Page 66 of Dying to Meet You
“So you’re saying it’s genetic?” Natalie demands. “Do you hear yourself right now? I have half his genes.”
Her mother puts the car in park and leans back against the headrest. “God, Natalie. No. I don’t mean that at all. There’s nothing wrong with you. It’s just that Harrison had a really rough childhood, and it affected his ability to cope. Some of the things that went wrong in his life probably aren’t all his fault, but that doesn’t mean he’s a good influence.”
“He’s still family,” she points out. “You don’t write family off unless you have to.”
“Ididhave to.”
“Just keep telling yourself that. You just want to make him go away. Never mind that he asked me to tell you he has something we need to know. Something about his medical history.”
Her mother seems to sag against the seat. “Oh.”
“Yeah.Oh. But if you’re too afraid to even call or email him, I guess we don’t need to know what it is, yeah? We’ll just wing it.”
“That’s low,” her mother says quietly. “My most important job as your only parent is to keep you out of harm’s way. And that’s what I’ve been trying to do for fifteen years.”
Anguished, Natalie asks a question that’s been weighing on her mind. “Tell me this—did he ever hurt us? Like, physically? Were you afraid of him, you know, before?”
Her mother sighs. “No, he was never physically threatening until the night he tried to kill a man with a metal bar stool.”
Natalie can’t stop herself from flinching.
“There’s areasonI don’t want you anywhere near him.”
Natalie turns to stare out the car window and says nothing.
Eventually, her mother puts the car in gear and drives home. After they pull into the garage, her mother says, “Now hand me your phone.”
“Why?”
“You’re not getting it back for a week.”
“Aweek? That’s outrageous.”
“Child abuse, for sure. You’ll think twice next time you break a promise to me. We had a deal—you’d keep your phone on until the killer was caught.”
Itwason. Natalie knows better than to make this argument. Instead, she closes her eyes and wishes she were anywhere else. An hour ago she’d been eating fries and watching her friend sway to the music. An hour ago she’d had a secret, and she’d also had a cool dad.
Now she’s facing a week without her phone and an exam she hasn’t studied for. Everything is bleak.
“I’m still waiting for that phone,” her mother says as she cuts the engine.
Natalie almost throws it out the window. Her finger is literally on the window’s button.
She puts the phone in the cupholder instead. Then she marches into the house, races upstairs to her bedroom, and slams the door.
24
Rowan
After dealing with the dog and locking the house, I retreat upstairs, my heart galloping as I lock my bedroom door.
Harrison is here in Portland, playing “Beast of Burden” at Docksiders. I’m still shaking.
I flop back on my bed and stare at the ceiling. Natalie’s anguish cuts deep. I had no idea how much she cared about knowing her father. And yet Harrison’s return to Portland scares me in ways that I can’t share with her.
After finding my phone, I open Instagram and guess the password for the account I made months ago for my architecture portfolio.
And then—just like Natalie did—I type in Harrison’s name and find the band’s Instagram account. I flip back through the pictures until I find the first posts with Harrison.
