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Another high, morning call that’s like spring and summer and the world waking up.
I pad through the cabin. Jameson’s not on the couch, or in the armchair. He’s not sitting by the fire where he burned my study group clothes. The wide picture window shows he’s not in the yard, either.
My heart rate goes up like the end of Snowball’s song. Where is he?
Part of me wants to sit in the window seat, or lie in bed, or stretch out on the couch and wait. If Jameson went somewhere, he must’ve gone for a reason. He’ll be back eventually. It will freak him out if I’m gone.
Wow. I’m worried abouthimfreaking out. “How times have changed.”
Snowball sings in the kitchen.
“I know, I know. I’m going outside to look. I’ll be right back.”
I go.
It’s warm, but not uncomfortably hot. I love summer mornings. I spend most of them on my way to somewhere for some kind of scheduled meeting, squeezing in early runs when I can. I always wish I could run longer. Today, I’m okay with not running. I’m okay with however this unfolds.
I find Jameson down on the beach. A low shrub blocked my view of him from the cabin. He sprawls in a beach chair, long legs in the sand.
“Hey. Snowball was worried about you.” Jameson was looking out at the lake, but when his eyes meet mine, my heart misses an entire beat. His black eye looks bruised and rough, and the rest of his face… “Oh my God. Were you out here all night?”
A slow blink. “Hey, Lily.”
I go to my knees in the sand beside his chair. “Jameson. What’s going on? You look…” Red, bloodshot eyes. Pale skin.
“What, you don’t think I look hot?” No smile when he says it.
“No, I still think you look hot, but you don’t look well. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He’s not fine. Jameson usually looksalive.He has color in his cheeks and his eyes are vivid, whether they’re full of light or dark with how much he wants me. Now he looks like he’s barely got one foot in this world.
“I don’t think you are. Come inside. We’re having another nap truce.”
“No more truces, angel.”
“Are you on some schedule I don’t know about?”
The corners of his mouth flicker and fail to reach a smile, and it’s the saddest thing I’ve ever seen. “Yes.”
“Cool. Postpone it.”
“Can’t.”
An anxious, tight sensation wraps around my ribs like a too-tight leotard. “Here’s the thing. I need to talk to you.”
“Go ahead.”
“The thing is, this time we’ve had together has been intense, but I’ve come to the conclusion that it was intense in a way that was good for me.”
“Was it?” A wave slaps on the shore, and Jameson tracks it back out.
“Yes. I needed a different view of my life. Now that I have it, I’m not sure about next steps.”
He frowns. “For what?”
“For my life. I need to reevaluate everything about law school, given what I know about my grandfather, obviously, but also given what I know about myself. I thought that was the only way I could help people. I don’t believe that anymore. And I was dreading the summer program. I was dreading law school. It was a relief to be here with you, because I didn’t have a choice. I couldn’t go to law school if I’d been kidnapped. I think it’s reasonable to take that feeling into account.”
Jameson nods like I’ve told him the price of milk. “That’s good.”
