Who will take a report and probably won’t do a damn thing, because a man smiling on a porch isn't a crime, and a message from an inmate isn't a threat, and the system my father broke isn't designed to protect the people he broke it around.
I turn my wrist over in her grip and hold on. "Okay."
We spend the morning together.
The locksmith comes at ten. New deadbolt, new chain. My mother pays in cash, thanks him, and locks the new lock behind him. Then tests it twice.
I recognize the gesture. It's mine. The knob check, the double-test.
The inheritance of fear, passed from mother to daughter through locked doors.
By noon, I've checked every window and tested the motion light on the side of the house and programmed the locksmith's number into her phone.
By one, I'm sitting in my car in her driveway, engine running, not moving.
A man who did time with my father is walking around Morgantown with my photograph and a message.
I don't know his name. I don't know what he did time for.
I don't know if the message from my father is all he came to deliver, or if he has his own reasons for finding me.
I don't tell Rookie. This is my weight, not his.
We've kissed once. One time. He doesn't even know my real last name.
Dropping my father's prison contacts into his lap would be the fastest way to watch his face change, and I've spent my whole life watching faces change.
All I want is normalcy.
To be known for being myself, not for beinghisdaughter.
I drive home, try to study, but the words on the screen mean nothing.
After a while, I try to eat, but the food doesn’t taste like anything. It’s like I’m chewing on a sponge.
By nine, I grab my keys. I can't be alone in this apartment for one more minute.
I need to be with someone whose body doesn't shake.
His room is at the compound. I've never been there.
The compound is on the way to Backroads. I've driven past the gate dozens of times without thinking about what was behind it.
Tonight I pull in.
There's a guy at the gate. Young, wiry, wearing a leather cut and a bored expression that sharpens when my headlights hit the chain-link.
He leans down to my window before I've fully stopped. "Can I help you?"
"I'm here to see Rookie."
He looks at me, at my car, and takes one last glance back at me with an expression caught somewhere between amusement and pity.
"Rookie." He repeats the name like he's making sure he heard it right. "You could do a hell of a lot better, you know."
"Are you going to let me in or give me dating advice?"
He grins, steps back, and waves me through. "Third building. His bike's the one that needs a wash."