“We get along well. We’re both independent but we text or talk whenever something comes up. Here. You can take a look at our texts.” Jude passed over his phone, open to their messages.
Jeremiah took his time scrolling back through them. He and Jude communicated frequently—checking in, joking, reminding one another about family obligations.
“While you were driving F1,” Jude said, “you were pretty busy. After you retired, your pace slowed way down, and we saw each other more.”
He'd been too busy for important things, it sounded like. Jeremiah handed back Jude's phone. “When did I start driving?”
“You moved overseas to drive when you were thirteen.”
“Thirteen?”
“That’s when you went to Europe to compete in the karting circuit. Dad paid Uncle Mike, Mom’s younger brother, to live over there with you during the season. After you started driving professionally, you got your own place in Monaco.”
“But this house is my home base?”
“In recent years, yes.”
Jude took Jeremiah on a brief tour of the downstairs rooms—living room, office, library, kitchen, dining room, media room.
“How many bedrooms and bathrooms?” Jeremiah asked.
“A lot.”
A curving staircase led them upstairs. Remy’s whole house could fit inside his master bedroom, bathroom, and closet. It didn’t suck to find out he lived in a mansion. On the other hand, this place was far too big for just one person. It felt wasteful and kind of lonely. What had Jeremiah 1.0 been trying to prove when he’d chosen this as his home?
Downstairs, he followed Jude into the kitchen. Like the rest of the place, it was new and spotless. White tile, white marble countertops, black cabinetry. Nothing about the house felt lived-in. Either he was a clean freak, or he had a fanatical cleaning crew.
Jude handed him a bottle of beer. Its simple white label readDinner, by Maine Beer Company. He popped the top and took a long sip.
“Almost as good as chocolate pudding?” Jude asked.
“Almost.” Jeremiah extended the neck of his bottle and Jude tapped it with his own—which brought on another flash of déjà vu. They’d done that before. Many times.
“I couldn’t tell how things stood between Felix and Fiona.” Jeremiah leaned a shoulder against the fridge. “I know they’re divorced but beyond that, what’s their story?”
“You’re going to need more than one beer in order to face our family story.”
“Am I a drinker?”
“Not that much of one anymore. In your late twenties, you were relying a little too much on hard alcohol. Nowadays, you just drink beer occasionally.”
Fantastic. He’d been a widowed workaholic who’d had a problem with alcohol.
“Let’s move this party outside.” Jude grabbed several things out of the fridge, tossing them to Jeremiah. Bags of organic baby carrots. Hummus. Olive tapenade. Crackers. Almonds.
Was this the kind of food he ate now? He hadn’t been here in a week and a half, so he checked expiration dates. All still fresh.
They set the snacks and beer on the porch table and took chairs facing the ocean.
“How much of your past have you looked up?” Jude loaded hummus onto a cracker, then popped it in his mouth.
“Very little. Trying to think about my past makes my head literally hurt.”
“Is your head bothering you now?”
“Not really. With you, it’s more like a dull, mild ache.”
“Flattering.”
