Finding Jack, page 7
“Are you ready to talk about this now?” I asked as she veered toward the hallway and her bedroom.
“I didn’t know there was anything to discuss.”
“Ranée. Stop being weird. Why does Sean care if I talk to Jack?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why not just say that?”
“I don’t know.” She ran her fingers through her hair and caught the lint, holding it in front of her to glare at it with slightly crossed eyes before she changed direction to drop it in the kitchen garbage can.
“Seriously. Something about this smells funny.”
She immediately checked the bottom of her shoes, discovered the piece of straw, and sent it after the lint into the trash.
“Not literally smells funny. I mean about this whole you/Sean/Jack situation.”
“There’s no situation.”
“Then why do you keep pushing the issue?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “Why do you suddenly have so many questions about Sean?” Then they shot wide open. “Wait, are you crushing on my brother now?”
I snorted. “Am I sixteen? No. Stop deflecting.”
“Then it’s Jack. This is about him. Why so many questions?” She gave the same gasp she gave every time she found a new carton of ice cream in the freezer like it had been delivered by magical freezer elves instead of me. “Have you been talking to Jack? Do you love him now? Isn’t he way better than Paul?”
It was my turn to examine her face, trying to figure out why she was being deliberately obtuse. I wouldn’t mention that I’d been talking to him yet, mostly because I didn’t want her to think she’d succeeded in bossing me into it. But also because I’d thought of another angle to get the information I wanted.
“I don’t actually even know anything about your brother. He’s older, right?”
“Five years.”
That would make him in his early thirties. “So if you’re both from Nevada, how’d you both end up on the west coast?”
She walked back into the living room and kicked off her shoes before settling on the couch. “School and then work for both of us.”
“You didn’t like Nevada?”
“It’s Nevada.” She said it like it explained everything. I’d only driven through it on the way to other places, and based on what I’d seen from the interstate, maybe it did.
“What does Sean do? I know he’s outdoors a lot.” Maybe it would give me some insight into how he knew Jack.
“He is. That’s his job.”
“What does that mean?” I remembered the flannel shirt she’d bought him. “Whoa. Is he an actual lumberjack?”
“No. He’s an outdoor nature guide. He works in the national forest outside of Portland.”
“So pretty much a lumberjack.”
She rolled her eyes. “Actually, he was a nurse, but he burnt out and had a career change.”
“Isn’t he kind of young to have burned out of one career already?”
“He worked in a pretty intense unit. There’s a million things you can do in nursing, but he wanted a total change, and he moved to the woods. Well, near them. I think he can’t get enough of them right now because of growing up in the desert. I don’t know if he’ll ever get tired of the rain and the green.”
I glanced out our window, and even though my view was another building I smiled. Even on the sixth floor I could still hear faint snatches of sound from the street. “I get that. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of the city.” I’d grown up north of LA in the most stereotypical suburban neighborhood imaginable, where all the houses and shopping centers and schools looked the same as they bowed to the power of the HOA.
I loved the chaos and constant change of the city, the way millionaires lived next to condemned buildings, and half the walls of both places were covered with spray paint, and sometimes it was graffiti and sometimes it evolved into art.
“Me either,” she said. She rose and stretched. “I’ve had a long day. I’m going to go hit the hay.”
I pointed to the spot in her hair where the straw had made itself at home. “Looks like you already did. What were you up to today?”
She smirked and plucked it from her hair. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” she asked as she dropped it in the trash can.
“I think I really, really wouldn’t. But I’ll tell you what I would like to know. How Sean knows Jack and why he’s on your case to connect me to him. If Jack’s so great, why not hook you two up?”
“This is how I’d know you don’t have a brother even if that was the only thing I’d ever heard you say. Brothers don’t set their sisters up with anyone, ever. And Sean is overprotective.”
“So…Jack’s not good enough for you but he’s good enough for me?”
“No. It’s that Sean still doesn’t think I’m old enough to date.”
“Does he know you’re twenty-seven?”
“No. He still thinks I’m fourteen. But he knows you’re thirty-one, and he knows I think you’re all right, and that’s good enough for him.”
“You think I’m all right? Aw, you love me.”
“You’re fine. Good enough for Jack.”
We’d been joking again until she said that. My eyebrows went up. What an interesting way for her to put it. “It’s your job as my friend to make sure he’s good enough for me, isn’t it?”
She smiled. “Jack’s a special case. You should get to know him.”
“I kind of have been,” I admitted finally and waited for the interrogation to start.
“Well, well, well,” she said, but softly, and with a smile she slipped into her bedroom and shut the door.
Chapter 12
JACK DOBSON HAS SENT YOU A FRIEND REQUEST.
It didn’t show up in my notifications in all caps. But it felt like an all caps kind of announcement.
I was about to click accept, but the tingle of anticipation that swept up from my stomach stopped me. I set my phone down and turned to stare out of my office window. The bail bondsman billboard showed a suave-looking dude trying to guarantee me a bail bond, but it was old and peeling. Part of the paper with his right eye printed on it had come loose and it fluttered, turning him from a one-eyed pirate to a James Bond wannabe and back to a pirate again.
I should not be so excited to see Jack’s friend request in my inbox. I should only feel a pleasant little ripple of recognition, like, “Oh, that Jack guy sent me a friend request.”
This was not a big deal. So why was I staring at my phone and experiencing an existential crisis about whether to pick it up and press “Accept”?
It was honestly bizarre. I didn’t have a history of bad romantic relationships. Yeah, my parents had divorced, but I didn’t carry much baggage over it. They were happier apart and got along well enough. I didn’t have a problem committing. Not really.
I mean, maybe a little. But not for any deep reasons, like past trauma. I dated nice guys. Nice, normal, well-adjusted guys. But I never felt that…thing. That thing they showed in romance movies and books where I needed another person as much as I needed to breathe. That thing where time apart felt like years and time together sped by like seconds.
I’d also never felt the electric current that had run up from my center because some guy had sent me a Facebook friend request.
And Jack was just some guy. A funny guy, yeah. But just some guy. Some guy with bad hair and good Photoshopping skills.
Just some guy. Yes. And a friend request was no big deal.
I picked up my phone and accepted it. Less than a minute later, it vibrated with a DM from Jack.
I refused to overthink it and opened my messages.
JACK: Good morning.
EMILY: Not really.
JACK: Uh-oh. What’s wrong?
I couldn’t remember for a hazy second. A few minutes ago work had been terrible, and then he’d sent a friend request, and then I forgot that I’d been in the middle of a work crisis about…oh, yeah.
EMILY: The breakroom has no coffee.
JACK: Don’t you work at a tech company?
EMILY: How did you know that?
JACK: It’s in your profile.
It was, but we were a startup, one that didn’t have a lot of name recognition. Very few people besides our direct clients even knew us by name. And all I’d put was our name. So that meant…
EMILY: Did you research my company?
JACK: No.
EMILY: Then how’d you know I’m at a tech company?
JACK: You’re in San Francisco. That’s what everyone does.
EMILY: No. That’s what everyone in Silicon Valley does. San Francisco is a whole lot of everything. Confess: you looked it up.
JACK: …
JACK: …
JACK: I didn’t. But…
EMILY: ???
JACK: Sean told me what you do.
Which meant Sean had found out from Ranée. But…why? I didn’t mind that Jack knew. My job wasn’t by any means top secret. I just didn’t get why Sean was so invested in trying to connect Jack with someone who lived six hundred miles away.
JACK: Is it a problem that I know?
EMILY: No. But turnabout is fair play. What do you do?
JACK: You didn’t tell me. It’s not really even if I tell you, is it?
EMILY: So I’ll ask Ranée. Ooh, or Google you.
JACK: Good luck with that. But we’re off subject.
EMILY: We were on a subject?
JACK: Yes. Your tragic coffee situation. I thought tech companies ran on coffee. Isn’t that GROUNDS for a strike?
EMILY: That joke is.
JACK: That’s fair. But honestly, it’s not right for a tech company to be out of coffee. Do you work in one of those buildings with a lobby café? Do you have a minion you can send to fetch some for you?
EMILY: No café. And I do have an assistant, but I need her too much for actual work to send her on coffee runs. I’m gonna sit here and suffer.
JACK: I’m going to make you the perfect digital cup of coffee. How do you take it up there in your fancy skyscraper penthouse executive suite?
EMILY: You mean my eighth-floor not-even-corner-office?
JACK: Fine, how do you take your coffee in your glorified cubicle?
EMILY: Venti, black.
JACK: I’ll be honest, I wouldn’t have guessed that.
EMILY: Was I supposed to say something frou-frou because I’m a woman?
JACK: No. Because straight coffee is gross.
EMILY: You’re right. It’s gross. I actually like a latte.
JACK: Hang on…
Five minutes later a picture popped up. It was a coffee cup bristling with enough tropical drink umbrellas to supply a sorority house. It was funny, but I’d expected something a little more for the time it had taken him.
EMILY: I thought maybe Transcendent Seagull was going to make an appearance.
JACK: That’s ridiculous. Seagulls don’t drink coffee.
EMILY: Are you sure? Because they eat Cheetos. I see them do it every time I’m at the beach.
JACK: Transcendent Seagull isn’t a Cheeto eater. That’s offensive.
EMILY: I love Cheetos.
JACK: That’s fine for you. You’re not Transcendent Seagull.
EMILY: What does he eat?
JACK: Prophecies and karma. But you have a latte now. Are you happy?
EMILY: Yes. I’m amazed you knew exactly how frou-frou I like it.
JACK: You seemed like a fifty-three umbrella kind of person. I know these things.
EMILY: Clearly. I’m going to go enjoy this latte. Have a good day.
JACK: Later.
I saved the coffee mug picture. I didn’t think too hard about why, and I definitely didn’t think too hard about why I made it my phone’s wallpaper. Then I turned my phone off completely and set to work reading the latest email chain dealing with a bug in our newest software, determined to put Jack out of mind until work was done.
Which would have worked if my assistant Hailey hadn’t poked her head in through my door fifteen minutes later, a stress pucker wrinkling her forehead. “You know you can ask me to go get you coffee, right?”
“I know.”
“Then why…” She stepped out of the way and a guy carrying a to-go cup printed with the logo of a nearby café walked in. “I would fetch it just because I like you. Now you’re going to have to tip him.”
“The tip was already taken care of,” the delivery guy said. “You’re Emily?”
“Yes. I didn’t order any coffee though.”
He shrugged. “All I know is that someone said to bring a latte here. I’m sorry I’m late, but I had to track down a couple of things.” He set the latte on my desk and then reached into his delivery basket to pull out a bright yellow drink umbrella and a small bag of Cheetos. “I’m supposed to tell you it’s from—”
“Let me guess. Jack?”
“No, some guy named T. Seagull. Have a good day.” He tucked the umbrella into the lid and left with a polite nod.
I grinned. I couldn’t help it. “This is ridiculous.” This is what he’d been up to when he took so long to Photoshop the latte.
Hailey eyed the umbrella. “A little bit ridiculous. Who’s Jack?”
“Nobody. Go back to using your valuable time doing valuable things.”
She cast one more confused glance at the yellow drink umbrella then closed the door behind her. She popped her head right back in. “Nobody? Really?”
“Back to work, Hailey.”
But the door hadn’t even clicked shut before I had Google open to figure out who my nobody really was.
Chapter 13
The search for “Jack Dobson” returned almost seven million results. Several in the first few pages linked back to his Twitter account, but that was about it. There were lots of Jack Dobsons, from a prominent entrepreneur to a British gardener. Mostly it was ancestral records and obituaries for other men named Jack Dobson. Outside of his Twitter feed, nothing much came up for him.
I didn’t need to check his Twitter and Facebook. I’d already prowled those. Each of the accounts only went back about two years, and neither of them gave me much beyond his usual Photoshop requests. He didn’t have personal pictures or information. No snaps from vacations or adventures. No snaps of his food, even.
As far as the internet was concerned, Jack Dobson was essentially two years’ worth of funny pictures and that was it.
Which meant, of course, that there was much, much more to the story.
He’d said, “Good luck with that,” when I told him I was going to Google him. I’d taken it as a throwaway comment, but now it took on added meaning. He’d known I wouldn’t find anything.
I thought about that all day, wondering why. There could be a hundred reasons from sensible to sinister. I had a few friends who didn’t put their real names on their public profiles, mainly to deter creepers like…well, me, currently. But what was weirder was the two year thing. There was another version of Jack somewhere, with a rich and informative digital life story.
When Ranée got home, I waited until she was curled up on the sofa and browsing through Netflix before pouncing. “So I’ve been chatting with Jack. And I’ve got questions.”
She set down the remote. “Define chatting.”
“We connected on social, and long story short, he had coffee and a bag of Cheetos delivered to my office today.”
She turned the TV off. “No long story short. I want all the story.”
I told her about the seagull pictures all the way up to the coffee delivery.
I expected her to gloat that she’d succeeded in connecting us, but she only nodded. “He’s cool, right?”
“He seems to be. Funny, surprising. But secretive. And I want to know if that translates to shady.”
She shook her head. “I’ve only met him once, but he made an impression. I’ve asked Sean more about him since getting him involved with the whole Photoshopping joke. Jack has an interesting story. You should get him to tell it to you.”
“But if you know it, why don’t you just tell it to me?”
“Don’t you want the thrill of discovery?”
I rolled my eyes. “This from the girl who’s first to creep on any guy’s social if I so much as smile at him. Why are you being so cagey about this now?”
“Fair point.” She drummed her fingers against the arm of the sofa. “I know he had a career change a couple of years ago. I know he keeps to himself a lot. He’ll hang out with Sean, but Sean gets the impression he doesn’t hang out with too many other people. Sean actually doesn’t talk about him that much. Says he’s a cool guy, and he likes the idea of you and Jack talking. He wouldn’t suggest anyone shady. That much I can promise.”
“I’m so confused. You’re almost weirdly loyal to someone you’ve only met once instead of to me, your most favorite roommate of all time.”
“I am loyal to you, which is why I told you to get rid of Paul and to talk to Jack. No dumb boys for you.”
“Paul’s not dumb.” It was a reflex to defend him even though it wasn’t my job anymore.
She grimaced. “You’re right. He’s not dumb.”
Huh. Any kind of concession toward Paul was new. “You feel sorry for him now?”
“No. It’s a respect-for-the-dead thing. He’s dead to you now, right?”
“No. Dang, Ranée. We didn’t end on bad terms. I’d say hi if I saw him again.”
“But the relationship is dead?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay. Then out of respect for the dead relationship. But with Jack, it’s not loyalty. It’s more like I’m protective of him.”
“Protective?” It was an interesting word choice. “Why does he need protecting? Is something wrong with him?”
