Page 137 of From Air

“No. How are youreallydoing? I know you’re not fine.”

With a nervous titter, I sign the credit card slip and hand the copy and pen to the waiter. “I’m in a restaurant. You can’t ask me for that level of honesty when I’m in public.” I snag my purse and zip my lightweight hoodie before exiting the restaurant.

“Oh, Jamie. I wish I were there to hug you.”

“Me too.” I unlock my car. “But then I’d be crying all the time. And my eyes can’t take much more crying. My heart is buried under a pile of sadness and grief. This isn’t sustainable.” I fasten my seat belt. “Maybe leaving San Bernardino is a good thing. I can visit Dwight. And his parents are coming for Christmas to see him. They’re renting a houseand staying through New Year’s. Part of me hopes they’ll decide to move here to visit him more often. But I think it’s doubtful.”

“Hey, it never hurts to put that out in the universe. Maybe it will happen.”

I hum. “Perhaps.”

“How did you end things with Maren? Was it a nice-knowing-ya goodbye, or do you think you’ll ever see her or Will again?”

“She said she’d fly to San Bernardino for a girls’ weekend after the holidays, but I don’t know if she was serious or if it was the easiest way to say goodbye without too many tears.”

“Sorry, hon.”

“I’m heading home, so I should get off the phone. I’ll call you tomorrow and talk solely about your love life. Okay?”

Melissa laughs. “It will be a thirty-second conversation.”

“Then we’ll strategize and review your dating app profiles and pictures.”

She giggles, and it’s exactly what I need. “Night, Jamie.”

“Night, Mel.”

Chapter Forty-Five

CALVIN

“Want to talk?” Gary pulls out the chair next to my sewing machine and straddles it backward.

“About?” I stay focused on the zipper.

“Jamie.”

“What about her?”

“It’s a week before Christmas, and I’m just now finding out that your life imploded over Thanksgiving.”

“Implodeis a strong word. Who couldn’t keep their mouth shut?”

“Maren talked to Evette.”

Figures.

“You finally shared your past,” he says.

Gary’s one of a handful of people who have known for years how my family died. He knows his fires. He reads as much, if not more, than I do. He’s also been a good friend who has never breathed a word to anyone else. Maren’s brother was that kind of friend too.

“Jesus Christ, man ... Dwight Keane is Jamie’s father.” He shakes his head and whistles. “That’s some fucked-up shit.”

I return an easy nod without looking at him.

“Maren said you were going to propose to her. Fitz, if you don’t want to talk to me, that’s fine. But you need to talk to someone. You haveneverwanted a wife or a family. Hell, you even made sure you can’t get a woman pregnant. Yet you were going to fuckingproposewith your mother’s ring. You don’t just sleep that shit off.”

I stop the machine and glance up at him. “You think I need what? Therapy?”

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