21. Adair
21
ADAIR
I t’s been a week since the incident with Jack and the field trip, and he hasn’t said anything about it since. But I’d bet money he’s been thinking about it. It’s definitely on my mind when he asks if I can help him move some stuff around in his workshop over the weekend.
When I first step inside, I look around, curious to see if this small, private space reveals any more clues about who Jack is. He comes in behind me and flips on a light switch next to the door that I hadn’t noticed. “Yeah, I ran electricity out here,” he says in response to my noise of surprise.
There’s one window, just above the workbench, that looks back across the yard to the house. About half of the bare wood walls are lined with insulation between the studs. He sees me looking around and makes a face. “It’s kind of under construction right now.”
It’s tidy, though, with all sorts of hand tools on hooks mounted on one wall, and a big shelving unit holding stains, varnishes and other flammable-smelling stuff on the opposite wall. I walk around a built-in ladder that leads up to a loft. “Can you even stand up there?” I ask.
He shakes his head. “No. It’s just for storage.”
“Uh-huh.” I take a deep breath and jump in. “Have you thought much more about the situation with your sister?”
I’m expecting the scowl he gives me in response, but not the vehemence of his reply. “That’s a stupid question,” he says gruffly. “There isn’t a situation . Whether or not Sarah has a kid doesn’t make a damn bit of difference in my life.”
I shrug. “I meant if you’d thought about trying to reach out to her. Tell her you met the girl —”
“Brat,” he interjects. A thought flits through my head, and even though I know it’s a bad idea, I can’t help myself.
“Right. So you just message her, tell her you met this brat and assumed you all had to be related,” I say with a smile.
Jack sets down the cordless drill he’s holding so deliberately and carefully that I tense. “This is none of your damn business.” His voice is icy. For something he ostensibly doesn’t care about, making it off-limits for sarcasm is telling. But I’m not going to point that out right now.
I stay silent as he continues. “I didn’t tell you about this so you could fucking hound me about it. You don’t have the slightest idea what you’re talking about.”
I know I had it coming, but it still stings. “Look, I’m not pushing for a freaking kumbaya reunion. I just —you seemed kind of…” I pause, not sure what word I want, “rattled, maybe, when you found out. I thought it might still be on your mind.”
“It’s not on my mind and I wasn’t fucking rattled .”
I shrug. “I just wondered if you were thinking about trying to reestablish contact.”
“All I’m thinking right now is that I’m getting sick of listening to your voice,” he snarls.
Even by Jack’s usual surly standards, the hostility in his words and demeanor takes me aback. I gape at him for a second, but when his expression doesn’t change, I backpedal. “OK, sorry. Sorry ,” I mutter. “I’ll mind my own business.”
He glowers at me without saying anything else. I break eye contact and look around. Desperate to change the subject, I pick up a birch twig at the back of the workbench.
“Was this from one of the trees you used to make the bookshelf?” I spin it in my hand and look up at Jack, giving him what I hope is an affectionate look.
“Put it down,” he snaps. “I didn’t bring you here so you could go pawing through my shit.”
I really, really want to point out that picking up a stupid twig is hardly disrupting or disrespecting his stuff, but I can tell I’m not going to get through to him. I put the twig down as I huff out a sigh and roll my eyes at him.
“Uh, so where do you want me to put these?” I ask, pointing to the boxes he’d ask me to move.
“Never mind.” He glares at me. “Don’t need your bratty attitude. I’ll take care of it myself.” He stalks to the door and yanks it open. “Go — get the hell out of here.”
I walk back with my shoulders slumped and my hands in my pockets.
And then decide to take matters into my own hands.