Page 119 of Old Money
“Jamie, don’t worry about the report. It was a long shot.”
But even as I say it, I remember: Jamie’s got other things to worry about. Like finding a new job after spending his entire career in this one. I rest the binder on an end table and reach for Jamie’s hand.
“We’ll figure it out. Let’s just get through tonight.” I squeeze his clammy hand, nodding toward his neck. “Let me fix your tie.”
Jamie blinks, coming out of the daze. He touches a hand to his collar, where his crooked tie has come undone.
“Ah, shit.”
“It’s fine.” I pull him toward me. “It needed a re-do anyway. Chin.”
I slip the loosened tie off, lifting Jamie’s collar, glad to be helpful for a change.
“See, it was worth hiring me after all. No way you’d find another admin who can do a four-in-hand knot.”
I steal a glance at Jamie, his face upturned toward the ceiling and still visibly tense. But he manages a half laugh.
“I should put it on my résumé,” I continue, my voice overly chipper. “I could list it as a special...”
That’s when the first thought hits me. Not even a thought—just an image. It flashes in my mind for less than a second: a younger Jamie, gangly and big-eyed in the cloakroom, standing like a scarecrow in a suit that doesn’t quite fit, his tie askew. He has that same expression: mouth flat, nostrils flared—not frustrated, but upset. Upset and on the verge of tears.
“All good?” Jamie asks—the adult one—pulling me back into the here and now.
“Yeah,” I answer slowly. “Almost done.”
I watch my fingers work the tie, circling the wide end around again—the trickiest turn in the knot. Once again the scene appears: young Jamie’s cheeks flush as Caitlin pokes at him. Is he really here all alone? Won’t he need a grown-up to drive him home for bedtime? And then she’d turned to me:
Is this your little boyfriend?
Her voice sounds different in this memory—sharper, more giggly. But then, I haven’t dwelled much on this part of the night. (Why would I? It’s not the part that mattered.) So maybe my recollection is off. Was she really that mean?
“No,” I say, speaking the thought aloud—startling myself and Jamie.
He glances down.
“What?”
“Nothing.” The word stumbles from my mouth. “Done.”
What had Mr. Brody just said?I’ll leave you to finish this up. Had he been talking to me?
I let go of Jamie’s tie and quickly turn back to the bar, surveying my array of combs and cans of hair spray. I need to put some distance between us.
“When did your dad pick you up that night?” I ask. “The night of—”
“A little after nine,” he says before I finish. “Just before the fireworks.”
A tiny gasp comes out of me. Jamie doesn’t say anything, but I know he’s heard it. When I turn around, his face is soft and almost drowsy—as though we’ve had this conversation countless times.
“I thought so,” I say, a soft quiver rising my voice. “I just wondered—why didn’t you wait?”
Jamie doesn’t answer yet. He waits for me to ask the rest.
“Because you told us—” I’m shaking all over now—jerky adrenaline tremors “—when we came to the cloakroom. You said you were going to watch the fireworks too.”
He’d been babbling, painfully nervous in front of Caitlin.
They’re not paying me. But I get to stay for the fireworks.
