“It’s all over,” he says, the minute he’s in the passenger seat.
It’s on the tip of my tongue to tell him it can’t possibly be over for anyone aged under fifty, especially someone in good health like Jamison. He’s a puppy, the whole world at his feet. But I hold it, get him home to Brighton Court, let him sink onto my sofa.
“Out with it,” I say.
“I’m ruined.” He pushes his fingers through his hair; won’t meet my eyes.
“Tell me.”
“Can I move in with you? I’ve been evicted.”
“Why’s that, son?”
“Didn’t pay my rent.”
“Why not? You’ve got a job.”
“That’s gone too, Dad. They cheated me. They promised me so much. I trusted them. I’m a fool. I’m so ashamed. You’ll take me in, won’t you?”
“It’s not drugs, is it, Jamison? Or gambling? We’ll get you help.”
He shakes his head and groans, head in his hands. His shoulders are shaking. My son is sobbing. I’m at his side in a heartbeat, my arms around him. I cradle his big head against my chest until he calms.
“Whisky or water?” I ask.
He chooses water.
The truth comes out – the swindlers, the way they extorted my son’s money, promised him wages that never came; demanded he pay “hurt money” into their business; wrote him out of the documents, then locked him out of the office.
“Do you need to see a lawyer? Walt would help you.”
He shakes his head.
“It’s my own stupid fault, Dad. I’m ruined.”
“You’re not ruined. Nobody’s ruined until their dying day, and you’re in good health, so you can stop that self-pity talk.”
“But ...”
“You know how I thought my own life would end with that head injury. I was younger than you – all my dreams in smithereens. I got on with it. I dreamed up something new and made it work. Wasn’t the same, but it worked well enough. I’ve lived a life. Since when did you become a quitter?”
“I owe half a million dollars.”
“Then get a job and pay it back.”
“It’s not that simple. I signed non-disclosure documents. They’ve trapped me.”
“What do I know about the world of money and finance, Jamison? I’m a simple country boy. Maybe you just can’t work in that industry anymore, but you’re able bodied. I know about work. It’s blood, sweat and tears, but it pays the bills.”
“Can I move in with you?”
“Not much room here, Jamison, but you’re welcome while you get your act together. Make a plan. I’ll help you, of course I will, but I’m not made of money and I’m not earning any more. I’ve let my registration go. You have an education. Get another job. Take it easy here for a few days; of course you can. But then get on with it. Do you need food?”
“Not hungry.”
“Then sleep. You look like you’ve sleepwalked all night.”
“I did. Two nights.”
