Page 45 of Headstrong Like Us
I want to deny that, but I thought the worst the moment I saw the camcorder. And I’m pretty positive my dad would have demanded to see the footage. Just to ensure Kinney wasn’t doing anything inappropriate. He’s a strict dad. Because he cares. It’s what I’ve always known.
Farrow comes over and eyes the camera before looking up at me. “There’s one more option.”
“What?” I ask, not knowing this one.
“Jack Highland.” Farrow mentions the exec producer, who has an extensive knowledge of camera equipment. “I’ll tell him this is security shit and private. He won’t ask questions, and we’ll see what he can do.”
Kinney exhales in relief, but when we stare at her, she rolls her eyes and layers on a blasé attitude. Deadpanned. “That’s better.”
She doesn’t say anything else or even make fun of me for having the losing idea. She must be really worried about this.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I stare hard at the incoming text.
SOS. In your garage! Come quick. Please.– Jane
This day is giving me whiplash. I show Farrow the text, and before we leave, he tells my sister, “Hang in there.”
I add, “We’ll get it fixed, Kinney.”
“Without watching any of it,” she demands.
“Of course.”
“Cross your heart.”
I make an X over my heart.
She waits for Farrow to do the same, and I don’t know…it makes me smile.
He draws an X across his chest.
She softens, somewhat. “Thanks.” We hug her, and then we leave.Fast.The staircase is wide enough that we’re step-for-step and not fighting to lead the way. Not until the family Basset Hound slowly trots up the stairs. Huffing and puffing.
“You okay, Gotham?” My floppy-eared dog justplopslike putty on a middle step. He pants with this goofy dog smile. I crouch down, pat his belly, then continue on.
As we pass, I can’t mistake Farrow assessing Gotham. I don’t want to ask if anything’s wrong. I grew up with that dog, and I’m aware that he’s old and slowing down.
But some things I just wish could last forever.
* * *
When Farrowand I enter the garage hand-in-hand, I see Jane pacing tensely back and forth, a strawberry-shaped purse thwacking her wide hip. My ribs constrict around my lungs.
And then Thatcher Moretti uncrosses his arms and catches her around the waist. He draws my best friend to his chest, and I relax, just seeing her ease against him. Her arms wrapping around his muscular six-foot-seven build.
Thank God.
Thank God, she’s okay. Thank God, she’s happy. Thank God, she found love in him and that he treats her like the most beautiful human on the planet. Janie deserves nothing less.
Only two cars are parked in the garage. Jane and Thatcher are towards the back near six slumped bicycles.
“What’s going on?” We near them, and I ask to be sure, “Are you two okay?”
“Yes,yes.” Jane turns towards us. “We’re both fine.”
We come to a stop a couple feet from them, and Farrow and Thatcher are speaking with their damneyes.I get that it’s a security thing: the eye look. But it’s frustrating when this isn’t a security issue.
“Can I not be in the dark here?” I ask them, feeling like I’m a hundred steps behind all three.
