Wild Wind: A Chaos Novella (Chaos #6.6)(2)

Did right with the process. Laid the flowers on just so.

Yeah, Jag stayed through all of that.

Only when her mom was all good did Jag look at his father’s tombstone.

“Later, Pops,” he said, getting up, brushing off the ass of his jeans, and making his way to Dutch’s truck.

And it was fucked in the head.

But to this day, he would swear it happened.

Swear that he heard You’re a good kid, Jag, in a voice that was totally familiar.

At the same time it was not.





It was a couple of months after when he saw the tombstone go up.

He was in Dutch’s truck again, alone, visiting his dad.

And he was pissed because Hound and his mom were just not getting it on.

Seriously with that, what the fuck?

Hound was, like, wasting his whole damned life waiting for his mother to snap out of it.

But did she?

No.

Hell, everything she needed was right there.

In her boys.

And in Hound.

Jesus.

But yeah, Jag saw the new headstone, which was good. Seeing that, he could think of her, the pretty girl, and not think about why he kept coming to his dad’s grave, especially when he was frustrated that his father’s wife wasn’t hooking up with a man his father considered a brother.

And Jag didn’t know why, but when he saw that new gravestone, he turned right around, drove to the store, bought some paper, envelopes and Ziplocs, as well as duct tape. He found a pen in Dutch’s glove box and drove back to the cemetery.

He sat on his father’s grave and wrote her a note because he knew, that headstone was up, they’d come back for certain to check it out.

The note read:



Hey,

I’m the guy from across the way. Just to say, it sucks now and people are gonna be weird about it for a long time. Just ignore them and do your thing. You got her in your head, you know? That’s not going anywhere. Ever.

And you got your dad and your brother. That’s big.

I got my mom and my brother. And they’re like, everything, you know? We look out for each other. We’re a family. Totally.

I can’t say it’s all good, because it’s not.

I can just say you get on with it.

So let people do their thing, you do yours, and stick tight with your dad and brother.

You’ll be OK.

Hang loose,





-J


He’d then folded it up, put it in an envelope and wrote For the Girl Across the Way on it.

When he was done with that, he’d taped it to the base of her mom’s headstone.

Her mom’s name had been Bryn.

Pretty.

He wondered what the girl’s name was.

At the time, he figured that he’d probably never find out.





It was a week or so later when Hound caught up with him.

“Reckon this is for you,” his stepdad-not-stepdad had grunted, handing him an envelope in a Ziploc.

Hound said nothing more.

That was just like Hound. He always knew what to do, say, how to be.

So he took off and left Jagger to it.

Jag never asked him when he was there, or why. It wasn’t a surprise Hound visited his father’s grave.

They were brothers, after all.

Jagger pulled the envelope out of the baggie and saw it said For the Guy Across the Way.

The writing wasn’t girlie. Each letter was straight up and down, deep impressions in the strokes, taking space. It had personality but it was so perfect, it was a little eerie. Like it wasn’t handwritten, but instead some font pretending to be handwriting, printed out on a printer.

It said:





J-


Thanks for the advice.

Dad says you’re right.

And you’re wise.

You hang loose too.





-A


Jag really wanted to know what “A” stood for.

But he’d have to wait a while to find out.





The next time Jag saw her, it was two, three months later, outside an Arby’s.

She was with her family.

Or what was left of it.

Jag was going in.

She was coming out.

He stopped dead the second he saw her.

She did the same.

Her father and brother didn’t notice and kept walking to their car.

Jag moved to her where she was standing on the sidewalk, waiting for him.

“Hey,” he greeted.

“Hey,” she replied.

“How’s things? You hangin’ in there?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Cool,” he said, feeling something he’d never felt before.

Uncomfortable.

Unsure.

Like a dork.

Man, she was pretty.

And man, he was a dick, when all he could think was how pretty she was, and her mom hadn’t been under dirt for a full year.

“Thanks for the note,” she said.

“I get it,” he told her.

“Yeah, I saw your dad’s stone. I get that you do,” she replied.

“Honey!”

They both looked in the direction of the call.

The dad was looking impatient and not too hip on his daughter chatting with Jag.