Chapter 5 Jade
JADE
The doorbell rings at eight in the morning, which is either a mistake or a disaster. No one rings my doorbell at eight in the morning unless something is wrong.
I'm still in my pajamas, hair piled on top of my head, halfway through my first cup of coffee. The apartment is a mess because I've been too busy working to clean, and I briefly consider pretending I'm not home.
But the delivery person rings again, insistent.
I open the door to find a courier holding a thick envelope. He has me sign for it, then disappears back down the stairs before I can ask any questions.
The envelope is heavy, expensive paper, addressed to me in the same careful handwriting as the note that came with the check.
My hands shake as I close the door and lean against it. This is it. Whatever P.C. wants, it's in this envelope.
I should call Chloe. I should wait until I'm more awake, more prepared. I should do a lot of things.
Instead, I tear it open.
A letter falls out, handwritten on thick cream paper. With it, something else that makes my breath catch.
It’s a first class plane ticket from Boston to Los Angeles for three days from now.
I set the ticket aside and unfold the letter.
Jade,
You cashed the check. Smart. I would have done the same.
Now you're wondering: who am I? What do I want? What's the catch?
There's no catch. The money is yours. No strings. No debt.
But I do have a request:
Meet me. One week. Malibu, California.
First-class ticket to LAX is attached. Car service will meet you at the airport and bring you to my home. You can leave anytime. But I hope you'll stay.
I've waited years to see you again.
Yours,
P.C.
I read it three times.
My childhood is mostly a blur of my mother working long shifts, of being shuffled between after-school programs and neighbors who watched me for extra cash.
There are gaps, though. Pieces I can't quite access. Like trying to remember a dream that fades the moment you wake up.
How do I know this person? How do they know me? My mind is blank.
I sit down on my bed because my legs won't hold me, staring at a plane ticket to California. This is insane. This is how people end up on the news, their photos splashed across headlines about women who made bad decisions and paid the price.
But the money is real. It’s already deposited and I already used it to clear the hospital bills and my student loans. I checked this morning, watched the balances drop to zero with a mixture of relief and terror.
What kind of person gives away almost four hundred thousand dollars? And what kind of person accepts it?
Me, apparently.
My laptop is still open on my makeshift desk. The blog post I wrote last night is already up, already confessing what I did. I have sixteen followers, most of them other struggling writers who occasionally comment with heart emojis. No one has responded yet.
I open a new post and start typing.
What would you do if a stranger sent you a plane ticket?
Would you go?
I delete it before I can post. Some confessions are too dangerous to make public.
Instead, I grab my phone and call the hospital. My mother's nurse answers on the third ring.
"Hi, this is Jade Catalano. Is my mother available?"
"She's awake. I'll bring her the phone."
There's rustling, muffled voices, then my mother's voice, weak but familiar.
"Jade?"
"Hi, Mom. How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been hit by a truck. But better than yesterday." She pauses. "The nurse said something strange this morning. Said the billing department called to tell her my account is settled. Paid in full."
My stomach drops. "That's good news, right?"
"Jade." Her voice hardens. "What did you do?"
"I took care of it."
"With what money? You don't have that kind of money."
"I got a loan."
"From who? What bank would give you $180,000?"
"A private lender. It's fine. The interest rate is good."
I'm lying to my mother while she's in a hospital bed. The guilt tastes like metal.
"Jade Catalano, you listen to me. I don't care what you had to promise or who you had to ask. You get that money back. You hear me? Don't you dare put yourself in debt for me."
"Too late. It's done."
"Then undo it."
"I can't. And I won't." I take a breath.
"Jade, I'm tired. I need to rest. We'll talk about this loan later. And you're going to tell me the truth about where that money came from."
"I'll visit tomorrow. Get some rest."
I hang up before she can argue. My mother is hiding something. I've always known it, the way you know things about the people who raised you. The way she won't talk about my father, won't talk about her past, won't talk about anything that happened before I was born.
I look at the ticket again. If I go, I'm making a choice. Accepting that the money came with strings after all, even if those strings are just expectations and curiosity and whatever this person wants from me.
If I don't go, I'm choosing safety. Choosing to live with questions that will haunt me forever.
I pick up my phone and text Chloe.
Can you come over? Now?
She responds immediately. On my way.
While I wait, I try to pack. I pull out my suitcase, the one I bought at Goodwill when I moved to grad school. It's scratched and one of the wheels doesn't turn properly, but it's mine.
What do you pack for a week in Malibu with a stranger? What do you wear when you're meeting someone who might be a savior or a predator or something in between?
I throw in jeans, a few shirts, my least-worn dress. Then I sit on my bed and stare at the empty suitcase, my heart racing so fast I can feel it in my throat.
This is real. This is happening. I'm either making the best decision of my life or the worst.
And I won't know which until I get on that plane.