Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61867 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 309(@200wpm)___ 247(@250wpm)___ 206(@300wpm)
I’m not even sure I could explain it if someone asked me to, it’s just something I feel. Back when I was fifteen, I would walk over to Jameson’s whenever I had a problem. Whenever I felt crappy, whenever something at my house needed fixing, or whenever I just needed to escape my mom and the constant weight of my life bearing down on me, I would go to him because I knew that he would always have an answer.
He wouldn’t pretend to know how to fix my life or cure my mom or where to get the money my dad had promised me for my college tuition—he knew better than that. No, Jameson had different kinds of answers for me. He had distractions for me. He had things that he and I would do that would take my mind off my problems.
He would take me for a ride on his bike or for a hike up through the woods. Or he’d just let me sit in the old rocking chair out by his garage while he did something mechanical that I didn’t understand, but I’d watch anyway, lost in whatever it was he was doing. Sometimes we wouldn’t even talk. I’d just let my eyes drift across his tools while he worked, knowing that I was protected. That I was safe. That he would look out for me no matter what.
We both understood that without anything ever having to be said.
And now when I look at him, that feeling is there again, only now it’s magnified a hundred times over. Maybe more. It’s like the entire world could come for me now, and Jameson wouldn’t let a scratch get on my skin. I don’t know how I know that—I just do.
“My dad was an arms dealer.”
Jameson’s statement comes so far out of left field it feels like a punch in the face. I’m staggered and can feel myself making what must be the ugliest confused face ever.
“Wha—wait, what?” I stammer. “An arms dealer?”
Jameson nods, clearly ashamed. “Mom and I had no idea. Sometime when I was seventeen, he was working for Coffin Construction, and he met a guy who told him he knew how to make real money. He just needed a partner.”
“Wait a minute, Jameson. Arms dealer? As in…selling guns?”
“Well he sure wasn’t selling arms,” he says with a sigh and a slight grin with a tiny amount of levity—whatever he has at a moment like this. “So my dad, being the brilliant mind that he was, decided to take this guy up on his offer and go to work with him.”
“Wait a second, Jameson. Brilliant mind that your dad was?”
Jameson goes tense. He glances up at the ceiling and takes a deep breath that causes his chest to expand. “Yeah. We’ll get to that.”
A feeling of dread fills me as he regains his composure and continues.
“Remember, my mom and I knew nothing about this. Then one day—the day I vanished on you—Dad comes to us in the middle of the night, tells us to pack and that we’re going to Albania.”
“Albania?”
“Yup.” He nods. “He tells us we can’t take anything. We can’t tell anybody, and we’re leaving now.”
“Oh my God, Jameson, what the hell?”
“That’s what I said,” he replies. “I didn’t even know where Albania was! But Dad assured us we’d be there and back in less than a week. Two weeks tops. So we did as we were told. We took a plane, landed in Albania, and took a cab to a hotel. Dad left in the morning to go meet his business associate while Mom and I waited for him to get back.”
“This all sounds like something out of a Hollywood movie, Jameson.”
“I know,” he says, attempting to smile. It almost works, but I can tell he’s reliving whatever it was he went through, and it’s shaking him up inside. “I was tired from the flight and not getting any sleep, so I went up to my room to take a nap, and when I woke up a few hours later…”
His voice trails off, and he looks down and away, past me at the wall. I’ve never seen a look on his face like this before, and pain instantly rushes into my chest. I do the only thing I know how to do, what my instincts are telling me to do, and slide up against him on the couch.
I take his hand in mine to comfort him. I don’t know what he’s remembering or what he’s about to say, but he’s been there so many times for me, now it’s my time to be there for him.
“It’s okay. I’m here for you,” I say softly, caressing his hand. “You don’t have to tell me now if you don’t want to. It can wait.”
“No.” He shakes his head. I watch as strength flows back through him. Is that because of me? “You’ve waited long enough. You deserve to know, Iris.”