Jax, you have enough there for me to live comfortably for a good six months. Put it in a coffee can or somethin’.”
“Jaim—”
“And just why is the clock facing the wall? You can’t read the time if you can’t see the face. Did that blow to the head knock a screw loose?”
Jaime’s form took on that eerie stillness he always got before he lost his temper. Jax had never had that look pointed at him and couldn’t afford another blow to the head. Not now—possibly not ever.
Jax held up his hands in surrender. “I can’t read the time, okay?”
Jaime stopped. “So turn it around.”
Jax tore off his gloves and scrubbed his cold hands over his face. “You don’t understand. Ever since my accident, numbers don’t mean anything to me. I can’t make sense of them.”
Jaime stepped back and sat hard on the tailgate. “You’re a freakin’ human calculator.”
“Not anymore, I’m not. I seem to have fried that particular memory chip. If you gave me a calculator, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
Jaime gave him a who’s-punking-whom look.
“I mean, I know what it’s for. I just can’t . . .” He pulled off his hat and ran his frozen fingers through his hair, tugging on it as if that would change anything. “I have a stack of cash, but I can’t count it, and even if I could, I wouldn’t know how much anything is worth.” He blewout a breath that didn’t begin to release the frustration he felt during every waking moment. “It’s like that part of my brain just disappeared.”
Jaime rubbed his hands on his thighs and leaned forward. His eyes squinted almost shut, as if he were trying to read two-point type. “No shit?” He rubbed his chin. “So I could have swiped all the big bills, and you wouldn’t have known?”
“Pretty much.” He let out a rusty bark of laughter that sounded strange to his ears. He hadn’t had much to laugh about lately. Shit, his life, even before the accident, was no night at the Laugh Factory. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more than a polite chuckle, unless he counted the time he spent in Red Hook with his sister and her new family. There was a lot of laughter there, even though they were dealing with serious issues. Unlike him, they’d never forgotten how to laugh.
Unfortunately, the loss of laughter wasn’t as noticeable as losing his ability to do anything with numbers, but it had been lost just the same. At least laughter, once rediscovered, no longer evaded him.
A staring contest ensued between him and Jaime. Jax watched the wheels of Jaime’s mind spin as he judged the ramifications with his usual lightning speed. His expression grew more and more serious. He started at shocked, made a quick right into contemplative, and parked in the handicapped spot by the front door of stunned. His eyes widened until he finally blinked and let out a long stream of air, as if he were blowing up an invisible balloon. “Wow, it sucks to be you.”
Jax laughed again. This time it didn’t feel so foreign. “Tell me about it.”
“So, are you stuck this way forever?”
“I don’t know, but, then, no one does.” He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage without the aid of acting lessons. “I’m supposed to go back for another MRI. I have the date written down—not that it means anything to me. I’m hoping they’ll call to confirm the appointment.” He rolled his shoulders, trying to dispel the sudden tightness. He hated even thinking about this stuff. “The doctors tell me the brain heals, forms new connections or something, so it might come back. It might not.”
“And you’re hiding out here because you don’t want anyone to know?”
“I’m not hiding.”
Jaime’s brow rose again, almost hitting his hairline. “The hell you aren’t. You could be staying in the lake house—a freakin’ palace compared to this place.”
“It’s too big and too empty.”
“It wouldn’t be empty if you weren’t hiding.
“Jaim—”
“And just why is the clock facing the wall? You can’t read the time if you can’t see the face. Did that blow to the head knock a screw loose?”
Jaime’s form took on that eerie stillness he always got before he lost his temper. Jax had never had that look pointed at him and couldn’t afford another blow to the head. Not now—possibly not ever.
Jax held up his hands in surrender. “I can’t read the time, okay?”
Jaime stopped. “So turn it around.”
Jax tore off his gloves and scrubbed his cold hands over his face. “You don’t understand. Ever since my accident, numbers don’t mean anything to me. I can’t make sense of them.”
Jaime stepped back and sat hard on the tailgate. “You’re a freakin’ human calculator.”
“Not anymore, I’m not. I seem to have fried that particular memory chip. If you gave me a calculator, I wouldn’t know what to do with it.”
Jaime gave him a who’s-punking-whom look.
“I mean, I know what it’s for. I just can’t . . .” He pulled off his hat and ran his frozen fingers through his hair, tugging on it as if that would change anything. “I have a stack of cash, but I can’t count it, and even if I could, I wouldn’t know how much anything is worth.” He blewout a breath that didn’t begin to release the frustration he felt during every waking moment. “It’s like that part of my brain just disappeared.”
Jaime rubbed his hands on his thighs and leaned forward. His eyes squinted almost shut, as if he were trying to read two-point type. “No shit?” He rubbed his chin. “So I could have swiped all the big bills, and you wouldn’t have known?”
“Pretty much.” He let out a rusty bark of laughter that sounded strange to his ears. He hadn’t had much to laugh about lately. Shit, his life, even before the accident, was no night at the Laugh Factory. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had more than a polite chuckle, unless he counted the time he spent in Red Hook with his sister and her new family. There was a lot of laughter there, even though they were dealing with serious issues. Unlike him, they’d never forgotten how to laugh.
Unfortunately, the loss of laughter wasn’t as noticeable as losing his ability to do anything with numbers, but it had been lost just the same. At least laughter, once rediscovered, no longer evaded him.
A staring contest ensued between him and Jaime. Jax watched the wheels of Jaime’s mind spin as he judged the ramifications with his usual lightning speed. His expression grew more and more serious. He started at shocked, made a quick right into contemplative, and parked in the handicapped spot by the front door of stunned. His eyes widened until he finally blinked and let out a long stream of air, as if he were blowing up an invisible balloon. “Wow, it sucks to be you.”
Jax laughed again. This time it didn’t feel so foreign. “Tell me about it.”
“So, are you stuck this way forever?”
“I don’t know, but, then, no one does.” He shrugged as nonchalantly as he could manage without the aid of acting lessons. “I’m supposed to go back for another MRI. I have the date written down—not that it means anything to me. I’m hoping they’ll call to confirm the appointment.” He rolled his shoulders, trying to dispel the sudden tightness. He hated even thinking about this stuff. “The doctors tell me the brain heals, forms new connections or something, so it might come back. It might not.”
“And you’re hiding out here because you don’t want anyone to know?”
“I’m not hiding.”
Jaime’s brow rose again, almost hitting his hairline. “The hell you aren’t. You could be staying in the lake house—a freakin’ palace compared to this place.”
“It’s too big and too empty.”
“It wouldn’t be empty if you weren’t hiding.
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