Page 55 of Finding Noah

Dad had been an upstanding citizen behind bars. He got his GED; he took college courses. He worked, he read, he exercised. He had always been a good guy—he’d never been bad—but his behavior in prison proved what had always been true, and he’d been rewarded for it.

He’d met Harry.

I sat up on the cot and held my head in my hands.

Harry.

Over the years, the old prison guard had become a second grandfather to me and my brother. Where would Dad be if it hadn’t been for Harry? He probably would’ve gotten out of prison, and … then what? Where would he have gone?

It was funny. I’d never thought to ask Dad any of that stuff because it never mattered. That wasn’t how things had turned out. But it was Harry who had talked to his brother, Howard Fischer. It was Harry who had gotten Dad set up at 1111 Daffodil Lane. It was Harry who had secured him with a job at The Fisch Market.

It’d been two years since I had seen Harry. I stayed at home every chance I could. Partying and being lazy were more important than appreciating the people I cared about, and who knew how much time I had left to appreciate him? He was an older guy. Not old, old, but … still.

Maybe we can get together with him soon.

I sighed and threw myself back against the hard, flat cot. With a quick peek at my watch, I saw that it’d only been a half hour since I’d last checked the time.

“Holy fuck,” I groaned, laying my hands over my face.

Yeah, maybe Dad had managed for nine years, but he’d had shit to do. The only thing I could do in here was think and count the ceiling panels.

There were twelve, by the way.

Footsteps sounded from farther away, and I turned in their direction. The hallway leading to the single holding cell in the River Canyon Police Department was a fairly long one, lined with doors concealing I didn’t know what. In the hours since Sergeant Kinney had brought me in and locked me up, I’d heard plenty of people walking down that hall, never making it all the way to the end. But this time, they came closer.

A glimmer of hope was brought to life as I sat up and watched to see who might emerge from that hallway.

It could be Sergeant Kinney to tell me Dad had changed his mind. Fuck, it could be Dad himself, here to drag my ass back home.

But it wasn’t either of them.

A head of bouncy curls came into view, and in an instant, the blinding fluorescent lights were softer, warmer.

Meg’s blue gaze swept over the space with an air of newness, like she’d never before taken a good look at the bars, toilet and sink, cot, or cold, hard floor.

Then those eyes fell on me, and I couldn’t help the slow, sly smile that curved my lips.

“Like my new place?” I asked, turning to sit up with my feet on the floor. “Thought about getting a decorator in here. You think a chandelier would help give it some character?”

She sighed and rolled her eyes away from me and downward. I realized then she was holding a big tote bag, and with interest, I stood and wandered over to lean against the bars.

“Here,” she said, reaching into the bag and pulling out a plastic to-go container.

She slid the container through the slot in the door’s bars, and I accepted it, peering through the steam-covered lid.

“What’s this?”

“A cheeseburger and fries,” she answered as she dug into the bag again to produce a bottle of Coke.

“You didn’t have to—”

“A thank you would be fine.”

I accepted the bottle and said, “Thank you.”

She dug into the bag again and pulled out a blanket and stuffed it through the bars. “It might not be long enough,” she explained needlessly. “You’re pretty tall, and it’s just a little throw blanket from my couch, but I figured it’s—”

“Thank you,” I said again, accepting it and resisting the urge to put the soft material to my nose, to inhale the scent of her and her couch and commit it to memory.