“What about?”
“Everything. Everyone. Every place. It doesn’t really end.” He sighs and rubs his hand along his chin, eyes darting over the passersby. “We know monsters are real. They exist in this world. They can be disguised in a crowd. They can be buried in your head. And they are definitely somewhere . . . there.” He waves his hand in a circle, focused somewhere in the distance. “Beyond what we can see. We know they’re there, fighting to come in. It’s been two years and we’ve all recovered, distanced ourselves, and have tried to move on. Yet, deep down, I know we’re not in the clear. This isn’t over, little sister.”
“Gee,” I tell him softly, “you sure know how to wipe a smile from a girl’s face.”
He gives me a half-hearted grin. “One of my many talents. You’re too young to know the rest.” He puffs back on his cigarette, his dark eyes observing me just as Perry’s were earlier. “Sometimes I know what your sister is thinking whether I want to or not. Extremely handy in the bedroom. Not always handy outside of it. She’s worried about you. A lot.”
I swallow uneasily and absently look down at my nails, not wanting to hear this. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” he says simply. “And neither are we. And we’ll probably never be fine. It’s okay to admit that. And it’s okay to tell us if something is going on, whether you think it’s a silly dream or stuffed animals trying to kill you.”
“Okay, why do you guys keep mentioning the stuffed animals? Because I swear I’m piling them all in your car and you’re taking them back to Seattle for Fat Rabbit to chew on.”
“Fair enough,” he says with a shrug. “Better them than my boots. My point is . . . you have us. We’re only three hours away. Use us.”
“Did Perry put you up to this?” I say suspiciously.
He shakes his head, looking downright solemn. “She didn’t. Believe it or not, I care about you.”
I can’t help but grimace, completely uncomfortable with any affection coming from this douchecanoe of a brother-in-law. But secretly, deep down, I’m touched.
“Don’t worry,” he says quickly as Perry comes out of the tent, a plastic bag of clothes in her hand. “I’ll go back to annoying the fuck out of you in no time.”
She holds up her bag triumphantly. “Dresses made from old concert t-shirts.”
“Sweet,” I tell her, mentally filing that idea away for my own designs.
“I don’t know about you,” Dex says, putting out his smoke. “But I could use a beer or twelve.”
There is a little beer garden over by the stage, but I’m only eighteen so I obviously can’t take part, and my last fake ID got seized by a bar Amy and I had tried to sneak into a few months ago.
“You guys have your beer,” I tell them. “I’m going to look around.”
“Are you sure?” Perry asks. “I’m sure Dex can keep his alcoholism in check until we get back home.”
Dex’s mouth drops open in false shock. “Woman, do you even know me at all?”
“I’ll see you in a bit,” I tell them, heading over toward the water fountain. I look back over my shoulder just in time to see Dex grab Perry’s hand, holding on tight as they walk away, lifting it up to his lips and kissing it while Perry beams back at him.
I feel a squeeze on my heart, a warm fuzzy feeling combined with a flash of my dream.
The feel of my hand in Jay’s, the way it felt like it was made just for me to hold.
You’re a fuckwad, I tell myself. It was just a dream.
I repeat that to myself as I meander through the crowds. I start taking pictures of the local fashion, street style to post on my blog, and of course I seek out our own Jimi Hendrix and get a selfie with the market legend. It’s tradition.
I’m standing outside a Korean taco stand, trying to figure out if I want a bibimbap wrap (honestly I just like saying “bibimbap”), when I feel a presence beside me.
I look over to see Jacob standing right there.
“Hello,” he says in his thick accent. “Bloody brilliant weather we’re having.”
I blink at him for a moment, taking him in. He’s not wearing a baseball cap this time and has a thick mop of red hair for someone his age, though his sunglasses are covering up his eyes. I remember their amber color quite well. Just like yesterday he’s wearing an ugly shirt, this time a burnt orange short-sleeved shirt that matches his hair.
“Jacob,” he supplies when I don’t say anything. “We met yesterday. You’re Dawn and Sage’s neighbor. Ada, isn’t it?”
I swallow, trying to find my voice. I’m not sure what it is about this man that makes me feel off-kilter. Not necessarily in a bad way, it’s just . . . something.
“Yeah, Ada,” I manage to say.
“Well, Ada,” he says smoothly, looking around, “I have to tell you it feels good to see a familiar face in this crowd. I don’t know Portland at all. First time here.”
We shuffle forward in the line as it gets shorter. “Where are you from?”
“Aside from England?” He asks. “Oh, I’ve been all over the place. You name it, I’ve been there.”
“But Dawn and Sage, they moved from Washington?”
He nods. “They’re a nice couple. I think you’d like them.”