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“Drunk?”
“Soon.”
“Well hold off for a bit. We need to talk.”
Jesse frowns. “What’s going on?”
I pull the letter from my waistband, hold it up. “Did you deliver this? Like you did the others?”
Jesse frowns. “No.” He walks over, studying the envelope. “No, man. Never seen it.”
I tilt my head to the side, cock a brow.
He peers closer. “Dude, I promise. Look,” he points to the stamp. “It went through the mail system. The others didn’t.” Jesse looks up. “What does it say? Can I open it?”
I nod.
His hands are steady as he opens the envelope. He definitely isn’t high or drunk, and I wonder if he indulges in those vices only to fit in with his buddies.
Jesse studies the letter, then looks at me. “When did you get it, and where?”
“It was in Sylvia’s mailbox just a few hours ago.”
“So it was delivered today?”
“Yesterday. I don’t think the mail has run yet today.”
“No return address,” he observes. “What do you think it means?”
“I was hoping you’d tell me.”
“I told you, I didn’t deliver it. I’ve been here, in this cave, for like, weeks. Hardly ever leave.” He hands me back the envelope, sinks back down into his chair, directly in the beam of a flashlight that accentuates his dark circles and pasty pale skin. He looks terrible. Worse than last time.
“Have you eaten?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” he scoffs.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“No, I haven’t eaten. Not in a little while.”
I sit in the chair next to him. “Kid, why don’t you just go home? You’re gonna have a whole life of living outside of your parents’ house. At least there you have food, water, a shower. Television, a nice bed. Trust me, just go home. It’s better than here.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Don’t I?”
He looks at me.
“My mom and dad barely spoke,” I say. “He worked all the time, and she stayed at home. They rarely ever saw each other. She slept on the couch and he slept in the bedroom. I know what it’s like to live in a cold, emotionless home… I also know what it’s like to live in prison for twenty years and let me tell you, Jesse, your house, no matter what the scenario, is better than prison. Look at me, kid.”
He turns his face toward me, his mouth downturned, expression droopy like a basset hound.
“I know about your dad, okay?” I say.
His eyes round. “You do?”
“Yeah. I know everything.”
