got the feeling she didn’t want him wandering there.
“I don’t know. My mom still hasn’t forgiven him for something. I think she’s trying to work herself up to being able to face him again.”
“Jamison, you have to push her. There may not be time for her to come around on her own.”
He’d been worrying the same thing.
“You have to get her to read the letter.” Skye squeezed his hands, but he doubted she realized it.
“What letter?”
The bell rang. An effeminate teacher walked toward them and cleared his throat like an old librarian subtly telling them to shut the hell up and get to class.
“I’ve got to go. You’ll know the letter when you see it. Just find the letter.” Skye ran off in the opposite direction of his next class.
He hurried to Ballroom Dance, wishing she were in his class so he could hold onto her and get credit for it. They dared to call it an Elective, but in order to call it that, they should let you elect who you had to dance with.
He’d spend as much time with Granddad as he could, then he’d tear the house apart for the letter. And he’d have to do it before it got buried under all that stuff the movers would be unloading that evening.
Crap. He had no room in his schedule for school that day, but he had no choice. If he went to the Recovery Center, Granddad would call him on the carpet for missing school. If he mooched a ride home in the middle of the day, the school would call his mom. It wasn’t like the city; there were so few students in Flat Springs they were easy to keep track of.
And what was it he’d lost track of again? Was it because Skye had gotten away that he once again felt as if he were forgetting something? Had to be. She was gone and the feeling was right back where it started, making him feel like an idiot, like he’d walked into a room looking for something but had forgotten what it was.
Maybe Skye wasn’t the thing he’d lost. Maybe she just made him forget everything when she was around. One thing was certain, though—it was going to drive him crazy until he remembered.
***
Skye’s visit to Kenneth was short. She tried to build his spirits by talking about his grandson, but his side of the conversation lacked his usual attention.
He was worried about the test.
She quit torturing him with her questions and chatter and helped him find something amusing on TV, but as soon as she walked out the door, she heard him turn it off.
Jamison pulled up in his mother’s car as she was walking out. Watching him unfold himself from the driver’s seat was riveting, he moved so smoothly for a tall boy.
“How is he?” Jamison rubbed his hands together then stuck them under his arms.
“Distracted. You know, you might want to give him a few minutes before you go in. He wanted a little peace, I think.”
Jamison looked at the doors, then back at her.
“Should I not go in?”
“Oh, no. I think you should go in, but just give him a minute.”
“Okay.”
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
“It’s cooling off. Come sit in my car.”
“’Kay.”
She turned on the engine and heater. Jamison always looked cold; his shoulders were often pulled up close to his ears, his hands buried under his arms or in his pockets, as if Colorado were more like Alaska when compared to Texas.
He also looked tired.
She knew he hadn’t had much sleep. His bedroom window had been lit up so late she thought he might have fallen asleep with the lights on, or else kept them on out of fear. Just as she’d begun to feel guilty over that, his light had gone off. She’d stopped worrying about him, at least until English, when she was afraid Lucas had tampered with too much of his memory. He said he’d only taken the memories of the ceremony, and all contact Jamison had had with Ray and Burke since he’d returned to Flat Springs. What she’d feared to most was Jamison not remembering her. But so far, so good.
Skye was also aware that Jamison and his mom had
“I don’t know. My mom still hasn’t forgiven him for something. I think she’s trying to work herself up to being able to face him again.”
“Jamison, you have to push her. There may not be time for her to come around on her own.”
He’d been worrying the same thing.
“You have to get her to read the letter.” Skye squeezed his hands, but he doubted she realized it.
“What letter?”
The bell rang. An effeminate teacher walked toward them and cleared his throat like an old librarian subtly telling them to shut the hell up and get to class.
“I’ve got to go. You’ll know the letter when you see it. Just find the letter.” Skye ran off in the opposite direction of his next class.
He hurried to Ballroom Dance, wishing she were in his class so he could hold onto her and get credit for it. They dared to call it an Elective, but in order to call it that, they should let you elect who you had to dance with.
He’d spend as much time with Granddad as he could, then he’d tear the house apart for the letter. And he’d have to do it before it got buried under all that stuff the movers would be unloading that evening.
Crap. He had no room in his schedule for school that day, but he had no choice. If he went to the Recovery Center, Granddad would call him on the carpet for missing school. If he mooched a ride home in the middle of the day, the school would call his mom. It wasn’t like the city; there were so few students in Flat Springs they were easy to keep track of.
And what was it he’d lost track of again? Was it because Skye had gotten away that he once again felt as if he were forgetting something? Had to be. She was gone and the feeling was right back where it started, making him feel like an idiot, like he’d walked into a room looking for something but had forgotten what it was.
Maybe Skye wasn’t the thing he’d lost. Maybe she just made him forget everything when she was around. One thing was certain, though—it was going to drive him crazy until he remembered.
***
Skye’s visit to Kenneth was short. She tried to build his spirits by talking about his grandson, but his side of the conversation lacked his usual attention.
He was worried about the test.
She quit torturing him with her questions and chatter and helped him find something amusing on TV, but as soon as she walked out the door, she heard him turn it off.
Jamison pulled up in his mother’s car as she was walking out. Watching him unfold himself from the driver’s seat was riveting, he moved so smoothly for a tall boy.
“How is he?” Jamison rubbed his hands together then stuck them under his arms.
“Distracted. You know, you might want to give him a few minutes before you go in. He wanted a little peace, I think.”
Jamison looked at the doors, then back at her.
“Should I not go in?”
“Oh, no. I think you should go in, but just give him a minute.”
“Okay.”
“Are you all right?”
“Fine.”
“It’s cooling off. Come sit in my car.”
“’Kay.”
She turned on the engine and heater. Jamison always looked cold; his shoulders were often pulled up close to his ears, his hands buried under his arms or in his pockets, as if Colorado were more like Alaska when compared to Texas.
He also looked tired.
She knew he hadn’t had much sleep. His bedroom window had been lit up so late she thought he might have fallen asleep with the lights on, or else kept them on out of fear. Just as she’d begun to feel guilty over that, his light had gone off. She’d stopped worrying about him, at least until English, when she was afraid Lucas had tampered with too much of his memory. He said he’d only taken the memories of the ceremony, and all contact Jamison had had with Ray and Burke since he’d returned to Flat Springs. What she’d feared to most was Jamison not remembering her. But so far, so good.
Skye was also aware that Jamison and his mom had
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