“To get you a phone.”
“But I don’t have money.”
“I’ll pay for it. You can pay me back.”
I turn to him. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You yelled at me to get off your beach. You were being an ass, and now you’re taking me to breakfast? Saying I can come to your house and eat whatever I want? Loaning me money for a phone?”
“I’m not allowed to be nice?”
“It doesn’t make sense. You completely changed after—” I stop, remembering what I said before he took me to breakfast. I sigh, gazing out the side window.
“What? What were you going to say?”
“You’re being nice to me because you feel sorry for me. Because of what I told you about my mom.”
“That’s not why. It has nothing to do with that.”
“You were going to take me home, but then I told you what happened and you took me to breakfast. And now you want to pay for my phone.”
“I’m not paying for it. It’s a loan. And it has nothing to do with your mom dying. I was nice to you before I even knew that.”
“By yelling at me for setting foot on your property?”
“It’s private property. I have a right to keep people off it. And in case you forgot, I saved you when you almost drowned. Then I took you in my house and bandaged you up. If I were an ass, I would’ve left you out there, bruised and bleeding, and made you walk home.”
I guess that’s true. He didn’t have to help me after that wave took me down.
He pulls into a strip mall and parks. “Stay or go?”
Looking up, I see a cellphone store in the strip mall. I really need a phone, and I don’t know when I’ll be getting the debit card.
“Stay,” I say, opening my door.
We go into the store, and I walk up to the counter and tell the guy what kind of phone I need.
“That’ll be seven hundred eighty-four with tax,” the guy says.
Jackson pulls a wad of cash from his pocket. He counts out eight hundred-dollar bills and hands them to the guy.
Who the hell carries that much cash? Is that normal around here? Do people just carry thousands of dollars with them like it’s nothing?
“Your change,” the guy says, holding it out to Jackson.
“It’s hers,” he says, nodding in my direction.
The guy hands me the change, along with my phone. ”You need help setting it up?”
“No, I’ve done it before.” I turn to Jackson and see him watching two guys coming into the store. “Ready?” I say, getting his attention.
“Yeah,” he says, keeping his eyes on those guys. They look like Braden. About the same age. Athletic. Dark hair.
“You know them?” I ask Jackson.
He doesn’t answer. This seems to be his thing. Not answering questions he doesn’t want to answer.
