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Chapter NINETEEN

When I get to my house there's a bouquet of daisies on the step, along with a note. From Rick, of course. The flowers are already so wilted there's no point to doing anything with them, so I toss them in the outside trash. The note is on lined paper torn out of a spiral notebook. The edge is shredded, and something about that slices right through my ribs. I carry it inside.

I drop my bag on the floor by the couch and sit down to read the note. It's long, and he's worked hard to keep his handwriting legible. For a minute, looking at the paragraphs, I'm overwhelmed-things have happened so fast!-and my whole life looks skewed, like I'm in a glass globe and somebody turned it on its side.

For long minutes I sit with the note in my hands. Do I want to know what he has to say? My living room is tiny, but sunshine is pouring through the lace curtains, and it somehow gives me the courage to take the letter, unread, and put it in the trash.

As if he knows it, my phone rings that very second, and I don't even have to look at the number to know it's him. Irritated, I answer the phone. "Rick. Wasn't it enough to get arrested?"

"Did you get my letter?"

"And the flowers." I open the fridge and wonder if I need to eat more before I go to work. "Yes. You have to stop this, Rick. Focus on your music."

"I can't sleep," he says in a ragged voice. "I can't eat anything."

Why did I think I could make this better?

"I can't help you. It's over. This is the last time I'm going to answer my phone when you call, and I'm blocking you on Facebook. If you come anywhere near me, I'll call the cops."

"Babe-"

"I'm done, Rick," I say, and end the call. My stomach hurts a little. Standing in my kitchen, I say, "Mom, I wish you were here to tell me what to do."

There's no answer, of course. As much as I wish she was a ghost, hanging around with me to answer the questions I never got to ask her, there's no such thing, and she's dead.

As I get dressed, I find myself wondering what happened between her and my dad in New Zealand. Why did we lose touch? I don't know that part, and I wonder if Henry does. I need to tell him about my other dad, anyway, so I punch his number into the phone and wait.

"Hey, little girl. Did you have a good time last night?"

A bar of heat runs over my forehead, and I push the images of me and Tyler away. "Yeah. I really like him. Listen, I don't have a lot of time, but I need to ask you something."

"Shoot."

"Do you know why my other dad-" That was how we'd always said it. "-stopped talking to me?"

For a long moment he's silent. Then he clears his throat. "Your mom never told me."

Is he lying? I've never known Henry to lie in my whole life. "Henry?"

"I wish she was here to tell you her stories, sweetie. It's not my business."

"Yeah, well, she's not here. All I have is you."

"You have to ask him, then."

I frown. "Did you know I found him?"

"He friended you on Facebook, baby."

"Oh, of course." I feel ashamed of myself in some odd way. "I was going to tell you, it's just been this crazy couple of days, like a million things have changed."

"I get it. Life runs like that sometimes."

"Does it hurt your feelings that I looked him up?"

"Hell, no! Curiosity is perfectly natural."