Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
FLETCHER
“Stop fidgeting.”
Jacks scowls at me, and a brief, dizzying moment of vertigo washes through me as I flash back to the many times she gave me that look as kids. Despite the way her features have matured, that look hasn’t changed.
She faces the large glass door, eyes flicking to the doorbell like she wants to ring it again. “I’m not fidgeting.”
She continues to pick away at her nail polish.
“They’re good people,” I say softly. “And they’re excited to meet you. They’re going to love you.”
“They love you ,” she mutters under her breath. “Because you’re all shiny and normal.”
Normal .
It makes sense that she’d see it that way. I was given more of a fair shot at it than she was—whatever normal means anyway. But I wasn’t that much younger than she is now when they took me in. Those first fourteen years don’t automatically get scrubbed clean.
“Oh, so I’m normal now? Guess I’ll take that over weird.”
She snorts, but she’s finally left her nails alone. “You’re still weird.”
Mom takes that moment to appear. Knowing her, she was hanging back and getting a good look at us through the windows first.
She swings the door open and smiles wide, an apron layered over her polka-dot dress. “Hi, honey. You’re just in time. Dinner’s almost ready. And you must be Jacks.”
Jacks freezes, but Mom springs forward anyway and wraps her into a hug. “We’re so happy to meet you. Come in! Come in!” She squeezes Jacks for another moment before opening the door wider, revealing Charlie waiting for her a pace away.
“Oh!” Jacks lets out a surprised gasp, and Charlie lazily rolls his head in her direction, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth.
“That’s Charlie,” I mutter.
“Good boy,” Mom croons as she heads to the kitchen at the back of the house, and Charlie dutifully peels himself off the floor and lumbers after her.
Jacks eyes the pile of slobber left behind with disgust, but follows me wordlessly into the house.
It already smells amazing in here. Mom didn’t tell me what she planned on making, only insisted we join them for dinner the second I told her about Jacks showing up. Something with garlic.
“Where’s Dad?” I ask.
Mom bends down to check whatever’s in the oven. “He’ll be back in a minute. Sent him to pick up something for dessert. Hope you don’t mind store-bought.”
Jacks turns to me with wide eyes. I’m not sure why it makes the tips of my ears burn.
I can count on one hand the number of homemade meals I had before coming here. At the house where Jacks and I met, it was a constant cycle of ramen noodles and whatever microwave dinners were on clearance.
I know Mom’s just trying to make her feel welcome, but now it feels more like bragging.
Look what I got after I got out.
“You really didn’t have to do all this,” I mumble.
“Nonsense! Go ahead and have a seat. Fletcher, will you grab some drinks?”
Jacks hesitantly pulls out a chair at the kitchen table where all the places are already set. She keeps her hands folded tightly in her lap like she’s afraid to touch anything.
“So, Jacks!” calls Mom as I set a few waters on the table. “You and Fletcher lived together for four years, is that right?”
Jacks rubs her palms on her thighs. “Around there, yeah.”
The house vibrates as the garage door groans open. “Oh, it looks like your father’s back. Guess I can take this out now.”
Heat fills the room as she opens the oven and digs out some kind of casserole. My mouth starts watering.
“Is that?—”
“Garlic cheddar chicken, your favorite.”
“I’m back! I’m back!” Dad stumbles in from the door that connects to the garage with at least half a dozen reusable bags hanging from his arms. He kicks the door shut, then stands up straight and levels us with a wide grin. “I brought options. Smells great in here, honey.”
Jacks’s head whips back and forth as she takes it all in like she’s witnessing an exhibit at a zoo.
“Oh, Jacks, it’s nice to meet you!” Dad unloads his haul onto the kitchen island and offers her a hand to shake. “You can call me Dave.”
“Nice to meet you,” she murmurs.
Mom nudges him as she carries the casserole over to the table. “Go wash your hands. Now, how long has it been since you two have seen each other?”
Jacks and I exchange a look, and I can’t help the sudden drop in my stomach.
The heat, and fire blindingly bright against the night sky …
“I think…maybe nine years now?” she offers.
“How wonderful that you managed to track him down.”
My eyes snap to my mom’s face—something about the tone of her voice… But she’s still smiling, pleasant as ever, as she situates the food in the middle of the table and slides into the seat across from me.
Jacks scratches at the back of her neck. “The listings for his camps online made it pretty easy.”
Mom nods along as Dad takes the seat next to her. I might be imagining it, but it feels like she’s avoiding meeting my eyes.
“Thank you,” Jacks adds. “For inviting me to dinner. This looks amazing.”
“Well, dig in!”
“You’ll never guess who I saw at the store,” says Dad as we all load up our plates.
“Who?” asks Mom.
Dad swirls the wine in his glass and spreads his hands wide like he’s presenting something. “Julian Brooks.”
My stomach flips.
“Doing his own shopping?” says Mom, her voice light, but she’s peeking at me out of the corner of her eye now. “How unusual.”
I busy myself cutting the casserole on my plate.
“That’s what I thought! Standing at the self-checkout in a suit that must have cost at least a thousand dollars. A sight to see.”
Jacks shoots me a questioning look.
I clear my throat. “You might have noticed a lot of the businesses around here have the name Brooks on them? He owns them.”
“And he puts his name on all of them? Classy,” she mutters.
I chuckle under my breath.
The dinner passes fairly uneventfully, though Mom can’t seem to stand the silence for more than a few seconds before she jumps in with another question for Jacks—does she play any sports? What kind of TV does she like? How is she liking Sweetspire so far? And on, and on, and on.
When Jacks mentions how much she likes cars, Dad just barely stops himself from leaping up from the table. He turns to me, betrayal in his eyes as if I was purposefully withholding this information. “You didn’t tell me she likes cars.”
I shrug. I didn’t know. I make a mental note to introduce her to Leo. He might be willing to help get her a job, though I don’t know if appreciating cars necessarily translates to wanting to work on them.
My dad waves for her to join him as he all but skips to the garage. “You’re going to love this.”
Mom gives me a small smile and rolls her eyes as Jacks follows him. That piece of junk—or classic, depending on who you ask—has been sitting there since the day I got here nine years ago.
And it’s not any closer to running now than it was back then.
Once the two of them disappear through the door, Mom slides into the seat beside me.
“How are you doing?” she asks.
“I’m sleeping fine, Mom,” I say immediately.
“I don’t just mean that.”
I frown, but when I turn to her, she’s not looking at me. Her gaze is trained on the garage door.
“This is about Jacks?”
Her eyes find mine again, and that worried crease in her forehead doesn’t relent. “I just…I just want you to be careful.”
“Careful? Of what? Do not tell me this is about her aura or something.”
She makes a now that you mention it face, and I scoff.
“But it’s not just that!” she insists. “Something feels…off here, Fletcher. Like, how did she look you up now that you have a different last name? And did you forget that she broke into your house when she first got here?”
Okay, so it sounds kind of bad when she puts it like that. And I know Mom thinks she understands since she’s been a foster parent, but being on the other side of it is something else entirely. In my experience, she was the anomaly. No other placement I had comes close. She’s heard the horror stories, read my file. But nothing replaces experiencing it for yourself, what it does to you. How it changes you.
As far as Jacks breaking in…I mean, I was picking locks myself by the time I was ten. And she hadn’t wanted to wait outside in the dark—especially after she’d just run away from home. She was worried if someone called her in for looking suspicious, they might send her back there, a legal adult now or not.
I force myself to keep my voice low. “You’re practically a professional at taking in strays, but this is where you draw the line?”
“I know you two have a history. But you were children, and that was a long time ago. People change. How much do you really know about her? A lot could’ve happened since you last saw her.”
I shake my head. I can’t believe this. “What I know is I’m not going to turn her away when she needs help.”
“And I’m not saying that you should. I’m just worried about you.”
“I got lucky and got out. She never did. That’s not her fault.”
Mom sighs. “I know you think that’s your responsibility, but?—”
The garage door opens.
I force a smile as I turn. “So what did you think? Piece of junk, right?”
Jacks steps through the door first, her eyes a little wide. “Not at all.” For the first time tonight, she smiles.