Page 112 of The Way the Heart Breaks: Jade’s Story

“Beef.”

“Trades huh?”

“Yeah. He trades hay to a farmer, and they fill the freezer. Dad trades work for a quarter too. The same farmer. To be honest, sometimes I get sick of steak.”

“That's pretty damn cool.”

“It is. And before you say anything, yes, it was just as good as yours.”

“I didn't say anything.”

“If you were, you’d be wrong.”

He laughs. “Prove it.”

“I’ll cook you the best steak ever.” At least I’ll try. Tessa is so much better on the grill; well, Alex and Ryan are the best, but I just get by.

“You're really competitive.”

I lie back against my pillow, smiling at the ceiling. “I guess I am.”

“So,” he says, “are you doing anything tomorrow after the game or right to the girls’ night?”

The way he says girls’ night makes me laugh. “You sound disappointed.”

“I am disappointed.”

I smile. “You'll survive.”

“You don’t know that.” He pouts.

I laugh, and for a few seconds neither of us says anything. I just listen to him breathe on the other end of the line.

Then I remember something.

“Wait. Do you need to get off?”

“Um, Jade, I’m going to need you to repeat that question.”

“You might miss a call, so if you need to end the...”

“What?”

“The phone. We have call waiting, but I don’t know if you do.”

He laughs. “Pretty girl, I don't care if the president calls. I'm talking to you.”

I smile, pulling the cord a little tighter around my finger. “Well, good.”

* * *

Saturday mornings in the Ross house have always meant cleaning. The old Janet Ross started me young on that habit, and even with it just being Dad and I now, some things don't change. The house gets cleaned before the day gets started.

Also, a Saturday must: the weekly top 40. I turn on the boombox, pop in the tape I made last week, double-check it’s on side B, and crank it up as I get started.

Music has always been different for me. It's not just something playing in the background while I do something else. Some songs are tied to people. Some belong to places. Some can take me back to a moment I haven't thought about in years, right down to the way the room smelled or the exact sound of somebody's voice. And sometimes a song says something I simply can not. So, when the countdown starts, I listen.

Not because I think the first song is going to predict my week like I used to, even though that’s what I still tell Tessa, but because I want to know what song is going to stay with me. People leave us, places change, memories fade, but somehow music can keep them alive. A three-minute song, and suddenly it’s like nothing is gone.