“It’s not like that...really.” Or was it? I remembered my favorite sentence on the sheet that I’d thrown away. Kissed Jesse. “It’s George. Sometimes I forget stuff I meant to remember.”
He nodded. “So, this George—inoperable, or what?”
Shit. I really didn’t want to have the conversation, not now, not while I was still rubbery-kneed from shooting my load...but I supposed it was bound to happen sooner or later. “Not exactly.”
“It’s operable, then. But what else—dangerous?”
“Brain surgery isn’t exactly a walk in the park.”
He smiled at me. Dimples. God. “I figured as much. But you know what I mean, they always give you some kind of odds, right? So, what are the chances? Did they say taking out the tumor would mess you up worse?”
“They don’t know.” I didn’t exactly look at him as I said it, since that wasn’t entirely true. Because of the location, my language and motor skills were most likely safe. All three neurologists had said so.
“If you had it out, would the sleepwalking stop?”
Probably. I shrugged.
He rested his chin on his forearms and considered me. “But you don’t want to do it. How come?”
“You trying to make me change my mind?”
“I’m not exactly qualified to give advice. I might know guts, but I’m no neurosurgeon. I’m curious about you, want to know more. That’s all.”
I turned around so I was talking at the wall, because that was easier than watching him look at me. “Because the part where it’s sitting is the part where my long-term memory lives. And it’s not as if they can prod those bundles of neurons and get a preview of what might come along for the ride when they’re scooping out George. It could be something stupid, like the combination to my bike lock or some reruns of Gilligan’s Island. Or it might be something important.”
We were quiet for several minutes. The sound of the dishwasher clattered up through the floorboards. Finally, Jesse said, “Like your folks.”
“You know about that.”
“I saw that newspaper hanging on the wall in Old Faris, New Faris. Dan Weber’s a common enough name, but then you add in cousin Alex, and what’re the odds?”
I nodded.
The dishwasher downstairs chugged.
He said, “I’m not trying to tell you what to do—’cause no one knows but you—but it seems to me that if your folks were still around, they’d probably be pretty pissed off at you for living with seizures and sleepwalking just to hold on to their memory. That’s just how parents are.”
There were three beers in the fridge. I got us two of them, to have something to do with my hands. I stared into the fridge a long time, and tried to imagine Aunt Noreen telling Alex to keep a tumor so he didn’t forget what she’d bought him for his twelfth birthday. Obviously, I couldn’t.
But what if the surgery ended up erasing all of Aunt Noreen? Every last memory of her?
I sighed. I still couldn’t see her telling Alex not to have it removed.
When I turned back to the table, Jesse was gone. I found him in the living room on his cell phone. “You get home all right? Uncle Frank’s still there? Okay, then. You can tell me about it later. I’m still over in Faris, so don’t wait up for me.”
He listened. I heard traces of a voice on the other end.
“Well, ah, no. The job turned out to be a bust—just as well you didn’t come home for it—and I don’t think they’re getting that grant. Thing is...” he glanced at me, suddenly sheepish. “I met this guy.”
The voice on the other end rose. Surprise? Dismay? Hard to say.
“Web. Dan Weber.” Muted questions. “Twenty-four. He works at the Center. Listen...you can grill me about it when I get home, okay? All right. Bye.”
I realized I was still standing there with two beers. I put one down next to Jesse. He popped the top, tipped it back, and drained half the can.
“You called your dad at...” I checked my watch. “Almost one in the morning?”
“He’s not an early-to-bed, early-to-rise kind of guy.”
“And you just told him about me.”
“Uh huh. He tends to notice if I don’t come home.”
I took a few long swallows and tried to catch up to Jesse. I couldn’t. He was a quicker beer drinker, despite his lack of frat party experience. “You live at home.”
He grinned. “So do you, pretty much. S’okay. It’s a huge old farmhouse, too big for just him. Even with the two of us, sometimes we rattle around in that place without crossing paths all day.”
It was crazy to think this could work. Him. Me. And everything standing in our way, from sheer distance to a meningioma named George. But I’d learned a few things about Jesse these past few days. He was smart as they come, without being a pretentious douche. He was calm even in the face of a murder accusation. And he totally got my warped sense of humor.
But most important of all, he seemed willing to take a stab at being in an actual relationship. With me.
Good thing he carried a backup knife. Given all my issues, I suspected it would require some pretty persistent stabbing.
“So...this big ol’ farmhouse of yours. Do I get to see it sometime?” I sounded casual, I hoped. Anything but desperate, I pleaded with the powers that be. Anything but that.
Jesse brightened. “Serious?”
I nodded.
He laughed out loud, then took another long swallow of beer. “Mr. Web, you’re one brave soul.”
No, just putting on a brave face. And now that he pointed it out, I was assailed by a mental image of an old hillbilly standing at the head of the gravel driveway with a corncob pipe clenched in his teeth and a smoking double-barrel shotgun in his hands. “Is your dad, uh...scary?”
“Him? Nah, he’s had a few years to figure out that meeting the ‘perfect girl’ won’t change me. He’s pretty mellow about it nowadays.” Jesse finished his beer and smiled to himself. “Now, the Roadkill Circus in the sitting room...that’s another story.”
-end-
Sign up for Jordan’s newsletter, JCP News, for the scorchingly hot free short, Fire Thief
https://claims.prolificworks.com/free/kslNIJBj
About the Author
JORDAN CASTILLO PRICE is a native of Western New York who’s lived in the Midwest for more than half her life. She thinks it’s fun to visit museums and historical markers. Really.
And she has touched the coral and pet the ray at the Mississippi River Museum.
Connect with Jordan:
Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/Jordan-Castillo-Price-257078438055
Twitter - https://twitter.com/jordancprice
Bookbub - https://www.bookbub.com/profile/jordan-castillo-price
Blog - http://jordancastilloprice.com
And explore her other stories at http://jcpbooks.com
About this Story
BACK WHEN I FIRST MOVED to Wisconsin, one of the first nuggets of local history I learned was that a nearby village, Barneveld, had been obliterated by a tornado fifteen years prior. It’s one of those things people never stop talking about. I met a guy at a yard sale who turned out to be the Fire Chief, and he immediately launched into a story about how the garage caved in and none of the emergency vehicles could get out.
Much of the history of “Faris” is borrowed from areas throughout the Driftless Region: Illinois, Wisconsin, Iowa and Minnesota. There was a tornado. There was a lead rush. Other aspects of the story are products of my imagination. The Kickapoo Nation has no lawsuits pending that I’m aware of, and the Rock River beaver is totally fictional...though there is a pretty impressive taxidermy beaver at the Dodgeville state park I visited for inspiration. The rangers told me he got pretty darn dusty.
Don't miss out!
Click the button below and you can sign up to receive emails whenever Jordan Castillo Price publishes a new book. There's no charge and no obligation.
https://books2read.com/r/B-A-CRIB-SEBAB
Connecting independent readers to independent writers.
Also by Jordan Castillo Price
Channeling Morpheus
Channeling Morpheus for Scary Mary (Ebook Box Set)
A Bitter Taste of Sweet Oblivion (Ebook Box Set)
Canine: Channeling Morpheus Short
Mnevermind
Life is Awesome: Mnevermind Trilogy Book 3
Remember Tomorrow: Mnevermind Trilogy Collection
PsyCop
Unter den Lebenden
Among the Living
Der Auskreuzer
Corps et âme : un roman court PsyCop
Skin After Skin
Agent Bayne
Murder House
Tauwetter: Eine PsyCop Kurzgeschichte
PsyCop Briefs: Volume 1
The ABCs of Spellcraft
Quill Me Now
Dead Man's Quill
Trouble in Taco Town
Something Stinks at the Spa
Standalone
Charmed and Dangerous: Ten Tales of Gay Paranormal Romance and Urban Fantasy
Imperfect Match
Zero Hour: A Post-Apocalyptic MM Romance
Sleepwalker: Gay Mystery Suspense
Sleepwalker Page 13
