Page 136 of Old Money

“Air-conditioning,” Jamie repeats.

So I get in and start the engine, cranking the air on full blast. We sit in sweaty silence until the vents blow cool, and then Jamie leans forward, adjusting the knobs. I flip my visor down against the sunset, now blazing over the river.

“What’s the game plan?” he asks.

“Uh, drive back,” I answer, looking forward. “Shower. Sushi, maybe.”

“Cool, any plans after that?” He gestures at the horizon. “In terms of the rest of your life?”

“Not really. I’m open to suggestions.”

I glance sideways at him. His expression turns sincere. I don’t know how much more sincerity I’m up for today.

“Can I just say I’m sorry?” My eyes drop to his shoulder. “Can that be it for now?”

A heavy silence hangs in the car, until finally, Jamie breaks it.

“Hmm,” he says in a musing voice. “What happens if I say no?”

“God,” I say. “Jamie Hotdog.”

Jamie’s head goes back, eyebrows raised. “Whoa, I forgot about that nickname. That was good.”

“I think it was supposed to be mean.”

He shrugs.

“Yeah, but it was cool. It was funny. I remember I was mad that I hadn’t thought of it myself.”

The corners of his mouth go up as he nods, thinking back—like it’s that simple. I sit and watch him smiling at the memory, his face so wide-open and content that I stop breathing for a second. I reach out, squeezing his shoulder, hard and quick.

“Okay,” I say in a farewell tone. “I really do have to go. I have to unpack and get groceries and everything.”

I put my hand on the gearshift, but he doesn’t take the cue.

“Do you need a hand with groceries?”

“No,” I say.

He widens his eyes, exasperated or pretending to be, or a little of both.

“Well, can I give you one anyway?”

I feel my smile bending into a grin.

Why not?I think.Whatever this is—why not?

I can’t think of a reason. I might be giving up on reasons for a while. If I’ve learned anything these past three months (and the twenty-ish years prior) it’s that there’s rarely a good reason for the things that happen to us, or the things we do. I haven’t earned the great fortune I’ve been given or the brutality I’ve witnessed—or even this moment right here: sitting in the sunset, in an air-conditioned car, with gas in the tank and someone beside me.

I don’t deserve any of it—this minute, this life. But I’m the one who got it, and I can’t give it back.

I put the car in gear and go.

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