had pointed out that he hadn’t so much as seen Amy since—he’d had to stop and think—Thanksgiving five years ago. He hadn’t mentioned that the only reason he remembered the occasion at all was that it had been so awkward all around. At the time, his marriage was deteriorating. The fact that Susan was sulking had been obvious to all, casting a pall over the gathering. She hadn’t bothered being polite to his stepmother—yeah, Dad was on his third marriage—or to Amy, who looked as if she’d rather be anywhere at all than at Dad’s house for a not-so-festive holiday meal. Jakob wasn’t sure why she’d shown up that year, when she didn’t most.
Before that... He really had to search his memory to nail down the previous time he’d seen Amy. A Christmas, he thought. Her mother had just remarried, he remembered that, and she’d gone back east with her new husband to celebrate the holiday with his aging parents. Amy hadn’t looked real happy to be at Dad’s that time, either. Jakob would have followed his usual pattern of making an excuse once he heard she was coming, except what could he do? It was Christmas, and Susan wouldn’t have understood.
Jakob couldn’t even say he understood. He only knew his relationship with his half sister had been prickly from the beginning—his fault—and by the time they were both teenagers, uncomfortable. He didn’t let himself think about why. Water under the bridge. He no longer had any reason to dodge her, but no reason to seek her out, either.
Still, the conversation with his father had been bizarre. While he meditated, Jakob tossed some peanuts into his mouth, chewed, then chased them down with a swallow of beer.
Dad wanted something besides a warm and fuzzy relationship between two people he knew damn well couldn’t even tolerate each other. It had to do with Amy’s mother and with a time capsule opening. Jakob wouldn’t swear to it, but he kind of thought he was supposed to talk Amy out of going to collect whatever her mother had put in it.
He grunted at the idiocy of the whole line of conjecture. Yeah, sure, he was just the guy with the best chance of influencing Amy’s behavior.
When Mariner player Gutiérrez knocked the ball over the head of the Texas Ranger shortstop, Jakob restored the sound long enough to follow the action. Gutiérrez made it to second. The next player up to bat struck out, though, bringing the inning to an end, and he muted the ensuing commercial. His thoughts reverted to their previous track.
Why would Dad think Michelle had put anything of even remote significance in that time capsule? Jakob was speculating on why it mattered if Amy got her hands on whatever that was when he thought, Oh, shit. Unlike Amy—he hoped unlike Amy—he had been old enough to understand some of what Michelle and his dad were fighting about before they separated and then divorced. Now he did some math in his head and thought again, Shit. His father knew something. Maybe not for sure, but enough to want to keep Amy away from that time capsule and what was in it.
Dad wasn’t using his head, though. Hadn’t it occurred to him that if neither Michelle nor her daughter showed up to claim her contribution, the college would undoubtedly mail it to Michelle at her address of record? That address being the house where Amy currently lived and where, apparently, she was opening the mail.
Whatever secret this was, neither Jakob nor his father had a prayer of keeping it out of Amy’s hands.
Thinking back to the conversation, he guessed his father didn’t really know anything. He was only uneasy.
Jakob considered calling him back and saying, Hey, what’s the scoop? But he doubted his father knew how much he’d overheard all those years ago.
And maybe misunderstood, he reminded himself. He’d only been nine years old when Dad and he moved out. His confusion over what he’d overheard was one reason he had never said anything to Amy. He hated her anyway, he’d assured himself at the time. After that, as they got older, he didn’t know what he felt about her, only that they weren’t friends, and they weren’t sister/brother in any meaningful way.
They still weren’t.
Yeah, but his interest had been piqued. It wouldn’t hurt to give her a call, would it? Take her to dinner, maybe, if she didn’t make an icy excuse. He found he was curious to know what she was like these days. His impression five years ago—even nine or ten years ago, when they’d shared Christmas Day—was that Amy had passed to the other side of her wild phase. She’d removed most of her piercings and let her hair revert to its natural chestnut color. Her makeup had been toned down considerably, too. She’d become an adult.
He knew she was a reasonably successful writer now. He’d actually bought magazines a few times to read her articles, which he had to admit had been smart, funny and not much like the angry teenage girl and then young woman he’d known.
Maybe he’d like her now.
The thought was insidious and made him feel edgy for no obvious reason.
Call her? His hand hovered over his phone. Or don’t?
* * *
AMY WAS JARRED from the paragraph she’d been reworking by her telephone ringing. She glanced at it irritably. Friends knew not to call her past about seven o’clock in the evening. That’s when she did her best work.
But her eyes widened at the number that was displayed. It was local, and she was pretty sure she recognized it. After a momentary hesitation, she picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Amy.” The voice was deep and relaxed. “Jakob.”
“Jakob.” Her thoughts scattered.
“Dad called this evening. He was telling me about this time capsule thing. I’m being nosy.”
“It is a little strange.” She hesitated then thought, Why not? “Did you know my mother ever went to Wakefield College?”
“Can’t say I did, not until Dad mentioned it tonight. You mean you didn’t know, either?”
“I’d swear she never mentioned it. I assumed she’d done her entire four years at the University of Oregon. But apparently not.”
“Have you emailed and asked her about it?”
The all-too-familiar anger stirred again. Why would she ask when her mother would either not answer, or only tell her it was none of her business?
“No. She and I never talk about the past. And I’m sure it’s no big deal.” I am lying, Amy realized. To her, knowing her mother had put something in the time capsule felt like a big deal. “I just thought it was interesting, that’s all. It even occurred to me that there might be an article idea in the opening of the capsule.”
He got her talking about the possible article, mentioned one of hers he’d read, which flattered her more than it should have, and finally suggested they actually have dinner together.
“It would make Dad happy to know we’d done something.”
He’d played the guilt card deftly, she thought, but found herself tempted, anyway. Who else could she talk to about this? Jakob at least knew some of the background and seemed to be genuinely interested. He sounded like a nicer guy than she remembered him being, too.
Amy made a face. Yes, it was possible she’d been ever so slightly prejudiced against him. So, okay, he tormented her throughout her growing-up years, but maybe that wasn’t
