When lunch is over, my dad gets his laptop to finish work from his recent business trip. Jamie asks for a tour of the house, which I’m sure isn’t out of idle curiosity.
When we’re outside my parents’ room, Jamie stands in the hall peering inside. “Does your dad have a signet ring from his college graduation?”
“Yes.”
“How about a St. Christopher medal? Smaller than the one I wear.” He holds his index and thumb apart at about the width of a dime.
“No, he doesn’t wear necklaces.”
“Fair play. The ring though, grab it for me, will you?”
“What?”
“Or stand watch.” Grabbing my arms, he lifts me and sets me in the center of the hall. Unknowingly, he’s grabbed my still sore bruise from the ride to the airport. At my wince, he pauses. “What’s wrong, Sauce?”
“Uh, nothing really.” I rub my arm. “But, hey, don’t go in there, okay? It’s not?—”
Jamie takes the end of my sleeve and pulls. Then he reaches under my sweater to pull my arm free. As he raises the sweater up onto my shoulder, he stares at the dark, raised bruise.
“For fuck’s sake. Where did this come from?”
“It’s from last week.”
“That wasn’t my question. How did you get this?”
Lowering my voice to a whisper, I say, “Brad hit me.”
“What? When? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It happened during the break-up.”
He blows out a breath and glances at the ceiling. I use the moment to put my arm back into my sleeve and straighten my sweater.
“That asshole is lucky he’s dead.”
The pure malice in his voice is both comforting and terrifying.
Jamie kisses my forehead. “Keep watch for me, Cranberry Sauce.” Without waiting for a response, he moves into my parents’ room and straight to the jewelry box on the dresser.
“Jamie, don’t.” My hiss of protest is low, but I’m certain he hears me.
He sifts through what is mostly my mom’s jewelry. “Fucking hell,” he murmurs, and his body tenses. Jamie shakes his head as he pockets something and turns and stalks back out.
“Why would you take his ring?”
Jamie grabs my hand in his and leads me away from the doorway and to the stairs.
Once we’re upstairs, he pulls me inside his guest room and closes the door. “Jesus Christ,” he mutters to himself as he takes his phone out. “Right there… where he can look at it every fucking day.” His breath is shaky and quick as he scrolls through a photo reel. “First the ring. Look here, Sawyer.”
Staring at the screen, I study a picture that’s clearly been drawn by a child. It’s a ring with the letterAon top and a school logo on the side.
Jamie sets my dad’s ring in my hand. It’s the ring from the picture or something very much like it.
“My brother drew this ring from memory. The man was behind him, but his right hand was holding Jude’s arm to keep him from getting away. Jude had to stare at the ring the entire time he was raped.”
I suck in a breath and draw back, wincing. “I can’t?—”
“The angle and that script font made me think it was anR, but now that I see it clearly, of course it’s anA. This one.” He closes his fist around my hand like he wants to crush the metal into a nugget. “That’s not all. One more thing.”
