TWENTY-ONE

JESSE

The moving truck is running by seven in the morning. I sit parked in the street for a few moments, waiting for the engine to warm, trying to get my bearings.

The house is officially empty. I’d slept on my mattress on my floor and loaded it first thing. Afterward, I walked a few blocks to a bakery up the street and grabbed a coffee and a croissant. I try not to think about Claire and Nolan beginning their day, showering, getting dressed, eating their own breakfasts—so close I can almost feel them.

The For Sale sign is back in the front yard.

I have ignored every call from Cathy in the last twenty-four hours.

I shift the moving van into gear and ease forward, my car following. I want to get to Haleford by lunch. I take another long look at the house before leaving the neighborhood. I cut through downtown, heading for the highway. Commuter traffic is picking up, but I ease onto the turnpike. It’s almost as if I’m going back to school—I made this drive so many times, at first. And I know, when I reach Exit 24, if I look in my rearview mirror I will be able to see the skyline. I know it’s coming. And, sure enough, traffic slows so that I can glance back, and there it is.

Hamilton.

And everything I love.

Growing smaller.

And smaller.

And smaller.

Until a few curves later and it disappears.

And I have to fight to control myself, to remember how to breathe, to not turn this moving van around.

I grab my cell phone, flip through my contacts, keeping one eye on the road, and hit Send.

A few rings later, Lynette picks up.

“Hey, It’s Jesse.”

“Hello, Jesse. Claire isn’t in, yet,” she explains. “She doesn’t usually come in until eight-thirty.”

“This isn’t about Claire,” I say. “I need to talk to you about something. Is it a good time?”

“Probably the only free moment I’ll have all day,” she says. “What’s on your mind?”

“I can’t sell my house,” I confess.

“Okay.”

“We’ve been countering back and forth for a week. The number is fine, but I can’t do it. I can’t say yes. I can’t sign the papers. I don’t want to accept their final offer. I don’t want to accept any offer. I want to keep the house. You saw Claire’s proposal. Bryant Hall.”

“I did.”

“The first stage seems doable. How do I make this happen?”

She hesitates. “There’s a lot involved, Jesse. We’d have to get the right permissions and permits. What’s your financial situation?”

“The house is paid for and I have some of my dad’s insurance money left. That’s been covering taxes and the power and water bills. I have the money from The Porters. No debt, minus a credit card I pay on every month. My new job starts next week and that will take care of my living expenses.”

“And you don’t want to rent it out?” she asks me.

“I want to make Claire’s vision for the house happen. I don’t want to live there, but I can’t sell it, either.”

“Okay. Let me make some phone calls for you. First I have to call the city about zoning to see if we can even turn it into an event space. There could be some restrictions.”

“God. I didn’t even think about that.”

“Well, we can at least ask, and if it has to go up for a vote, I’ve done weddings for children of four of the Hamilton City Council members.”

She’s smiling, I can hear it in her voice. She might call in a favor.

“Thank you, Lynette. So much.”

“I’m on it, Jesse. We’ll do everything we can, okay? Give me a few days, but I’ll be in touch.”

* * *

At seven-thirty on Saturday night, my laptop queued and ready to go, I “connect” to Claire. It takes a few seconds, but soon her face fills the screen.

“Jesse?”

“Hey! I’m here.”

“Hi! Let me get Nolan, okay?” When she steps out of the frame I see the dining room. She’s using her laptop, too. I hear her in the background. “Nolan! Jesse just called in! Come on!”

She returns to the table. “How is everything?”

“Good,” I reply. “I’m all unpacked.”

“How is Haleford?”

“Busy. Downtown never sleeps.”

At this, Nolan climbs into his mom’s lap and into the picture.

“Hey, little man!”

“Hey, Uncle Jesse!”

“Can you see me okay?”

“Your forehead is so big!”

“Nolan!” Claire says. “It’s just the angle.”

But I laugh, happy to hear his voice. “Your forehead is so big,” I reply. “Your forehead is bigger than Batman’s.”

He giggles. “Your forehead is bigger than Superman’s!”

“Your forehead is bigger than your mom’s!” I reply.

Claire smiles. “Oh my gosh, you guys.”

“How’s the hand?” I ask.

He shows me his palm.

“Looks like some of the stitches are dissolving,” I say.

“They are,” Claire says. “Tell him to stop picking at them.”

“Hey, don’t pick at your stitches. Pick something else instead. Like . . . your nose.”

Nolan giggles.

“No. We don’t pick our noses,” Claire says. “Or our stitches.”

“All right, Nolan. You heard your mom. No picking stitches or noses. But go ahead and pick your nose. But don’t pick your nose. But pick your nose.”

“I miss you, Uncle Jesse,” he says after he stops laughing.

My chest tightens. “I miss you too, buddy.”

“I found a new dinosaur video. He skateboards.”

“That sounds cool! Tell your mom to send me the link so I can see it, okay? So what else is going on?”

“Not much,” Claire says. “Work. School.”

“I didn’t lose any crayons last week!” Nolan says.

“That’s awesome! I hope I can keep all of my crayons when I start work.”

“You nervous?” Claire asks.

“Not nervous, no. A little anxious, maybe. I want to do a good job. But Monday and Tuesday we’ll be working with Human Resources. Like an orientation on policies and stuff.”

“HR will take your crayons away if you’re not careful,” Claire teases. “So what’s your place like?”

“Small. You wanna see it?” I unplug my laptop and pick it up off the table. “It’s a studio, so I’m in one room. Here’s the kitchen.”

“Oh, I love the backsplash and the cabinets!”

“Yeah, the building was recently renovated. Here’s the living room.” I show them the small chair and side table.

“You’re such a bachelor,” Claire says. “Where is your couch?”

“There’s not one. Not yet, anyway. I’m keeping my eyes open. And here’s the bathroom.” I open the door and show them the space with the sink, toilet, tub, and shower.

“That’s nice, too.”

“And the bedroom.” My bed and nightstand from the house are set up against the brick wall. “Ceilings are great.” I flip the computer up so they can see the tall ceilings with the track lighting. “But this,” I continue, repositioning the screen, “is the best part of all.” I turn the computer to the wall of windows overlooking the city. It’s overcast, the sky gray, but the Nichols building is in view. So are the tops of the other buildings. Several dozen stories below me traffic creeps along.

“Oh my gosh! That is amazing! Look at the city, Nolan!”

“Pretty cool, right?”

“I am fairly jealous,” she says. “Not of your lack of a couch situation, but the view is incredible. I can’t imagine what a space runs with that view, even a studio.”

“Out of my budget, typically, but the company blocks off a certain number of units for their interns, so I’m only paying half what I should be.”

“That’s awesome.”

“And we have a doorman.”

“A doorman,” she repeats. “Sounds like you’re doing okay so far.”

“What’s going on in here?” Claire’s mom enters the room.

“We’re talking to Uncle Jesse!” Nolan says.

“Hi, Mrs. Tyndall.” I wave.

She leans in closer, and I fight the urge to tell Nolan that his GiGi’s forehead is big. “Oh! Hello, Jesse! How is everything?”

“Fine. So far, so good. The drive up wasn’t too bad, and it didn’t take long to unpack and settle in.”

“That’s good to hear! I came to see if Nolan was ready for a bath,” she tells Claire. “It’s about that time.”

“In just a minute,” she says. “We’re wrapping up.”

“I’m not ready to wrap up!” Nolan whines.

“We’ll talk again in a few days,” I promise. “How about Wednesday at seven? We can start a little earlier so you don’t have to rush off so soon.”

“Okay,” he agrees.

“It was good to see you guys,” I say.

“It was good to see you, too,” Claire says.

“Bye, Nolan. Don’t forget about the dinosaur link.”

“Bye, Uncle Jesse.” Nolan waves.

“Bye, you guys.”

Claire’s smile is the last thing I see before the screen switches back to my own reflection.

I set the laptop aside and lie down on my bed, feeling both full and empty at the same time, and wonder how that’s even possible.

* * *

It comes as no surprise that I toss and turn most of Sunday night, my body waking me up each hour on the hour just so I can pick up my cell phone and know I have barely napped since the last time my eyes were open. I finally shut my alarm off half an hour before it’s scheduled to ring and go ahead and shower and dress for the day. My only consolation, I realize as I pick up a bagel and coffee from the bakery on the first floor of the building, is that I will crash when I get back to the apartment and have no trouble sleeping for the rest of the week.

There are thirty new interns. We stick together most of the day, first as we learn about various company policies and expectations, then as we engage in some team-building exercises meant to strengthen our bond, and then as we tour the four floors of the high-rise occupied by Perry, Manchester, and Thomas. No need to go to the fourth level unless we’re summoned, they tell us. That’s the executive level. The first two floors of the building house eateries and stores. Most people either eat downstairs or bring their lunch and eat at their desks or in one of the four break rooms on each level. The office is ordering in for us these first two days, though, so we pick from a sandwich bar and stick close to our seats. Friendships spring up across the room, people already pairing off according to proximity, a few guys confident enough to talk to the female interns. Conversation is limited to safe, “first day” topics. Where we’re from. Where we went to school. What we majored in. In the afternoon there is more company policy talk, and we’re reminded about the online sessions we’re supposed to complete by the end of the week.

I sit through lectures and slides and take notes and flip through workbooks, and when five o’clock rolls around, when we’re packing up to head home, one of the girls turns to me and says: “Some of us were heading to Bartoli’s for drinks. You interested?”

I consider the invitation. It’s part of what I’m here to do. To learn. To network. Forge connections.

“Ah, probably not today.”

She smiles. “Yeah. That was rough. A lot of information to remember.”

“Yeah,” I agree.

“Maybe next time, then?”

“Sure,” I reply.

It’s another overcast day and the streets are packed. The apartment building is just a few blocks from work, easy to walk, but I’m going to have to remember to pick up an umbrella. I grab a cup of coffee on my way in the building since I have homework and need to stay up. By the time I’ve heated a tray of fettuccine alfredo, the sky has turned darker. In the distance, lightning flashes. I eat on my bed in front of the window and watch the storm roll in.

By eight the caffeine is already wearing off. I’m nearly finished with my workbook when my phone dings with a new message. At first, I think it might be Nolan. He sent me the link to the skateboarding dinosaur, so I sent one back to him of a dinosaur doing yoga in the park. But it’s not a link from Nolan. It’s Claire.

How was your first day?

Good, I reply. Busy. So much information.

Are you a financial genius, yet? She adds a smiley face to show she’s teasing.

I bite back a laugh. If I were a financial genius I would’ve signed the papers to sell my house instead of begging Lynette to help me figure out how to keep it and not go bankrupt at the same time. If I were a financial genius I wouldn’t have turned down a million-dollar deal—money that would set me up for a very, very long time, on some whim. And who knows if it’s even going to work out? Lynette still hasn’t gotten back to me. I officially turned down the final counteroffer from the couple, and they haven’t come back with a new number. Cathy is not happy.

Getting close, I reply, sending a smile back to her.

She sends me a thumbs-up icon, and I wait for something else, vacillating between asking her about work or Nolan. But the conversation seems to have ended and the longer I wait to respond the more desperate I seem. So I set my alarm for the following morning, finish the last few pages of my workbook, and get ready for bed.

With the rain pouring outside, falling asleep is not a problem—neither is staying that way—and when my alarm chirps I wake up feeling refreshed, ready to do it all over again.