It’s me,” I said. “Jordan?
Jack stood, his face framed by the screen in the wooden door, his eyes squinting out into the bright afternoon sun, taking me in as I waited on the steps.
His raven black hair was still even darker than mine; that type of black that almost seemed to be tinted with blue or purple.
Dark eyes peered out from his hooded brow as he looked me over.
He knew who I was, so that wasn’t the problem.
It’s not that I had known Jack enough, or been around him enough to read him, but I felt as though he couldn’t believe how much bigger I was since the last time he had seen me.
Slowly, Jack reached over and unlatched the screen, then he pushed it gently outwards, giving me a chance to turn my body in just the right way to avoid being hit by it.
I grabbed the edge of the screen and held it open and stared up at the man.
He was almost as tall as the doorframe; his hair nearly brushed against the top of the frame.
Gruffly, he crossed his arms over his chest and moved to lean against the doorjamb as he looked down at me.
I thought Mom had called him?
The smell of something cooking on the stove inside wafted outside, around Jack’s lithe body—something like chili maybe?
Always a great meal for summertime in Texas.
Regardless of the heat and the meal Jack had chosen, my stomach grumbled at me.
I would have been willing to eat anything Jack offered from his pantry or fridge.
I’d had nothing to prepare me for the day and I was starving. And I was so thirsty.
“It’s me,” I said. “Jordan?”
Jack just stared down at me for a moment. Then he gave what looked like a salute.
“Hi,” I said. “Mom said she called you. Uh, she said she told you I was coming to stay? I mean, if that’s okay. Well, I mean, I really can’t walk back to the car. She left me out on the highway. I walked down Two-Mile Trail to get here?”
The corner of Jack’s mouth turned up slightly. He was amused. Did he find it funny that I had walked through town to get to his house—or was he amused thinking about what a jerk my mom was and always had been?
“She’s on her way to Vegas,” I explained, my finger digging into the screen door as I stood there. “I mean, I can call her on her cell if you don’t want me here or something. But it might take her a while to get back here.”
Jack stared.
“If she is even willing to come back.”
Jack was smirking again.
“So,” I said, “is it okay if I, uh, stay here or whatever? Mom said it was cool, but I can tell you might not have known I was coming. I can figure something out I guess if—”
Jack’s hands started to move. I watched for a moment.
“My sign language skills are pretty rusty, Jack.” I stopped him. “Can you…nod or something?
Jack rolled his eyes, then disappeared from the doorway.
Since he hadn’t waved me in or indicated that I should follow him, I kept vigil on the steps, waiting for his return.
As suspected, Jack appeared in the door moments later, a small notepad and pen in hand.
I waited, holding onto the edge of the screen door as he clicked the pen and began to scribble.
A few seconds later, he looked up at me and turned the notepad so I could see it.
In block letters, it said:
Margie just dumped you off on the highway?
I snorted. “Yeah. She goes by Marlena now. More exotic, I guess?”
Jack smirked and started scribbling again.
She didn’t even drive you into town to make sure you got here safe?
I sighed and looked up at him. There was no point in answering. I just shrugged.
Again, more writing. Then the notepad was turned for me to read again.
Margie didn’t call. You can stay.
I nodded. “Okay.”
Before I could turn around to grab my bags, Jack was writing once again.
Your room is the same. Upstairs. You’ve gotten bigger.
He gave me a tight smile when I looked up from the notepad.
“I guess I’ve eaten a lot.”
Jack wrote one more note.
Need help with your bags?
“Nah,” I said once I’d read the block letters. “I dragged them all the way from the highway and into town. I can carry them up a few flights of stairs. Is there food?”
Jack didn’t lift his notepad or write anything.
He waited for me to grab my bags and turn to the stairs again, then he gave me a nod.
He motioned to the top of the house and my bags, then gestured that I should come back downstairs.
Apparently, once I got my bags up to my old room—and by “old,” I mean a room I didn’t even really remember ever sleeping in—Jack meant for me to come downstairs for lunch.
As I ascended the steps into the house, Jack stepped to the side and reached out to hold the screen open for me.
I squeezed past him into the cool darkness of the house.
Air conditioning immediately hit my sweat dappled skin and I felt cooler immediately, as though icicles were prickling along all of my exposed skin.
Jack closed the screen and latched it, then the door, while I waited just inside the house in the dark living room.
“Keep most of the lights off to save electricity?” I was only teasing a little.
Jack turned away from the door to give me a shrug. The kitchen light was on—obviously so he could see well enough to make lunch—and a single lamp was lit on an end table at the end of the sofa in the living room.
Jack’s house wasn’t extravagant, but it had a middle-American charm to it.
Plain tile in the kitchen to the left, tan carpet in the living room.
Plaid couch, recliner, flatscreen T.V. that was probably a little too big for the room.
Unassuming and functional drapes to block out the hot Texas summer sun.
A kitchen table that looked like it had been bought from a diner that was going out of business—with chairs to match.
Dark woods that would have looked better in a different decade.
The house was three stories altogether, from what I could remember.
First story—the one we were on—was the living room, kitchen, half-bath, and screened in porch off of the back of the house.
The second story was two bedrooms and a full bathroom.
Then there was the third floor—where my old bedroom was, nestled into what was almost an attic, with an attached three-quarter bathroom.
Toilet, pedestal sink, cubicle shower. Just enough for a teenage guy to get by.
Everything was impeccably clean, though, which said a lot for a virtually single man living on his own in a rural town like Possibly.
Jack was dressed and groomed well, his house looked clean enough to eat off of the floor, and he had air conditioning.
The guy seemed to have his life together for the most part.
From the smell coming from the kitchen off to the left, it seemed he knew how to cook well enough to get by as well.
Maybe staying with him for a while wouldn’t be so bad?
Jack reached out and tapped me on the shoulder. I had been too busy looking around, refamiliarizing myself with the house to even remember he was there. He gestured upwards when I turned to look at him, repeating his instructions to put my bags up before lunch.
“All right,” I said. “Uh, third floor, right?”
Jack nodded.
“Okay,” I replied. “I’ll be right back. Uh, the food smells good.”
Another nod from Jack and then he was heading into the kitchen.
I made my way to the stairs at the back of the living room, and headed upstairs, my two suitcases bouncing on the stairs behind me with each step up.
I could hear Jack banging around in the kitchen when I got to the second floor.
Though I wasn’t sure where the memory came from, I felt that the second-floor hallway smelled the same as I remembered.
Something like Pine Sol and…wood? I stood at the landing to the second floor for a moment, breathing deeply and looking around.
At the end of the hall was where my mom’s and Jack’s bedroom was.
The bathroom was just outside of the door and to the right.
Carpet lined the hallway and it looked to have been vacuumed recently.
Curtains had been drawn in the second floor as well to help keep out some of the heat so that the air conditioner would be more efficient.
Though it wasn’t quite as cool on the second floor of the house, it was still much nicer than it had been outside.
My sweat was already drying up and I felt a lot less lightheaded as I looked around the house.
As I ascended the stairs up to the third floor, I could immediately tell that I wouldn’t want to spend time in my room during hot days if I could avoid it.
Though it wasn’t oppressive, it was still much warmer on the top floor than it had been on the first and second stories of the house.
When I pushed through the door at the top of the stairs, I realized that Jack had not come into the bedroom to close the drapes in the room.
I let my bags stand by the door and stripped off my backpack, letting it rest atop the suitcases.
Across the room from the door was a double bed, nestled perfectly in an alcove—the wall on either side making the headboard and footboard of the bed—with a dormer window above it.
Summer light was pouring through the glass, turning the room into a greenhouse.
I found the light switch by the door and flipped it on, then went over and quickly pulled the drapes shut across the window.
I had to crawl up onto the bed and perch on my knees to reach the drapes, but I finally got them shut, effectively blocking out the sun.
Even with the overhead light on in the room—all bare board walls and wooden rafters with wooden slat floorboards—the room was dark without the natural light.