Page 96 of The Fall Before Flight

I haven’t seen a display like this since my mom was alive, and for a few minutes I stand in the driveway, taking it all in. How grateful I am to Jessica. How lucky I am to have a relationship with my father.

“Mom would have loved this, huh?” asks Jameson, walking up beside me.

I nod.

“Can we talk, Meerkat?”

The front door opens on Dad and Jessica. They’re wearing matching Christmas sweaters and Santa hats and grinning from ear to ear.

Sighing, I look at Jameson. “Not now. Maybe later. Maybe.”

He nods. “Whenever you’re ready. Want me to take those bags?”

I hesitate, then hand them over. They’re heavy. “Thanks.”

He peeks into one of the bags. “Is there anything here for me, or did you burn my presents?”

My smile is tiny, but it’s real. “Burned them.”

He grins. “I figured.”

“Come on, you two!” shouts our dad. “We have the karaoke machine up and running!”

“Is he kidding?” whispers Jameson as we walk toward the front door. “Tell me he’s kidding.”

I shake my head, grinning in spite of myself. “I think he’s making up for lost time, Jaybird. I see rivers of eggnog and black-and-white movies in our immediate future.”

My guess is right on the money.

It’s late. Dad and Jessica are in bed. Jameson and I cleaned the kitchen and are presently on the living room couch. Since we’re staying the night, we’ve decided to relive a preteen catastrophe and get drunk on pilfered Peppermint Schnapps. So far I’ve managed to avoid being sucked into sad-drunk territory, but the risk rises with every sip.

Eventually we run out of small talk. Quiet lasts less than a minute before Jameson says, “Ready?”

Am I?

“I don’t know. I might be too drunk for this.”

“I can tell you again tomorrow.”

I straighten from my slump, rubbing my face roughly. “Fuck, fine. Tell me.”

Jameson mirrors my position, sitting up and facing me. “I’m not going to speak for Leo or Kevin, just myself.” When I nod, he continues mutedly, “When you had the accident earlier this year, I thought I was going to lose you. Not necessarily physically, but in every other way that counts. You’d been slipping away for years, and all I could do was watch it happen. I never knew how to help you. Are you with me?”

I nod, resisting the urge to grab his hand.

“Leo was one of the founding players in our hockey league. He started the Ice Holes a few years before I joined. About five years ago, we went for drinks after a game. It was right after you called from a shoddy phone-line in Mexico and told me about your parachute not opening in the Cave of Swallows. I was upset, to say the least. Before I knew it, I’d dumped everything on Leo. I didn’t know then what his line of work was, just that he was a really good listener. He has a way of simplifying things, of bringing them into perspective.”

“What did he tell you?” I whisper.

Jameson cracks a smile. “That you could benefit from therapy.”

Even though I don’t want to, I laugh. “Figures.”

“Anyway, fast-forward another year and you showed up at a game. At this point Leo and I had a running joke that I owed him money for all our casual therapy sessions. Most of them were just while hanging out. We talked a lot about you, about how I could maintain healthy boundaries and not get caught up in worry or fear.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Jesus. I’m suddenly grateful I’m three sheets to the wind.”

“Ditto.” Jameson sighs. “This isn’t easy. There are certain things I conveniently ignored, like the look on Leo’s face when I pointed you out in the crowd.”

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