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Eventually, the men agree on a small, cheap looking phone. Knox hands it to me and asks, “Do you know his number?”
Jimmy has had the same number since high school. I take the phone from Knox, venture out the side door for some privacy, and dial.
“You’ve reached Jimmy. I’m unavailable at the moment. It’s no longer 1995. Text me. If you leave a voicemail, no one’s gonna hear you, sweetie pie.”
Of course, my call will appear as an unknown number. There’s no way he’ll answer. But Knox told me I can’t text. Nothing in writing.
So I dial again.
“You’ve reached.”
Hang up. Dial again.
“Hello? This is Jimmy.”
“Jimmy, thank god you picked up.”
“Sage? Is that you?”
“Yes. Where are you?”
“At home. Where the hell are you?”
“Is anyone there?”
“No. It’s just me. Bart’s at his office. Are you okay? Why haven’t you returned my calls? Or my texts? Where are you?”
“Babe, you’ve gotta calm down.”
“Are you serious right now? What the hell, Sage?”
“I know. I know.”
“Does this have to do with Sloane?”
“I think so. But look, you’ve got to listen to me. You can’t tell anyone you’ve spoken to me. And quit saying my name.”
“Why? What’s going on? Do you know? Did you hear about the fire?”
“Yes. Can you feed Jinx for me? See if you can find him?”
“I’ve been over there for days, asshole. I thought you were dead. Your neighbors think you’re dead, too. I couldn’t find Jinx, but two of your neighbors have been putting out food for him. They’re supposed to call me if they see him. Where the hell are you?”
“You’re not gonna believe it.”
“Sage, your home burned down, and the fire department suspects arson. I’ve waffled between thinking you were dead or someone kidnapped you. Bart asked me to see his therapist. I stood there crying while firefighters searched your house for a body.”
“Were any of them hot?”
“Are you serious right now? Do you think this is funny?”
“No, no. Of course not. It’s gallows humor surfacing. I’m so sorry, Jimmy. My brain is–”
“Where the hell are you?”
“California.”
“Cali? What the fuck? Why? What is going on?”
