Page 37

Rowan

Martha Bean estimated that Harrison’s hearing would occur between ten a.m. and noon. But now it’s twelve thirty, and the only texts I’ve received are frantic ones from Natalie.

Natalie: What happened? Is it bad that they haven’t texted to say that he’s out?

I suspect that it’s not a good sign, but I reply with:

Rowan: I have no idea. I’m sorry.

My phone rings, and my heart does a somersault as the incoming call notification resolves onto the screen.

It’s not the lawyer, though. It’s Hank. And even though I’m distracted, I can’t afford to blow him off. “This is Rowan Gallagher,” I say in the calmest voice I can. “Hank?”

“Hey there, Rowan,” he says. And unless I’m crazy, his voice is a little cool. “Sorry about our meeting on Friday. I got your file, and I’ll read it tonight.”

“It’s no problem. Would you like to reschedule?”

“How about this Friday? I’ll move some things around. I know you need to line up your suppliers.”

“Thank you,” I say, wondering at how smoothly he made it sound like he was doing me a favor.

“I heard you needed a peek at the old floor plans. Is there some hiccup I should know about?”

My heart spasms. “Nope. I was just having deep thoughts about the original placement of the lighting fixtures. Thought I’d take one more look while I was there.”

Am I crazy? Or is there a tense silence? “All right. Glad to hear it. We’ll do the budget meeting on Friday at twelve thirty. And I’ll be seeing you tomorrow, as well.”

“Tomorrow.” I draw a blank. “Tuesday?”

Another weird pause. “The Historical Commission dinner.”

The dinner. Oh shit! “Of course!” I say quickly. “My brain was on meetings. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

“Excellent,” he says. “Now I’d better run.”

“Absolutely. Me too.”

The call ends, and my muscles go limp. It’s a good thing the lawyer didn’t call when I was talking with Hank. That would’ve been a great way to pause a conversation with my boss. I’ve got to run and pick up a murder suspect from jail .

“Was that Hank?” Beatrice asks from her desk, where she’s clicking away on her laptop. “What did he want?”

“He rescheduled my budget meeting for Friday.” I scrub my forehead with one hand. “And he reminded me that he and I are going to some Historical Commission thing tomorrow night.”

Beatrice stops typing and turns to me with a grin. “Wait, are you his date for the dinner?”

I answer carefully. “Only for work purposes. He thought I could help him fend off pointed questions about the new construction plans out back.”

“Uh-huh.” Her grin widens. “Hank never has just one angle, though. What are you wearing?”

“Um...” My mind blanks. Not only do I have no idea, but her reaction is a little strange. I’ve always thought Beatrice might have a thing for Hank. I wonder if she secretly hates that he invited me to this thing, and not her.

“It’s kind of dressy,” she says, turning back to her laptop. “I went last year. The doyennes of Portland like any excuse to get fancy.”

“Oh great .”

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 your house ?”

“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.”

Harrison’s face is a little red as he steps back. “I still appreciate it.”

They both turn as I approach, and Cal breaks into a grin. “Rowan! You still look nineteen.”

“You’re a liar,” I say without breaking stride. “But I’ll take the compliment. Business okay?”

“It’s my busy season! Always strapped for help. Want to pick up a couple shifts this weekend?” He grins.

“I was a terrible waitress.”

He hugs me, and maybe it’s my imagination, but he smells a little like fried clams. “You kids behave, now. See you tonight, Harry.”

Harrison salutes. “I’ll be there.”

A moment later it’s just the two of us standing there on the sidewalk. Awkwardness sets in immediately. “Okay, well.” I gesture toward the house. “I sent Natalie to the hardware to make you a set of keys.”

“Thank you,” he says. “Not just for the keys, Ro. For everything. I promise I’ll get out of your way as soon as I can. You sure as hell didn’t have to do this.”

No, I did not . Honestly, I’m having a few regrets now that he’s standing here in front of me with solemn eyes. I can’t stop cataloging all the familiar things about him. Like the tilt of his chin as he studies me. The way he stands. The set of his shoulders.

“You’re welcome,” I say stiffly. “Now let me show you the room. It isn’t fancy.”

“Like I care.”

“Where’s all your stuff?” I say as we head up the walk.

“Still in Parkside. Cal and his wife are going to drive over there tomorrow and fetch things for me. I’m not supposed to go anywhere but here and Docksiders. I’m taking every shift he’ll give me, Ro. I’ll stay out of your way.”

Maybe so, but this will be a lot of togetherness I hadn’t counted on. I unlock the door and head inside, Harrison following.

“Wow, cool house,” he says in a soft voice. “When was it built?”

Before I can answer, a black-and-white streak shoots across my feet and winds around Harrison’s ankles.

He makes a soft sound of surprise and squats down. “Hey! Look who’s here!” He lifts his handsome chin to smile at me. “You kept her?”

“Natalie did,” I admit. “She insisted. Our dog needs therapy now, but whatever.”

He gives a startled laugh and strokes the cat’s chin, clicking his tongue. “Who’s a good girl?”

The cat flings herself at his feet, rolling onto her back like a drunk sorority girl at a house party. He scoops her up and rubs her head admiringly, and for a split second I’m jealous of a cat. Then I collect myself and cross the living room toward the old playroom.

“I’m sorry this space isn’t really ready for you, but I didn’t want to get Natalie’s hopes up.”

“Yeah, it doesn’t matter. I don’t mind camping rough.” He follows me with the cat in his arms.

“You can open up the futon. I’ll find you some bedding. Sorry about the walls. I’d decided to remove the wallpaper and scrape the paint—and then quit halfway through. The silver lining is that I hauled all of Natalie’s old toys out of here first.”

“Is this supposed to be your office?”

“Someday. Now let me give you the rest of the tour.” I step around him, feeling self-conscious. It’s wild being in such close quarters after all this time.

Will I ever get used to this? If Harrison stays out of jail and stays in Natalie’s life, will I ever feel blasé about seeing him?

I move through the living room with him on my heels. “Kitchen. Laundry. That door leads to our ugly old basement. And here’s the half bath.” I point. “You’ll have to venture upstairs to shower. You can use whichever bathroom you want. The one covered in cosmetics is Natalie’s.”

His smile is so familiar that I have to look away. “Let me just grab you some towels.”

Before I get very far, he reaches out and grabs my hand. “Hey.”

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.