Isn’t every woman? I resist the urge to say, instead shrugging my shoulders and smiling. “I guess I was hoping you would tell me.”
Danny explains the difference between slab and prehung doors, and we determine I need the latter, since the hinges on the one at the house are busted—not that I tell Danny how they got that way. I’ve been back in town for fewer than twenty-four hours and already I’m lying to someone to cover for Jamie.
Some things never change.
Danny walks me to the prehung doors and I flip through the endless options. It’s sort of weird to see doors out of context like this, leading to nowhere, knowing that eventually each of them will be bought and put to use, like this one will become the front door of someone’s childhood home that they will remember forever, and that one will be the back door that always squeaks when you try to sneak out at night. How things go from meaningless or unknown to significant with just one purchase, one decision, one encounter one night with the one right person. Or the wrong one.
What can I say? Home Depot brings out my existential side.
Plus, I get kind of philosophical when I’m tired, and I’m still jet lagged. But even though Atlanta’s time zone is, like, half a sleep cycle behind London’s, and I am beyond worn out from the day of travel, I couldn’t fall back asleep this morning after Ryder left. At first, I thought I should call the cops to report the break-in and harassment—Yes, officer, he was about six-two, two hundred pounds of pure muscle, and a smile that would melt your panties right off—but it occurred to me maybe I should first talk to Jamie, get the details from him to find out more about who he’s dealing with here.
We’re dealing with, I should say. Because that’s the thing with trouble. You can get into it alone, but getting out is rarely a solo operation. That’s what big sisters are for, I guess.
But it’s going to be difficult to keep protecting Jamie when I have no idea where he is. While coming home yesterday was sort of a hasty decision for me, once I bought my plane ticket, I emailed Jamie to tell him I was on my way back to the States, and to my great shock, he actually emailed me back to say Cool! So though I had no expectation that he would meet me at the airport or anything—I mean, we’re talking about someone whose solution to having overdue Blockbuster rentals back in the day was to just wait for the company to fold—I thought maybe he’d at least be at the house or come by for dinner or something since we haven’t seen each other in two years, not since I left for England.
But after my encounter with Ryder, I guess I know why Jamie didn’t bother to throw me a welcome home party. I’ve called him about a dozen times this morning, and every time I get voicemail: It’s Jamie, yo. Check you later. I quit leaving messages about six calls ago. On the last few I even started saying things like, It’s your sister, Cassie McEntire. You may remember me from growing up? We used to live down the hall from each other.
Just in case he doesn’t recognize my voice from the Call me, because if these guys you owe money to find you first, you may not be walking the next time I see you part of the message.
I select a door, white and pristine and, most importantly, sturdy. But there’s one thing missing.
“Can you put a deadbolt in it?” I say to Danny.
Kick my door down once, shame on you. Twice, shame on me.
And I don’t do shame anymore.
***
“Cass?”
I almost drop my new American mobile (Mental note: cell phone, not mobile. We’re not in England anymore, Cass.) in the washer when I hear Jamie’s voice, both familiar and foreign, like the ghost who makes your house haunted but whom you’ve never actually seen. After the Home Depot guys installed the new door this afternoon, I took the ten-year old Hyundai Mom left behind to the Apple store, the grocery store, and Target, where I even bought a pair of flip flops, my first in two years, with the faint idea of going to Lake Lanier sometime this summer. The normalcy of everything had made me nearly forget I was waiting on this phone call.
So, of course that’s when Jamie calls. When I least expect it. When I’m least prepared.
All day I’d been imagining the whole big sister speech I’d give him when I finally talked to him about how dangerous a game he’s playing with Ryder and the broken door and taking responsibility and does Mom know and what would Dad think?
But all I manage is: “Where the hell are you?”