Picture This by Jacqueline Sheehan Page A

Services had done and said, and you can’t believe how ginormous my file was, that’s when I found the one with Robert Tilbe’s name on it.”
    Natalie slid another document out of the folder and handed it to Rocky. The fingers holding the paper were small and delicate, the fingernails bitten low and jagged. Not like Bob, nothing about him was delicate. Natalie’s eyes were wide open and brown.
    The other document listed the father as unknown. The girl could have shown her the first document and never let this other one surface. That would have been more convincing. The kid was either scrupulously honest or she was several steps ahead of Rocky.
    â€œWhy now?” said Rocky, glancing down at Natalie’s hands, the chipped nail polish and the macramé friendship bracelet.
    Natalie looked down, suddenly overtaken by a shy wind. When she looked up, her eyes overflowed, and she quickly wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand.
    â€œBecause I wanted to know if I had anybody. You know, everyone kind of belongs somewhere, and I wanted to find out if I belonged.”
    If he had left her with a daughter, she’d . . . what? What would Rocky do? Would she suddenly belong somewhere too? Would she have somebody?
    â€œWhere are you living now? I know you said Worcester, but what are you doing there?” said Rocky.
    â€œI’m kind of in between jobs. And I’ve rented a room in a guy’s house in Portland. I found it on Craigslist. I was going to come to Portland anyhow, so don’t think I’m stalking you or anything. It could just be for the summer. He’s okay, a little loud when he gets drunk, but he’s okay. I know how to take care of myself.”
    Rocky pictured the girl living with a guy who got a little loud when he was drunk and all the things that could go wrong. Natalie hadn’t said that she was living in Portland when she first called.
    â€œHave you found a job yet? Please tell me you have a job.”
    Natalie stuck her chin out in a way that looked new, like she was trying it out. “I’m applying. I have fast-food experience.”
    Rocky crossed one sandaled foot over a knee. “You don’t have any income, and you’re renting from a guy who gets drunk. This is a bit worrisome. Can you get help from any of the foster families you lived with?”
    Natalie gathered her papers together, mashing them into her canvas bag. “You have no idea about foster care, do you? When the families are done with you, they are really done. And I didn’t exactly leave on the best terms with the last family.”
    Natalie got up. If the girl had been a golden retriever, or a cocker spaniel, or a mutt, Rocky would have scooped her up, made sure that she had food to eat and a safe place to sleep. She’d have scratched behind her ears and tried very hard to let her know that not all humans were weirdos who dumped dogs in scary places like an interstate highway. She might have fostered her until a home could be found. She didn’t like the idea of Natalie crashing with a guy who drank too much. At age eighteen, the girl would think that she could handle the situation; she wouldn’t know about the way things could go sideways.
    â€œWait a minute,” said Rocky. “There are already about twenty permutations of how this thing could go. We have to find out things that are important to you and to me. If Bob was your father, we have to consider that he didn’t know about you. If Bob truly was your biological father, then all of this is new to me. But it might mean something good to you. Or not, I don’t know. Maybe it will be worse for you if you find out he was your father. But in the midst of it, I don’t think I can stand the thought of you living in a skeezy apartment with a guy who gets loud and drunk.” Rocky took a breath, as if she were going to dive to the bottom of a pool. “I have a spare bedroom that