She settles
shoulder to shoulder with him and Hannah goes to look out the
window and mess with the blinds. Finally, she picks up a brand new
coloring book by Jamal’s dad’s seat and they play. Once again, I
try to blend. Never have I been a wallflower, but this is kind of
insane.
Bridgette says “good one” or “you almost had
him, let’s go again” as she shifts, constantly moving, bouncing a
foot or gesturing with her head at the actions her hands are trying
to make the soldiers on the screen make. Then it happens.
“So, what’s your deal? You don’t look sick.”
All heads swivel to the six-year-old on the bed. Even Hannah stops
coloring.
“I’m gonna die,” Jamal says nonchalantly,
like he’s been talking the whole time.
Bridgette shrugs, still watching the TV. “Why
do you think so?”
“‘Cause I got cancer.”
“So? My mom had cancer for a long time.”
“Did she die?”
“Everybody’s gonna die, but you’re not dead
today. Neither is your momma or daddy, or Aunt Sa— Robin. We don’t
live forever or come back like video games.”
“Maybe I want to,” Jamal says, the challenge
clear in his voice. Bridgette shrugs again, not fazed.
“Maybe you will. Hey! Maybe you’ll come back
as a doctor that cures cancer. Wouldn’t that be cool? You can fight
for other people like in Castle Crashers.”
“They fight to break down the walls of other
castles.”
“So what? If you go to school and learn, you
can be a doctor one day and fight to break down cancer’s castle.
That would be cool, huh?”
Jamal is quiet for a long time, his fingers
never stopping on the controller. “Yeah, maybe.”
Hannah puts down her crayon and leans toward
the dad. “Do you want to brush my hair?” she whispers. He smiles
and shakes his head.
“No, sweetie. Thank you, though.”
~
“It was fucking exhausting is what it
was.”
“But they did okay? I can’t believe Alyse let
you in.”
“She likes me.”
“Oh, trust me, she likes me more.” I roll my
eyes and push the phone closer to my ear.
“Nice. Have you hit that?” I ask casually. He
isn’t fooled.
“No, not for lack of trying, though. On her
part.” Asshole.
“Nice.”
“Well, you asked.” He laughs.
“Funny. Real funny. I liked her, but you’ve
ruined it.” I sniff in irritation, which makes him laugh
harder.
“Baby,” he croons. I’m not having it.
“Shut up. I’m mad at you.”
“You’re in my house, in my bed. Now tell me
what you’re wearing.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“Bullshit, sex should be your middle name,
Sadie Dinah.”
“Well I don’t have a middle name, Finnigan
Brennick and neither do you.”
“Maybe mine should be—”
“Asshole?” I interrupt.
“I was going to say ‘Mouth of a God,’
actually.”
“Hardly.”
“Really? ‘Cause that’s what you say when I’m
making out with your pussy. ‘God, Oh my God.’ ”
“I don’t recall. Goodnight.” I hang up the
phone, but his laughter echoes in the room. Goddamn, I miss his
mouth.
Chapter 8
TUESDAY
How the hell are you supposed to find
anything? I riffle through more papers, on top of others for
cattle, hay, wool, and who the hell knows what a combine is? Phones
are ringing in the background and people talk in the busy
office.
“Can I help you find anything, ma’am?” An
Irish voice says behind me. I turn, intrigued by the accent.
“Did you really just call me ma’am?” My hands
fly to my face. I know I remembered mascara this morning. “I can’t
possibly be older than you.” His face loses the smile. “No, no! I
just meant I’m twenty-two, not that you look old. I’ve never been a
ma’am before.”
“No offense taken, then. I didn’t see your
face to begin with, anyway, just saw you pushing through the
advertisements on the board.” I look back to the offensive
corkboard and shake my head.
“How are you supposed to find what you want
with everything on top of everything else?” I ask
shoulder to shoulder with him and Hannah goes to look out the
window and mess with the blinds. Finally, she picks up a brand new
coloring book by Jamal’s dad’s seat and they play. Once again, I
try to blend. Never have I been a wallflower, but this is kind of
insane.
Bridgette says “good one” or “you almost had
him, let’s go again” as she shifts, constantly moving, bouncing a
foot or gesturing with her head at the actions her hands are trying
to make the soldiers on the screen make. Then it happens.
“So, what’s your deal? You don’t look sick.”
All heads swivel to the six-year-old on the bed. Even Hannah stops
coloring.
“I’m gonna die,” Jamal says nonchalantly,
like he’s been talking the whole time.
Bridgette shrugs, still watching the TV. “Why
do you think so?”
“‘Cause I got cancer.”
“So? My mom had cancer for a long time.”
“Did she die?”
“Everybody’s gonna die, but you’re not dead
today. Neither is your momma or daddy, or Aunt Sa— Robin. We don’t
live forever or come back like video games.”
“Maybe I want to,” Jamal says, the challenge
clear in his voice. Bridgette shrugs again, not fazed.
“Maybe you will. Hey! Maybe you’ll come back
as a doctor that cures cancer. Wouldn’t that be cool? You can fight
for other people like in Castle Crashers.”
“They fight to break down the walls of other
castles.”
“So what? If you go to school and learn, you
can be a doctor one day and fight to break down cancer’s castle.
That would be cool, huh?”
Jamal is quiet for a long time, his fingers
never stopping on the controller. “Yeah, maybe.”
Hannah puts down her crayon and leans toward
the dad. “Do you want to brush my hair?” she whispers. He smiles
and shakes his head.
“No, sweetie. Thank you, though.”
~
“It was fucking exhausting is what it
was.”
“But they did okay? I can’t believe Alyse let
you in.”
“She likes me.”
“Oh, trust me, she likes me more.” I roll my
eyes and push the phone closer to my ear.
“Nice. Have you hit that?” I ask casually. He
isn’t fooled.
“No, not for lack of trying, though. On her
part.” Asshole.
“Nice.”
“Well, you asked.” He laughs.
“Funny. Real funny. I liked her, but you’ve
ruined it.” I sniff in irritation, which makes him laugh
harder.
“Baby,” he croons. I’m not having it.
“Shut up. I’m mad at you.”
“You’re in my house, in my bed. Now tell me
what you’re wearing.”
“I’m not in the mood.”
“Bullshit, sex should be your middle name,
Sadie Dinah.”
“Well I don’t have a middle name, Finnigan
Brennick and neither do you.”
“Maybe mine should be—”
“Asshole?” I interrupt.
“I was going to say ‘Mouth of a God,’
actually.”
“Hardly.”
“Really? ‘Cause that’s what you say when I’m
making out with your pussy. ‘God, Oh my God.’ ”
“I don’t recall. Goodnight.” I hang up the
phone, but his laughter echoes in the room. Goddamn, I miss his
mouth.
Chapter 8
TUESDAY
How the hell are you supposed to find
anything? I riffle through more papers, on top of others for
cattle, hay, wool, and who the hell knows what a combine is? Phones
are ringing in the background and people talk in the busy
office.
“Can I help you find anything, ma’am?” An
Irish voice says behind me. I turn, intrigued by the accent.
“Did you really just call me ma’am?” My hands
fly to my face. I know I remembered mascara this morning. “I can’t
possibly be older than you.” His face loses the smile. “No, no! I
just meant I’m twenty-two, not that you look old. I’ve never been a
ma’am before.”
“No offense taken, then. I didn’t see your
face to begin with, anyway, just saw you pushing through the
advertisements on the board.” I look back to the offensive
corkboard and shake my head.
“How are you supposed to find what you want
with everything on top of everything else?” I ask
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