through this summer.”
“Now I’m really curious. You should tell me what’s going on with you. I’m not lying when I say I’m a good listener.”
“Speaking of lying . . . I’ve been thinking about it. Any sane person would come clean by now if they weren’t being honest about the whole kidnapping thing. Right?”
“Probably.”
“And you’re still adamant that it happened.”
“Correct.”
I sit back down, facing him. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you’re not lying.”
He turns his face so he’s looking directly at me. It’s been probably a day since he’s shaved and his face is covered in dark stubble. His eyes, though, are a clear, bright blue. His expression is serious.
“I would never lie to you.”
“So you really were kidnapped?”
“I was really kidnapped. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”
I look back toward the water and wrap my arms around my knees. “A lot,” I say. “But there’s plenty of time for that.”
He smiles, and for a minute I almost feel bad that he thinks I’m being nice because I actually like him.
*
On Sunday, I go visit Mom. I make us grilled cheese paninis with tomatoes and basil, which is one of her favorite lunches, and we sit at the kitchen table, the window open, a cool breeze blowing through.
She doesn’t eat much of her sandwich, though, and she winces every time she reaches forward to get her glass of water.
“Are you doing okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” she says, wincing again. “I’ve got this pain in my shoulder is all. And my back and my neck and my head . . .” She laughs a little and waves her hand. “It’s nothing, Jill.”
But she’s got a sad look on her face, and for a minute I want to tell her what I’m up to, that if Uncle Nate actually is right about their accident, then I am going to do everything I can to get to the bottom of it.
Instead, though, I get up and go to the counter where her array of various medications are kept. The painkillers, the antidepressants, the anti-seizure pills. I twist the cap off the bottle of the Vicodin and give her one.
“Here, take this.”
She does, like an obedient child, and I imagine that’s how she must feel and I hate that this is what her life is.
“Mom,” I say. “Let’s plan on doing something fun soon. Would you be up for that?”
She puts the pill in her mouth and washes it down with a sip of water. “What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. Something, though. It doesn’t have to be anything big, but I’d really like it if you were able to go out and just . . . I don’t know. Have a good time.”
“You’re a sweetheart. Yes, that sounds nice. Why don’t you think of something and let me know. Hopefully I’ll feel up for it.”
“Why don’t you think about a few things you might feel up for doing. You don’t have to tell me right now, but we can try to plan for it the next Sunday or something.”
She nods. “How are things going at the ranch? Lorrie called me the other day and we had a nice chat. How’s everything with that boy you weren’t getting along with?”
“Better.”
“That’s good. What’s his name?”
“Griffin. He’s actually . . . a little more interesting than I might have first thought.”
Mom smiles. “In what way?”
“Oh, you know . . .” I shrug. “There’s just some things about him that I didn’t realize at first, I guess.”
“That’s great, honey. I’m happy to hear that. I’m glad you guys were able to figure things out.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, even though, really, I haven’t got anything figured out yet.
Chapter 15: Griffin
Some of the campers and I are playing a raucous game of disc golf when I see Jill walking over. She’s wearing her usual four-inch inseam cutoff jeans and work boots and a Sea Horse Ranch t-shirt that’s on the flimsy side, which is a good look for her.
“We’re going to be
“Now I’m really curious. You should tell me what’s going on with you. I’m not lying when I say I’m a good listener.”
“Speaking of lying . . . I’ve been thinking about it. Any sane person would come clean by now if they weren’t being honest about the whole kidnapping thing. Right?”
“Probably.”
“And you’re still adamant that it happened.”
“Correct.”
I sit back down, facing him. “Look me in the eye and tell me that you’re not lying.”
He turns his face so he’s looking directly at me. It’s been probably a day since he’s shaved and his face is covered in dark stubble. His eyes, though, are a clear, bright blue. His expression is serious.
“I would never lie to you.”
“So you really were kidnapped?”
“I was really kidnapped. Is there anything else you’d like to know?”
I look back toward the water and wrap my arms around my knees. “A lot,” I say. “But there’s plenty of time for that.”
He smiles, and for a minute I almost feel bad that he thinks I’m being nice because I actually like him.
*
On Sunday, I go visit Mom. I make us grilled cheese paninis with tomatoes and basil, which is one of her favorite lunches, and we sit at the kitchen table, the window open, a cool breeze blowing through.
She doesn’t eat much of her sandwich, though, and she winces every time she reaches forward to get her glass of water.
“Are you doing okay?” I ask.
“I’m fine,” she says, wincing again. “I’ve got this pain in my shoulder is all. And my back and my neck and my head . . .” She laughs a little and waves her hand. “It’s nothing, Jill.”
But she’s got a sad look on her face, and for a minute I want to tell her what I’m up to, that if Uncle Nate actually is right about their accident, then I am going to do everything I can to get to the bottom of it.
Instead, though, I get up and go to the counter where her array of various medications are kept. The painkillers, the antidepressants, the anti-seizure pills. I twist the cap off the bottle of the Vicodin and give her one.
“Here, take this.”
She does, like an obedient child, and I imagine that’s how she must feel and I hate that this is what her life is.
“Mom,” I say. “Let’s plan on doing something fun soon. Would you be up for that?”
She puts the pill in her mouth and washes it down with a sip of water. “What did you have in mind?”
“I don’t know. Something, though. It doesn’t have to be anything big, but I’d really like it if you were able to go out and just . . . I don’t know. Have a good time.”
“You’re a sweetheart. Yes, that sounds nice. Why don’t you think of something and let me know. Hopefully I’ll feel up for it.”
“Why don’t you think about a few things you might feel up for doing. You don’t have to tell me right now, but we can try to plan for it the next Sunday or something.”
She nods. “How are things going at the ranch? Lorrie called me the other day and we had a nice chat. How’s everything with that boy you weren’t getting along with?”
“Better.”
“That’s good. What’s his name?”
“Griffin. He’s actually . . . a little more interesting than I might have first thought.”
Mom smiles. “In what way?”
“Oh, you know . . .” I shrug. “There’s just some things about him that I didn’t realize at first, I guess.”
“That’s great, honey. I’m happy to hear that. I’m glad you guys were able to figure things out.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say, even though, really, I haven’t got anything figured out yet.
Chapter 15: Griffin
Some of the campers and I are playing a raucous game of disc golf when I see Jill walking over. She’s wearing her usual four-inch inseam cutoff jeans and work boots and a Sea Horse Ranch t-shirt that’s on the flimsy side, which is a good look for her.
“We’re going to be
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