Page 47

47

SAWYER

I nitially, the vibe in the house is so tense I almost suggest we leave. I want to believe my dad seems strange because of Brad’s death, but it feels like something else. The creepy way his eyes follow Jamie makes me uneasy.

Over lunch, though, things settle. My dad focuses the conversation on Granthorpe, asking how Jamie and I met and then about the rowing team and its prospects. Jamie’s stiff at first and answers with one or two words rather than expounding. But over time—with my peppering him with additional questions—he eases into conversation. I learn all sorts of things I didn’t know. Like that before Jamie left Ireland for the United States, he’d been on track to row for Ireland in the Olympics.

“I’ve hope it’s still in my future, but time will tell,” he says. “The coach wasn’t best pleased when I left, and there’s a great group of lads in the boat now. Stellar performances back to back. No guarantee I’ll be on that level when I return. But in the GU Varsity boat this year, it’s a monster crew of lads. You say to yourself, ‘right, okay, maybe we’ve got a shot to place well in the standings.’”

“My son said the top Varsity 8 is as fast as the national champion boat from last year. And that the coach said it’s the most competitive team he’s ever seen at GU.”

“Maybe so. We’ve got some strong lads for sure, but so do they all. I can say the chemistry in that boat is class. It’s as much fun rowing as I’ve ever known. Every oar strikes as one, and the boat flies like we’ve got a sail up in perfect wind.”

“You sail, too?”

“If it’s to do with water, I’m in. Boating, swimming, surfing. My ma jokes that when I was a wee lad she checked behind my ears for gills. I took to the sea like I was born to it. I got my first wetsuit from Santa when I was seven, from sheer badgering.” He winks. “Not a lad to get carried away, I wrote him about ten letters… in case a couple went astray or the wee elves dropped one or two.”

I laugh, and he rolls his eyes at himself.

“Couldn’t leave anything to chance as Santa was my last hope that year. I’d not gotten a wet suit for my birthday as I’d asked. Looking back, I think my parents had the sense to know how reckless I might be once I got it. And the example I’d set for my five-year-old brother who was straight after me in anything I tried.”

Dad wipes his hands on a napkin. “The ocean’s too cold to swim without one at the moment. But the pool’s heated. You should take a swim after dinner. That’s my kids’ favorite pastime.”

“Is it?” Jamie’s hand strokes the back of my head as I nod. “Yeah, grand. Never tried swimming in hot water. Should be interesting.”

When lunch is over, my dad gets his laptop to finish work from his recent business trip. Jamie asks for a tour of the house, which I’m sure isn’t out of idle curiosity.

When we’re outside my parents’ room, Jamie stands in the hall peering inside. “Does your dad have a signet ring from his college graduation?”

“Yes.”

“How about a St. Christopher medal? Smaller than the one I wear.” He holds his index and thumb apart at about the width of a dime.

“No, he doesn’t wear necklaces.”

“Fair play. The ring though, grab it for me, will you?”

“What?”

“Or stand watch.” Grabbing my arms, he lifts me and sets me in the center of the hall. Unknowingly, he’s grabbed my still sore bruise from the ride to the airport. At my wince, he pauses. “What’s wrong, Sauce?”

“Uh, nothing really.” I rub my arm. “But, hey, don’t go in there, okay? It’s not?—”

Jamie takes the end of my sleeve and pulls. Then he reaches under my sweater to pull my arm free. As he raises the sweater up onto my shoulder, he stares at the dark, raised bruise.

“For fuck’s sake. Where did this come from?”

“It’s from last week.”

“That wasn’t my question. How did you get this?”

Lowering my voice to a whisper, I say, “Brad hit me.”

“What? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It happened during the break-up.”

He blows out a breath and glances at the ceiling. I use the moment to put my arm back into my sleeve and straighten my sweater.

“That asshole is lucky he’s dead.”

The pure malice in his voice is both comforting and terrifying.

Jamie kisses my forehead. “Keep watch for me, Cranberry Sauce.” Without waiting for a response, he moves into my parents’ room and straight to the jewelry box on the dresser.

“Jamie, don’t.” My hiss of protest is low, but I’m certain he hears me.

He sifts through what is mostly my mom’s jewelry. “Fucking hell,” he murmurs, and his body tenses. Jamie shakes his head as he pockets something and turns and stalks back out.

“Why would you take his ring?”

Jamie grabs my hand in his and leads me away from the doorway and to the stairs.

Once we’re upstairs, he pulls me inside his guest room and closes the door. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself as he takes his phone out. “Right there… where he can look at it every fucking day.” His breath is shaky and quick as he scrolls through a photo reel. “First the ring. Look here, Sawyer.”

Staring at the screen, I study a picture that’s clearly been drawn by a child. It’s a ring with the letter A on top and a school logo on the side.

Jamie sets my dad’s ring in my hand. It’s the ring from the picture or something very much like it.

“My brother drew this ring from memory. The man was behind him, but his right hand was holding Jude’s arm to keep him from getting away. Jude had to stare at the ring the entire time he was raped.”

I suck in a breath and draw back, wincing. “I can’t?—”

“The angle and that script font made me think it was an R , but now that I see it clearly, of course it’s an A . This one.” He closes his fist around my hand like he wants to crush the metal into a nugget. “That’s not all. One more thing.”

Jamie slides his finger over the phone’s screen, searching through pictures. “Here.” He expands a pic to show its details. There’s a small gold disc on a thin chain. “That’s a St. Christopher medal. My grandfather gave us each one. Jude wore his all the time. Loved it. He had it on the day we went fishing. But he didn’t have it afterward. He didn’t remember it being taken. At first, we thought it must’ve been torn off in the struggle, but I searched. Never found it on the road or in that place he was taken to. Years later, I heard about serial killers and predators taking trophies and I wondered…” From his pocket, he holds up a chain with a small gold medal dangling from it. “It was right there in the jewelry box. With your mom gone, Allendale doesn’t need to hide it—if he ever did.”

The medal blurs before my eyes as all the blood drains from my head. My dad actually did it. He sexually assaulted a little boy. And kept a souvenir.

“I feel sick.” Breathing hard through my mouth, I stagger away from Jamie.

He precedes me out of the room so he can yank open the bathroom door for me. I rush in and retch over the toilet bowl. My lunch splashes into the water until there’s nothing left inside me. Even afterward, I keep heaving for what feels like a lifetime.

Finally, I sink down to sit on the floor with my back against the clawfoot tub.

“Here, Sauce.” Jamie’s voice is gentle as he hands me a damp cloth. “Easy now.”

I reach behind him for a length of toilet paper and blow my nose. After I’ve thrown the tissue away, I wipe my face with the washcloth.

When I look up at him, tears fill my eyes. “I’m sorry. So, so sorry.”

“You weren’t to know.” He rinses the washcloth and uses it to clean the strands of hair that are plastered to my face. “It’s all right now. Your color’s coming back.” Jamie tosses the cloth into the sink and rests his hands on either edge.

With his eyes closed, he whispers, “Found it, Jude. Got it back.” Opening his eyes, he brings his hand up and opens his palm to reveal the pendant, as if his young brother might be looking down at it. “You’ve mine with you, so that’s all right. I’ll just keep this one safe. Till we see each other again.”

That fucking crushes me.

Jamie put his own St. Christopher medal on Jude to replace the one he’d lost. And it’s buried deep in the ground with the boy who will never grow up.

I can’t seem to cry quietly. The sounds are jagged and broken. They’re what they would’ve been for Brad, if he’d been worthy of it.

Jamie swallows and sits next to me. His arm curls around my shoulders and pulls me against his side. “That’s been a long time coming, so you’ll maybe forgive me for speaking to him in front of you.” He licks his lips and seems to mentally shake himself from his thoughts of the past. Looking at me, he says, “I’ve dragged you down into a very dark hole, Sawyer. It was selfish, I know. Should’ve kept it from you?—”

“ No. No, Jamie.” My tone has a fierce edge as I rub the tears from my face. “I’m heartbroken, but I had to know.” Sucking in a breath, I brace myself, trying to pull what’s left of my heart back together. “Of course I wish my dad was the person I thought he was. I’m ill that he’s not. But that’s not your fault. It’s his.”

He turns his head to kiss the top of my head. “Thank you for that.” His arm squeezes me against his body. “I’ve never told anyone the whole story before. Couldn’t bring myself to do it… Felt like it would be betraying Jude’s confidence. But I reckon he understands why I had to this time.” His breathing is deep, like he’s trying to catch his breath. “You’re someone I need to trust.”