Chapter 11 Jamie
Jamie
The wine aisle at Harris Teeter was too bright.
Sam had wandered off to find chips, and I was scanning labels, trying to remember if Megan preferred red or white. We were due at their place in an hour. The meeting notes were in my bag, three days of research organized into something that almost looked like a plan.
"Jamie Donovan."
That voice.
I used to get giddy when I heard it. Sixteen years old, heart racing, feeling special because the most popular boy in school knew my name. Now it sounded like nails on a chalkboard, and I wanted to wrap my hands around the throat it came from and squeeze until it stopped.
I turned and saw the devil himself. Bryce Montgomery.
He looked exactly like the posters he'd plastered all over Havensworth. That same polished smile, those same blue eyes, that same face I'd been tempted to draw on with a Sharpie more than once. I hadn't done it. I didn't want to be cited for vandalism.
"I thought that was you." He stepped closer with that easy warmth, like we were old friends who'd lost touch instead of what we actually were. "I was sorry to hear about Jack. He was a good man."
What do you know about Jack?
"Thank you," I said instead. I turned back to the wine and hoped he'd leave me alone before I gave in to the urge to knock his artificially whitened teeth out of his mouth.
He didn't leave.
"I've been following your career, you know. I read the profile series and that piece you wrote on workplace safety legislation."
The thought of Bryce Montgomery reading my work made my skin crawl. I didn't want his attention. I didn't want him knowing anything about my life.
"You've done well for yourself. We all knew you would. You were always the smartest one in the room."
I reached for a bottle because I needed something to hold.
"I'm running for Solicitor," he said casually, like it had just occurred to him to mention it. "The campaign was announced last month. It's been a lot, but it feels right. Giving back to Havensworth, you know?"
I didn't respond.
"I'd love to get coffee sometime. Catch up properly.
" He paused. "I know things were… complicated back then.
High school. We were kids." He shrugged as if "complicated" was enough to describe what he'd done and "we were kids" was enough of an explanation for his behavior.
"But people grow up. I've grown up. I think you'd be impressed. "
I set the bottle in my cart and met his eyes for the first time.
"I'm not interested in catching up, Bryce."
His smile didn't falter.
"Fair enough." He raised his hands, gracious in defeat. "But if you change your mind." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a card, holding it out to me. "My door's always open."
I didn't take it.
Bryce set it on the edge of my cart anyway, still smiling.
"It really is good to see you, Jamie. I mean that."
He touched my arm like he had every right.
It made me flinch, and for a second, I saw Bryce’s eyes narrow slightly.
"Sorry that took so long, Babe.” A hand landed on my shoulder. I breathed for the first time since Bryce said my name. Sam's voice was easy and warm. “They moved the salsa again."
Bryce's expression shifted. "Sam Reeves." He broke into a grin. "I didn't realize you two were together. Weren't you just with Amber a few weeks ago?"
"We broke up."
Bryce's grin widened. "Damn, Reeves. That was fast." He laughed like he was paying Sam a compliment. "Never pegged you for a player. But hey, good for you, man. Good for you."
He stepped back. "I'll let you get back to your shopping." His eyes found mine again and held a beat too long. "Jamie. Think about that coffee."
I watched him go. My hands were steady now, but my chest was tight.
"You didn't have to do that."
"Yeah, I did." Sam was still watching Bryce's back until he disappeared into another aisle. "Guys like that don't understand 'no.' But they do understand 'taken.'" He turned to me. "And Mark's not here."
Babe. He'd called me–
“Babe?”
“I mean it worked, didn’t it?” He shrugged.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head, but I couldn't help the smile that tugged at my mouth.
"Haven't seen you roll your eyes at me in a while," Sam said. "I'll count that as a win."
"Shut up."
Sam laughed. "So what did he want anyway?"
"Nothing." I picked up the card from my cart. Bryce Montgomery for Solicitor. Accountability. Fiscal Responsibility. "Just catching up."
Sam didn't push, but I could feel him watching me.
We paid and walked to his truck. I dropped the card in the trash can by the exit.
Neither of us mentioned Bryce, but Sam kept glancing at me on the drive to Megan and Danny's.
The meeting lasted two hours.
Three days had passed since Sam showed up on my doorstep and said he was in.
Since then, I'd been in journalist mode, pulling everything I could find through public records; staffing numbers, incident reports, response times, mutual aid requests.
Sam filled in what the documents couldn't show me—how decisions actually got made, what the culture was like on the ground, where the pressure points were.
Getting Megan involved had been easy. Danny had been harder to convince. He didn't want to make waves. But Megan was involved, which meant he didn't have a choice and Danny knew better than to fight it.
We spread my research across their kitchen table and compared Havensworth's practices to national standards. The gaps were damning. We talked about what reform might look like and how to get the fire department to listen.
By the time we wrapped up, I understood something I hadn't fully grasped before. This wasn't a few days of work. This was weeks. Maybe months.
My mind went to Mark, who was waiting for me in New York. He was patient, but not infinitely so.
"So we're all set?" Megan's voice pulled me back to the kitchen table. "You'll make your edits and then we show the draft to Captain Sutton?"
"That's the plan." I started gathering the papers I'd spread across the table and shoved them back into my bag.
Megan looked at Danny, who seemed like he wanted to be anywhere else. She nudged him with her elbow.
"Yeah." He cleared his throat. "Sounds good."
"Thank you both for doing this," I said. "I know it's a lot to ask."
"It's not a lot," Megan said firmly. "It's necessary."
Danny didn't argue with that. He just nodded once and started clearing the coffee cups from the table.
"I need to pick up Rosie from school," I said, slinging my bag over my shoulder. "So I should head out."
"Of course." Megan walked us to the door. "Let us know if you need help with anything else."
"I will. Thanks, Megan." I hugged her, and she held on a beat longer than usual.
Sam insisted on driving me to Rosie's preschool.
"Where's Loretta today?" he asked as we turned onto Meeting Street.
"She's been busy getting ready for her trip. Her daughter is due in a few weeks, so she wants to be there when the baby comes." I watched the storefronts slide past the window. "She's been stepping back lately. I think she's trying to prepare me to do this on my own."
Sam nodded. "How's the rest of it going? The guardianship stuff, the probate?"
"Slowly. There's a lot of paperwork. The lawyer says everything should be finalized in the next few weeks, but every time I think I'm done signing things, another stack appears."
"Can I help with anything?"
I glanced at him. "You're already helping. With the reform stuff."
"I mean with Rosie." He kept his eyes on the road. "I promised Jack I'd look out for her. For both of you."
Something about the way he said it, so formal and earnest, made me laugh.
Sam shot me a look. "What?"
"Nothing. It's just very, you." I shook my head, still smiling. "Making a solemn vow to a dying man and then following through like a knight in a fairy tale."
"I'm serious, Jamie."
"I know you are." The smile faded, but the warmth stayed. "Thank you, Sam. I mean it."
He nodded once, and we drove the rest of the way in comfortable silence.
Sam pulled into the parking lot at Rosie's preschool and cut the engine.
"I can wait here," he said.
I nodded and climbed out of the truck.
The classroom smelled like finger paint and graham crackers. Rosie's teacher spotted me in the doorway and walked over with that sympathetic look I'd gotten used to receiving.
"She's doing well," Mrs. Hartley said quietly. "A little quieter than usual, but she's adjusting. Kids are resilient."
"Thank you for keeping an eye on her."
"Of course." She squeezed my arm. "She's a sweet girl."
Then Rosie saw me.
Her whole face lit up, and she abandoned the block tower she'd been building to run across the room. "Auntie Jamie!"
I crouched down and caught her in a hug, breathing in the smell of her hair, the solidness of her small body against mine.
"Hey, sweetheart. Did you have a good day?"
She launched into a breathless account of everything that had happened since I'd dropped her off that morning. A boy named Chase had stolen her crayon but then gave it back. They had goldfish crackers at snack time. She made a picture for me.
I listened and nodded in all the right places, but my eyes drifted around the room. The cubby with Rosie's name written in bright letters. The artwork taped to the walls. The other kids packing up their backpacks, the other parents signing them out. This was a world Rosie belonged to.
She had a routine here. Teachers who knew her name. Friends who fought with her over crayons and then made up before snack time. This was her life, the only life she'd ever known.
Could Rosie adjust in New York?
The question sat heavy in my chest. I didn't have an answer. But asking it changed something.
"Ready to go home?" I asked.
Rosie nodded and slipped her hand into mine. We walked back to Sam's truck together.
I asked Sam to stay for dinner.
We made spaghetti because Rosie requested it. Sam boiled the noodles while I heated the sauce and Rosie supervised from her perch on a kitchen stool, offering commentary on everything we did wrong.
"You're stirring too fast," she informed Sam.
"Am I?" He slowed down to an exaggerated crawl. "How's this?"
"Too slow."
"You're a tough critic, Rosie Donovan."
She giggled and kicked her feet against the stool legs. Sam handed her a carrot stick to keep her busy, and she accepted it with the gravity of someone being given an important task.
I watched them from across the kitchen. Sam was patient with her in a way that seemed effortless. He got down to her level when he talked to her. He listened to her rambling stories like they mattered. He didn't talk over her or rush her along.
Loretta's question surfaced in my mind, unbidden: Would Mark be a good father to Rosie?
I pushed it away and turned back to the sauce.
After dinner, Rosie insisted on showing Sam the picture she'd made at school. It was a dog with enormous floppy ears and a tongue hanging out of its mouth.
"That's a dog," she said, in case there was any confusion.
"I can see that." Sam crouched down to examine it seriously. "What's his name?"
"Biscuit."
"Biscuit." He nodded like this was the most important information he'd received all day. "He looks like a very good boy."
Rosie beamed and carried the picture to the refrigerator, where she stuck it under a magnet next to a photo of Jack in his uniform.
I started washing the dishes just to have something to do with my hands.
Sam appeared beside me, grabbing a towel to dry.
"Won't Amber be looking for you?" I asked without thinking.
"We broke up."
I glanced at him. "I thought you just said that to get Bryce to back off."
"No." He took a plate from my hands and dried it slowly. "That was real."
"Oh." I handed him another plate. "I'm sorry, Sam."
"Don't be." He set the plate down and reached for another. "She wanted me to stop firefighting. I told her I didn't want to, and she couldn't accept it. I can't be with someone like that."
"Right."
The kitchen was quiet except for the clink of dishes and the sound of Rosie talking to herself in the living room. Sam was close enough that his shoulder brushed mine when he reached for the next dish.
I was aware of him in a way I hadn't let myself be before. Or maybe I had been, and I was just letting myself feel it now.
I looked away and focused on scrubbing a pot that was already clean.