“I know,” she says calmly. “I figured you’d say that. I told Mr.Berkley as much. But I felt like it was something I needed to pass along, since he’s your daddy and all. And the lawyers require an answer today by noon because they need to make arrangements.”
“Why do they want me there? I’m a minor. Is that even allowed?”
“It’s allowed, yes. And I don’t know why, but I suspect it’s probably because the bodies were never found. They’ve been hoping that before he died, he’d tell everyone where he hid them. But he hasn’t, and I think their hope is that with you there, maybe he’ll…”
She trails off, but I can fill in the blanks.Maybe he’ll have some compassion and give these families some peace.
I stare straight out the windshield, shell-shocked. “Well, you have my answer. It’s hell no.”
In the silence that follows, I decide I’d rather be in school than endure any more of this conversation.
“Is that all?” I prompt, my voice tight. “Because I have photography class next and don’t want to miss it.”
When she nods, I reach for the door handle.
“Have a good day, darlin’—”
I close the door before she can finish. I can’t even pretend to be polite right now. Every step I take echoes with the thoughtI’ve just been invited to my father’s execution.
A shiver runs up my spine, and I have to physically shake it off. I hurry inside and duck into the office to sign back in, even though we never left school property.
Behind the front desk stands a teenage aide. An Asian guy I’ve seen before in one of my classes. French class, I think. He has an unfortunate wedge of a haircut that sticks up severely in the back of his side part.
“Back already?” he says, grinning.
I nod absently. I’m thinking of the execution. Of walking down a long, bare hall. Sitting in a dimly lit room behind a sheet of glass. Making eye contact with my father. Watching him lie on that table and thrash and gurgle until he takes his last breath.
“Hello?”
The guy snaps his fingers.
I blink out of the horror movie playing in my mind. “Excuse me?”
He looks past my shoulders toward the door. “I said, where’syour aunt? She’s the one who needs to sign you back in. You can’t do it yourself.”
“Oh, I…” I stare blankly. I can’t seem to think of anything other than that I’ve been invited to see my father die. “She left.”
He waves me off. “Whatever. I’ll take care of it.” He writes something in the logbook. “I’m Ty, by the way. You’re in my French class.”
“Right. Hi. I’m Ryan. I’m—”
“New. Trust me, we all know.” He glances up at the clock. “You should be able to catch the end of homeroom. Otherwise just dick around until your next class. See you in French.”
“See you.”
I leave the office and try to remember where the art wing is. After a week of classes, I should know this, but I end up taking the long way around, because all I can think about is my father, flopping about on a table like a fish on a pier.
Bile burns my throat, and I suddenly pivot toward the nearest restroom, unable to contain the nausea. I barely manage to reach the toilet in time.
When I’ve purged my guts of every last bite of my breakfast, I rinse my mouth and dig out a mint from my bag. Then I study my reflection in the mirror, hoping I don’t look like a girl who just got invited to watch her dad die by lethal injection.
I make it to photography class a few minutes before the bell rings, taking my seat at the table. My stomach’s still in knots, but at least there’s nothing left in it to throw up. Mr.Hicks passes out the assignment sheets for our next project, but the paper in front of me blurs, the words completely lost.
“Ryan?” Mar’s voice cuts through my brain fog.
I blink, realizing she’s been talking to me. She’s sitting beside me, sketching out ideas for the project, her gaze expectant.
“What?”
