Chapter THIRTY
It never failed. Each morning Jamison got a punch in the stomach when he remembered that Granddad was gone. He vaguely remembered the same thing happening after they lost Grandma, and he couldn’t remember how long it had taken for it to stop feeling like a cruel trick.
Half the town turned out for the viewing. Many batches of white robes came through the receiving line and each time, Jamison looked for Skye among them. He was getting worried when Lucas and Jonathan’s group came through without her.
His mom’s attention was drawn away as the broad shoulders blocked Jamison’s view of the rest of the room.
Lucas held out his hand, his eyes daring Jamison to take it.
He looked the man in the eye, grabbed on and gave the big hand a firm shake.
“Shaw, as I’ve told you before, I’m not to interfere. Your memories are safe from me, sir.”
At least one heavy stone was suddenly gone from his chest.
Safe. Check.
No longer Young Jamison? He’d kind of miss that, but since Old Jamison was gone, there was no need.
He reached out and stopped Lucas from moving on. “Please, call me Jamison.”
“All right, Jamison it is. And Jamison?”
“Yeah?”
“Don’t worry. She’s coming, and she’s bringing you a surprise.”
It was nearly eight o’clock and the line was still out the door of the mortuary. People had plenty they wanted to get off their chests about the rude old Scotsman they’d all run from at one time or another. On the other hand, he had personally been offered seven jobs and heard the phrase “any grandson of Ken Jamison’s...yada yada yada,” too many times to count.
He just smiled and nodded and shook hands for hours, but his eyes kept scanning the crowd for white.
Then a lone blur. Gone again. Back.
She looked at the flowers, read the cards, laughed. He could feel that laughter reach out across the elegant room, to cover his chest like a remedy for what ailed him.
Happy. Check.
All four states of being present and accounted for. It wasn’t complete, though. Underneath that current of happiness ran the fact that he couldn’t just turn around and talk to his granddad lying behind him in a dapper dress kilt.
His mom squeezed his hand when she realized what had caught his attention.
“Any friend of Kenneth Jamison’s is a friend of yours, right?” she whispered in his ear.
He laughed. His mom was great. She only asked about Skye when it was obvious he was thinking about her, but she never pried.
Finally the figure in white edged closer. Trying not to stare, so everyone in the room wouldn’t guess how badly he needed to look at her, Jamison tried to concentrate on the people talking to his mother. From the corner of his eye, however, he saw a dark figure coming right at him.
Black-clad arms flew around him and held him immobilized.
“Jamison, dude!”
Suddenly released, he fell back a step. Ray? In a suit?
“Ray?”
“Yeah, man. Ray Peters. Remembered me, huh?”
Jamison grabbed his friend again, hiding his face, absolutely unable to speak, for so many reasons. How much would Ray remember? Did he even remember that first day, the day Jamison had arrived? It was impossible now to tell which was real memory and what he’d memorized from the recording he’d made.
“Yeah, I remember you.”
He glanced over at Skye to find the “I-told-you-so” look he expected.
“I see that clubhouse every time I come past your grandpa’s place, bro. Makes me want to make paper airplanes.”
“Me too. You’ll have to come over and we’ll paper the cornfield.”
“Yeah, well, don’t look now, but one of those neighbors is listening.” Ray spoke from the side of his mouth, then laughed and put his arm around Skye.
Suddenly Jamison wasn’t so fond of the guy.
“Skye says you two are good friends now.”
“Yeah?” Jamison could feel heat radiating away from his face. “That’s all, huh? Well, I guess I’d better refresh her memory.” He took a quick step and wrapped an arm around her waist, his splayed hand pulled her to him. She’d had no time to prepare, to resist. His mouth came down on hers and he could all but hear his granddad cheering from the casket behind him.
He let her catch a breath, but didn’t release her. He looked deep into her eyes, to give her a message, not to read one.
The room had gone silent except for his mom’s “Awww.” Lucas and Jonathan were standing near the exit sign smiling, thank goodness. He really didn’t care. He was no longer the type to sit by and let misunderstandings complicate his life.
Skye wasn’t pushing him away with any real conviction so he took advantage.
“And this one’s for my granddad.” He kissed her again. Hard, short and sweet.
She held onto the back of her head like it was a hat that might fall off. Once she pushed out of his arms and got her balance she put her hands on her hips, sputtered for a minute, then ended up dropping her hands to her sides.
“You’re right. He would have liked that. And maybe even this.” She stepped up to Jamison and grabbed his tie, pulling his head down to her level. “You’re going to pay for that, Jamison Shaw,” she whispered, then kissed him back, but the kiss was damned short. He guessed that was the punishment.
“I hate to break this up, Skye, but you’re holding up the line.” Ray nudged them apart. “Burke, shake his hand and let’s get out of here.”
Burke, whom Jamison barely remembered from a couple of elementary school classes, held out his hand awkwardly. “Sorry about your grandpa, man. He was cool.”
Jamison couldn’t help it. He grabbed Burke and hugged him, so glad the guy had never been blown to smithereens as feared. He set him down quickly and knocked him on the shoulder.
“Thanks man. Glad to see you’re...you—glad to see you.”
Burke looked confused, but smiled and gave a little wave as he walked away with Ray.
Jamison grabbed Skye and pushed her behind his back. “Stay.”
She gave a small giggle and it raced up his spine and pinged him on the back of his head like a hammer game at the fair.
The rest of the line moved quickly with folks peeking at Skye, mumbling their condolences and hurrying on. Every now and then his mom would say something to Skye and the two would laugh. Besides appreciating that combination of music, Jamison was glad Skye was in a good mood. It would give him a little bit of a head start for the conversation he had planned...
...a conversation she wasn’t going to like.
***
“I’m going to bed.” Mom picked up her glass and took it to the kitchen, then waved to him and Skye as she climbed the stairs. “Don’t stay up too late.”
He started to say ‘we won’t’ but choked on the lie. They’d get everything settled and in spite of the cold hardness in his stomach, he wouldn’t put it off any longer. Skye’d promised to stay for the funeral. If he let her go before the future was set, he’d never see her again. He knew it.
They sat at opposite ends of the couch, facing each other. She’s ready for this conversation too. Good.
Jamison cleared his throat. “I’ll get this out of the way first. I love you. I don’t think you can understand how much, and I think you believe I could get over you, like some ordinary broken heart, if you left me now.”
She pursed her lips, then nodded.
He went on. “You’d be wrong. I’d say I can’t live without you, but that’s not true.”
She looked surprised, almost hurt.
“I’d go on living, just like everyone else does, but I’d be dead inside. I’d get obsessed with Somerled compounds. I’d beat their doors down, looking for you. And some of them aren’t so friendly—like Lanny’s group—and I could get hurt or my memory erased. You wouldn’t want that, would you?”
She smiled, then shook her head and opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand to stop her.
“I’m not done.” He pulled Granddad’s plaid over his legs, offered her the other end, but she shook her head. “I don’t want to live without you, but I will.” He leaned forward. “But only if it’s the best thing for you.”
She looked at her hands and he couldn’t tell what she might be thinking.
“You can list all the reasons in the world for us not to be together, but unless I agree, unless it’s more important to you than I am, then I’m not going to let you leave me.”
She didn’t look up. He waited a minute, then told her he was finished.
“I’ll get this out of the way first. I love you too.” She didn’t look too happy about it. “It’s been fun, playing the part of girlfriend.”
Aaagh. He was going to die. She was giving him the “it’s been fun” line and he was sitting there, bleeding. But what did she know of blood? She really couldn’t know how he felt.
“I’ve liked, um, kissing you, but you know I can’t feel it the way other girls can.”
The dim light of the lamps gave the walls a warm glow, but to Jamison, it all looked pointless and sick. Her feeble attempts to make him feel better weren’t helping.
“Please. Stop.” He cleared his throat. “All this flattery is killing me.” He pulled the blanket off and put his feet on the ground to show her to the door.
“Excuse me. I’m not finished.” She folded her arms and glared at him until he faced her again. “Let me remind you of what you just told me. I don’t think you really understand how much I love you. If you did understand, there is no way you could let me out that door. Ever.”
Well, that sounded a lot better. In fact, he needed to get closer so he could hear more.
He scooted to the center of the couch, but she held out her hands.
“Wait. I’m not done.”
“We need to talk softer, so my mom won’t hear.” He pushed her feet onto the floor then pulled her across his lap, facing him.
“It bothers me, how smooth you move. Makes me wonder how many girlfriends you’ve had.”
“Just you. I’m just naturally smooth.”
He could feel her, probing his memories but there were no old girlfriends to find. A few random kisses, but he couldn’t remember faces or names. She probably thought he was pathetic.
She beamed.
“Great, now I’m a pity case.”
“Pity for the rest of them.” She leaned forward and kissed him with all the emotion he would have expected from a mortal girlfriend. When she pulled back, though, she was upset. “I would have loved to have felt that.”
He was such an idiot! Here she was, deaf, dumb and blind to everything he could enjoy and he was trying to keep her here, keep her in the prison of no sensation.
His shoulders slumped. “What do we do, sweeting?”
She smiled at him through eyes that could not weep. “Kenneth called me sweeting.”
“Should I call you something else?”
“No. I like it. Makes you sound Scottish.”
“Aye, that it does, sweeting.”
She pulled at his hair, smoothed it off his brow, messed it up again. He could have sat like that all night, but that would only leave him alone in the morning.
“I’m serious, Skye. What do we do? Either I go with you, or we find a way to make you...breakable.”
She laughed.
“Why is it you can laugh, but not cry?”
“Camouflage. A person who can’t laugh draws more attention. Mortals are taught not to cry in public; it’s not necessary, not in my repertoire.” She struggled, tried to get up, but he held her tight. “You see? I’m like a robot. And you want to spend the rest of your life with me.” She rolled her eyes.
He grabbed her chin with one hand and made her look at him.
“There you are. See? There, inside the robot. Take away the robot and I’d still want you with me. Forever.”
“Take away the robot? You don’t know what you’re talking about. This isn’t just a set of clothes. It’s what ties me to the ground. This container is my gravity. No container and I go up. Up.”
His grip tightened on his precious helium balloon. The idea that she could be taken from him so easily, like a string slipping through his fingers, made him freaking insane.
“Listen. Skye. Listen.”
She responded to his desperation and touched his face, trying to smooth the fear that would not smooth away. “What is it? What did I say?”
“Skye. Please. You don’t understand. You can’t leave me. You can’t. I lied. I won’t be able to go on without you. I won’t. It’s not a choice. I have no choice.”
He pulled her face until their foreheads met. He wanted to jump into those eyes, go where she was. He needed to be closer to make her understand.
“I know it, deep down. I know I’m not capable of living through it.”
She sat up then. “Jamie, you don’t know what you’re saying. You must live through it. You are the one who doesn’t understand.”
She hugged his hand to her heart and closed her eyes, as if she couldn’t bear to look him in the eye. She was about to stab him in the heart. He knew it. He tried to brace himself, numb himself for bad news. How else would he survive it?
“Jamie, please, listen to me very carefully. I do have choices. Two choices, but only two. Staying is not one of them.” He tried to pull his hand back, but she held on. “I can put it off a couple more days at most, but by Friday, it’s over. I know what you’re thinking, but where I go you can’t follow.”
“What if I were dead?” The words just jumped out. He hadn’t thought them. Or had he?
“Jamison! Dead or alive, you cannot come.”
He pushed her aside and ran to the bathroom where he puked his brains out. If his mother heard, he didn’t know it. In fact, she could have been standing outside the bathroom, chatting with Skye and he wouldn’t have heard a thing. The bowl was his world. The simplicity of it made him smile as the next wave came up.
A little while later, puffy-faced and feeling green, he laid his head on a pillow made of Granddad’s plaid and shut his swollen, burning eyes. He heard Skye moving around the room. She covered him with a soft and heavy quilt, messed with the wood-burning stove and sat in the old man’s rocking chair. The rhythmic squeaks lulled him toward sleep but he wouldn’t say goodnight.
He was exhausted, too tired think, let alone ask if she would be there in the morning.