, and hands it to him.
He pulls the cucumber out of the refrigerator, correctly guesses the locations of both the peeler and a cutting board, and sets himself up on the far side of the counter. “Can’t get enough vegetables. That’s the worst thing about prison food. Nothing fresh. Nothing goes crunch.”
Natalie absorbs this grim detail like a champ. Or she tries to. “What was it like?” she blurts a minute later. “Um, I mean, in jail?”
