Page 22 of Hold on Tight

“I don’t have friends. We moved here after school was done. I don’t know anyone.”

“Well, what did you used to do in—where did you guys move from?”

“Fort Myers, Florida.”

“What did you used to do in Fort Myers with your friends?”

There was a long silence. Then Sam confessed, “I didn’t really have friends there, either.”

Apparently it was make-Jake-have-emotions week around here, because that delivered a chest smack on par with the sperm donor comment. It was all part of the great cosmic unraveling of Jake’s world. With each new blow, he felt like there was nothing more absurd that could happen to him. He’d lost his leg and nearly his life. He’d said goodbye to a close friend, to his vocation, his sense of meaning, his friends and colleagues, the world he’d grown up in, his whole adult life. He’d come back here to escape from Walter Reed, where the constant ebb and flow of army life reminded him of what he’d lost, only to be slapped with a new piece of absurdity: his son. Sam. Seven. Here in Seattle.

In the scheme of things, discovering that Sam thought his father was an entry in a sperm bank shouldn’t be a huge additional injury. Nor should finding out that his son had no friends. ButJesus.

He sat on the couch next to Sam. “What do you mean you didn’t have friends? Did you play with anyone at recess?”

“Not usually. I usually played by myself. The other kids played with each other outside school at playdates and did soccer and baseball and stuff, so they knew each other better. I didn’t know them that well.” His little face was pinched and grim. He had a crusty spot at the side of his mouth, probably dried milk from breakfast. It made Jake remember, with disgust, how his mother had licked her fingers and cleaned his face when he was a small child. He’d hated that, squirmed away.

Now he wished his mother would look at him with that same critical eye, instead of with pity and concern. He wished he could believe she called him twice a week for some reason other than that she was terrified that he’d fallen and couldn’t get up.

His mother. He was going to have to tell her about Sam at some point. She would—God, he had no idea how she’d react. With joy, he supposed, which he hoped would overcome the pain of the lost years. His sister, Susannah, too. And his brother, for that matter—Pierce would think it was the best thing ever. Two single-dad brothers—because Pierce was on his own now, since his marriage had imploded. Pierce would be allLet’s take them to the zoo.

He and Pierce had been close, but Jake had been avoiding him.Since. He hadn’t liked the sympathy or the awkward silences.

“Didn’t you do soccer and baseball and play outside school?”

“I didn’t have that many playdates.”

“Why not?” Jake recognized that his question had been dodged, but he stuck to hearing Sam out. He had the feeling that this was the most delicate interrogation Special Forces had ever undertaken.

“Grampy didn’t like to have them. And Mom said we couldn’t ask him to very much because Grampy and Grammy were already doing so much.”

Oh. Poor kid. And poor Mira, because he bet Sam had been closemouthed about his friendship woes.

“Did you tell your mom you didn’t have any friends?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

But Jake thought he might know the answer. He thought it might be buried in the scene he’d already witnessed.Mom, we’re fine. When Sam was feeling anythingbutfine.

Sam had clamped his mouth shut.

“It’s okay,” Jake said. “You can tell me.”

“I’m not supposed to talk to strangers,” Sam said.

Fucking wiseass. He was old enough to know Jake wasn’t a stranger. He’d said that because he knew it would wound.

“I’m not a stranger anymore,” Jake said.

“You have a fake leg. That’s strange.”

Trust a seven-year-old to get straight to the heart of the matter.

“True enough. But that makes me more trustworthy. I can’t run and tell anyone else what you tell me.”

“You can’t run?”

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