Chapter 5: Jason's Memory

I didn’t have much of an impression of Jason Carter. There were too many sons of local officials to keep straight, and I couldn’t remember the standout ones, let alone Jason Carter, who left for the border with his dad at ten.

But then a memory surfaced: I was six, running into him on the playground and bouncing off his chest. He’d looked so panicked, like he’d broken a puppy, and tried to wipe my tears with his sleeve—only to scratch my face raw. I had to push him away and use my own handkerchief. Even then, he was gentle and awkward, not mean.

Was that big guy really Jason Carter?

He got his old Ford pickup and drove me home. The cab smelled like pine air freshener and yesterday’s coffee. Country radio murmured low as we rolled through the quiet streets.

My brother was waiting on the porch, face dark. I got out, nervous, and hid behind Jason Carter.

Jason glanced back at me, shifted to shield me, and greeted my brother. “Hey, Mike.”

Mike’s voice was sharp. “Jason Carter? Why are you with Anna?”

I tugged Jason’s sleeve, not wanting my brother to know I’d been drinking.

He caught on fast and said calmly, “I ran into Anna alone. Thought I’d make sure she got home safe.”

I peeked from behind him, meeting my brother’s stern gaze.

“Come here.”

I reluctantly stepped out and joined Mike. In front of others, he let it go, but I knew we’d talk later.

We walked inside together. After a few steps, I remembered something and turned back.

Jason Carter was still standing there, watching me. He looked surprised by my sudden glance; his eyes flickered, then he smiled.

I ran up and handed back his handkerchief.

Leaving the restaurant with a tear-stained face was embarrassing, so I’d ended up using Jason’s handkerchief. It was plain, but the fabric was soft.

Jason took it and suddenly asked, “Anna, can I see you again?”