Chapter 81 Jackson
Jackson
A warm gust rakes over the lake, ruffling the glassy-still surface of the water, combing through Jackson’s hair.
He’s back in Longview, sitting on the deck at the Boat House, taking his first sip of the night from a banana daiquiri. If he squints, he can pretend he’s really in Cancun, overlooking the ocean as the sun faints over the horizon, tinting the sky with bands of lavender, nectarine.
He’s waiting on Charleigh, of course, who is always late, but he’s okay with her tardiness tonight. He needs to have some liquor running through his veins before he tells her all that he’s got to say.
About Ethan. About Alexander and Abigail.
The daiquiri tastes like dessert, and before he knows it, he’s already sucked down half of it through the long red straw.
Thankfully, the Boat House is nearly empty tonight. Garth Brooks is playing at the Oil Palace over in Tyler, so everyone must be at the concert because only a few tables are occupied on the large deck, giving Jackson and Charleigh plenty of much-needed privacy.
He’s slurping the dregs of his cocktail when he sees her—tanned skin radiant against a canary-yellow sundress—teetering in high-heeled sandals from the parking lot down to the dock.
“Well, heeeey, stranger!” she yells, waving her hand, her cream-colored Gucci dangling from her thin arm.
He rises to hug her, and as they embrace, a knot forms in his throat, just thinking about how he’s about to dash her whole sunny mood, shatter her very existence.
“We sticking to daiquiris or moving to margaritas?” She sits, flips over the laminated menu, scrutinizes it.
“Lady’s choice!”
“’Ritas, then. I need tequila, and lots of it.” She sinks a tortilla chip into the salsa bowl, dredges it. Between bites, she talks at a fast clip. “So I’m gonna need to hear what this mysterious trip to Dallas was all about! But first, whew, boy, do I have some tales to tell of my own!”
Of course you do, Jackson thinks. And, of course, you need to go first. He’s anxious to get everything off his chest, finally, but also cognizant of the fact that it will perhaps land better after a pitcher of drinks.
“First things first,” Charleigh says, whisking her straw around in her drink before taking a long pull, “Blair woke up again. And get this”—she sucks the top of her drink down in one snort—“this time when she woke up, she was able to point to the letter j, to let the cops know that was the first letter of the person’s name who might’ve done this to her! ”
Jackson takes a long pull himself, the tartness of the drink making his mouth pucker. “What does that even mean?”
Charleigh leans in, a mischievous grin spread across her face.
“Well for one thing, it takes the heat off Nellie. Blair didn’t point to the letter n.
So”—she shakes her head, sucks more margarita down—“I’m thinking it might be that Jane girl, or maybe it was all just a mishap.
A freak thing! Sometimes I’m so on guard for Nellie doing something horrible, but this time, it truly seems like I’m being paranoid. ”
Paranoid or possibly right on target, Jackson thinks.
“Well, that’s good!” he offers. He’s still not convinced Nellie wasn’t somehow involved, but he’s relieved that Charleigh can move on from that topic for the meantime. “I mean, obviously. And obviously it’s good news that Blair is coming to.”
“Yes, totally!” Charleigh says. “I mean, of course, that’s the most important thing. Poor Monica—”
“I can’t imagine.”
Charleigh lifts the pitcher, refills their glasses with the pastel lime-colored slush.
“And it gets better!” Charleigh shimmies in her chair.
“So, I know I told you about Luke and Nellie and their little date. But what I didn’t get to tell you—because you abandoned me—is that Ethan’s drawing up plans to make a piece for the den!
When they came over the other day, I told him I’d have to run it by you first, so he’s drawing up a spec—”
“Well, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Okay, in just a sec. But anyway, it’s so great! I mean, it’s not like we need another piece of goddamn furniture, but this way, Luke can be in the house even more. Around Nellie. I’ll make sure of it. So—”
“I’m not sure you’re gonna want to go through with that once you hear what I have to say.” Jackson stares at Charleigh, whose pewter-blue eyes crinkle in confusion. But it’s now or never.
“What are you talking about?”
He’s just about to tell her when the server appears. “Having anything to eat?”
“Yeah, we always split the chicken fajita nachos. Sound good to you?” Charleigh asks Jackson.
“Yes, extra sour cream, please!”
He takes a fortifying pull off the ’rita, continues. “Well, this is a lot, so…”
“Out with it.”
“Ethan’s the reason I went to Dallas. And I found out some not-so-great things about him.”
Her eyes darken with confusion even more. She stabs her drink over and over with her straw. “I don’t understand.”
“Okay, whew, hear me out.” Jackson’s heart is ticking in his chest like a time bomb.
“I hit the gay bars there, like always, but I found out that Ethan Swift is a swindler. And that Ethan is not even his real name. His real name is Charles.” Jackson sighs, then immediately chases that sigh with a deep inhale.
The sky throbs a gorgeous saffron as the sun finally vanishes; Jackson gazes out over the water, wishing he could dive in, swim away from this very fucked-up but necessary conversation.
“Whoa.” Charleigh dots margarita off her lips with her linen napkin. “Told you. I always knew something was off about that family.”
“Yep, you were right, unfortunately.”
She eyes him over her giant goblet. “But tell me the rest. What do you mean, Ethan was the reason for your trip?”
Jackson inhales forcefully, again, readies himself to spill it all.