“Dude, chillax,” he says. Typical Jamie. His philosophy has always been if you’re worried, you’re overreacting. There is no situation in which he thinks concern is warranted. When we were teenagers, I thought maybe he was braver than I was. In high school, I acted out occasionally, sneaking out with my friend Savannah once or twice, sometimes sliding home a little after curfew, but I was never that much of a scofflaw. I mean, I have an accounting degree, for goodness’s sake; I kind of enjoy following the rules.
But no matter the risk or how often he got caught, if Jamie wanted to smoke that joint or jump off that roof or hotwire that car (which he swore he was going to return anyway, so what was the big deal, really?), by God, he was going to do it.
Now, at twenty-six, I realize what I thought was his bravery was mostly brazen stupidity and a near compulsion to push the limits of my parents' patience.
And today he’s pushing mine.
“So, your friend Ryder tells me you’re having some money problems,” I say.
“I’m working it out,” Jamie says. “It’s all good. I’ve got a plan.”
“Other than giving away our house?”
Silence.
“Look, Cassie, I’m sure you’ve been through a lot lately with the move and everything, and I’m sorry you got involved in this, okay?” he says. “But you need to stay out of it.”
“No. You need to tell me what’s going on, Jamie. I deserve to know. Because your sympathies aside, I am in it now.”
“If I tell you stuff, then that’s going to make you…” He stops. “What’s the word I’m looking for?”
“Responsible?” No surprise he struggled for that one.
“Yeah. I guess so,” he says. “Like an accessory or whatever.”
“Then why don’t you come back and let’s fix this together? I don’t have to be an accessory. I can be your partner,” I say. “I don’t think this Ryder guy is just going to go away on his own.”
The pause on the other end of the line is so long I worry that the call has been dropped. In the background, for the first time, I hear the low noise of TV, and I try to imagine where he is. Motel room? Sports bar? Someone’s house?
At least I know it’s not jail since he’s calling on his cell and not from a cell.
“I really am sorry, Cass,” Jamie finally says quietly.
“Don’t be sorry, Jamie,” I say. “Be here. Come home.”
“I can’t. I’ve got to, you know, figure some shit out. I’m just taking a breather out of town right now so I can think.” He pauses. “You don’t have ten grand, do you?”
“Is that a serious question?”
“No,” he says. “Unless you have the money. Which I assume you don’t.”
I slam the washer closed harder than I mean to. “You know, Jamie, for a smart guy, you say some really dumb stuff.”
“If I had a nickel for every time I heard that,” he says, “I could have paid back Ryder Cole by now.”
***
At dusk, I sit on our back patio swing, watching the sky turn from blue to orange as the sun sets. This was one of my favorite spots to sit and think when I was a kid. The swing itself is identical to the one on the front porch, white-painted metal woven into tiny diamond shapes that stays relatively cool even in the relentless Georgia summer heat, but the back one has the advantage of an unbelievable view into the wildlife world.
Our back yard is a wooded lot of trees and boulders, and consequently, it’s a stomping ground for all kinds of animals; there are the usual birds and squirrels and chipmunks, of course, but foxes race through the grass sometimes, raccoons come out at night, deer have been known to graze in the early mornings. Growing up, it was amazing to watch these animals so closely, the way they interacted with each other or responded to any perceived danger. If I even so much as shifted in the swing while a doe and fawn were feeding, they’d take off into the thicket at the far part of the yard like I was a hunter who’d just revealed myself. They knew how to survive, how to calculate risk and reward, how to listen to their instincts to protect themselves—skills that humans seem to have let lapse.
Well, some humans. Jamie seems out of touch with his abilities to stay safe, only avoiding peril just before it kicks down his door. I guess I was, too, for a while. It’s weird—or maybe just devastating—how long you’ll let yourself live in circumstances that might kill you just because it seems easier than changing them.
And then one day you get on a plane and you come home and you realize that was all it took to get back to yourself, that your self-preservation instincts had been there the whole time—you just hadn’t been paying attention.
So if I can save myself, maybe I can save Jamie, too.
I just need to know more about who’s hunting him. And I think I know who might be able to fill me in.