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Everything’s cleaner. I think, if I put my mind to it, I could believe that this was a new world, and a new life. One where law school didn’t exist and study group didn’t exist and I never knew about the summer program.
One where I watched the sun come up in the morning because I wanted to. Or one where I stayed up late to watch the moonrise for the hell of it.
But we’re out here because the old world exists, and something in that world hurt Jameson badly.
The last of the clouds roll slowly overhead like they're the train of a dress, the angry storm dragging it along behind her. Pale yellow rises above the tree line across the lake. I’m not sure whether the water or the sky takes on a deepening blue first, but then they’re reflecting each other, and it’s impossible to tell.
“It’s, like…” I run my fingers through Jameson’s wild, dark hair. He can pull it up all he wants, but he’s not a man who stays still long enough for the containment to stay intact. “A lovely sunrise, if you want to look.”
He shakes his head, his nose brushing along my skin.
The waves lap lightly at the shore, each one coming in with a softswish,splashing gently on the sand, and leaving again with a trickle.Sorry,they seem to say.Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.The lake apologizes to the sand for the rain last night, the way you’d say,sorry my sister was in such a rage. She’s usually not so harsh.
That brings my focus back to Jameson, though it hadn’t really left.I have two older brothers and a younger sister.He said—screamed—three names while he was dreaming. Begged them. I’ve had nightmares about made-up things before, but they dissolve as soon as I’m awake. This one’s sticking with him, so I think it was about real people. His real life.
Now’s the time to ask. We’re literally sitting in the in-between place between the lake and the grass in the in-between place between day and night. It strikes me as a free-spirit thing to think about. The law has gray areas, of course, but everything I’ve studied so far is about understanding the facts and coming up with an opinion. Taking a stand.
It’s about closing doors, not opening them.
The facts of this moment are that Jameson hasn’t moved away, he hasn’t pushed me off, and his shoulders have relaxed.
I hold my position and run my fingers through his hair. My grandfather would say that I’m indulging in superstition, imagining that I can influence the outcome of a conversation with a kidnapper by touching him gently.
It feels right, though.
“What happened?”
Jameson doesn’t answer. He keeps breathing, in and out, in and out, the pattern steady like the waves. Maybe I was wrong about the white noise machine. Maybe he has one, and it’s the lake. But he mentioned working at his brother’s company. He doesn’t live here all the time.
I wait.
The sun is an egg yolk now. Leaves in branches poke in and spill it over the horizon. It’s an even deeper blue around the sun, and honestly, whenwasthe last time I watched something as beautiful as this? I can’t remember. It might’ve happened by accident, when I couldn’t sleep because of all the important work I had to do.
This is important work,a hushed voice mentions in the back of my mind.
Any other day of my life, I’d have shut that thought down and color-coded it inredforirrelevant.
Not today.
The kidnapping thing complicates the act of sitting with Jameson on the surface. But the reality of the moment, with the beach and the waves and his arm wrapped so tight around my waist, is simple. He needs something. I’m giving it to him. The rest is details.
Jameson adjusts his head on my shoulder so there’s space between his lips and my neck. He slides his hand up my back to my hair, then gently twines his fingers through it. He’s not pulling, just…holding it, like an anchor. Otherwise, he doesn’t move. His body stays close to mine.
I wonder if he has the same sense that if we got up and went inside, we wouldn’t be able to talk about this. The way the sun only lines up with Stonehenge on the solstice. It’s not impossible, but it’s rare.
“My parents were murdered.”
My heart sinks like a laptop drop-kicked into the lake, dropping so fast that the breath goes out of me. I squeeze him closer, because it’s one thing to have a missing mom. It’s another thing to lose both your parents. To lose both your parents to amurderis an entirely different level of devastation.
“When?”
“When I was fourteen, and Gabriel was about to be sixteen, and Mason was eighteen.” Jameson’s voice is raw from screaming, thick from crying, and it breaks my heart. The unspoken rules for how to relate to your kidnapper might never apply again.
“How old was your little sister?”I washed my sister’s hair when she was younger.
“Six. Remy turned seven the day before Mason left the hospital.”
“Was he with your parents?” My ribs squeeze at my lungs, and there’s a hollow tension in my gut. I’m not prepared for this story. I’m not ready to react in a way that’s going to be comforting for him. But I had no warning about the nightmare, either, and I’m doing okay. I could learn to dance on an aerial hoop. I can do this too.
