You Don't Know Jack (Page 61)

“You’ve got a good guy here, that’s for sure. Gave me his couch to sleep on when he found out I had nowhere to go. He called shelters all over town, but when no one had room, he just opened his apartment to me.” Her father turned to Jack. “And I thank you for that. I’m sorry for leaving the way I did.”

“I think if Jamie is forgiving you, maybe it’s time you forgive yourself, Jim, and start over.”

That choked Jamie up. She felt the tears escape her eyes and start tumbling down her cheeks. Then suddenly she found herself caught up in her father’s arms, his callused hands patting her back.

“Don’t cry, baby girl. It’s alright. We’ll make it alright.”

He smelled the way she remembered. Like leather and Irish Spring.

That was a good scent. And there were good memories, right there, pulled up out of her childhood memory.

“Thanks. With both of us willing, we’ll definitely make it alright.” Jamie pulled back and saw Pops and Austin coming out of the deli with a large bag in Pops’s lap.

“Did you get some lunch?” Jack was holding her hand, keeping her close to him, and it was a nice, warm, fuzzy-blanket feeling.

She was surrounded by people who cared about her, and she had a darn good life.

“Yeah. We got Reubens,” Pops said. “Bring on the cheese, I always say.”

“Why don’t we go to my place and let Jamie and Jim talk a little more.”

Jamie nodded. “There are a ton of things I want to ask you about, Dad.”

Her father crossed his arms over his chest. “I can’t tell you how good it feels to be called Dad again.”

“Hey, there’s like a really hairy dude dressed as a lady trying to get your attention,” Austin said, gesturing down the sidewalk.

“What?” Jamie looked in the direction he was pointing.

Jack squeezed her hand tighter and asked in puzzlement, “Isn’t that the nut job who was talking to you last night in the hall at the reception?”

Of course it was. Beckwith was striding down the street, wearing a white sundress with Donna Reed pearls and waving at her frantically.

“Jamie! Honey baby, we need to talk.”

Didn’t they always. “What’s the matter, Beckwith?” She didn’t bother to ask about the dress. There was no telling.

“You know this guy?” Jack asked in disbelief, wrapping his arm tighter around her waist.

“Oh, yeah.”

“Allison told me you were probably here,” Beckwith called as he jogged the last few feet to her. Suddenly he drew up short. “Oh my gawd,” he said as he took in the group collected around her. “Who are all these men around you? And why is this one prettier than me?” he asked, pointing to Jack.

Jack blanched. Jamie laughed. “Beckwith, this is Jack Davidson, Will Hathaway, and Austin. Just Austin,” she said in a James Bond imitation voice. “And my father, Jim Peters. This is Beckwith Tripp, professional psychic.”

“Psychic? Dude, tell my fortune,” Austin begged. “But not if it sucks—just make something up if it sucks.”

But Beckwith was whipping his hands around in a sort of feminine karate chop as if he were being assaulted. “Whoa, too many sensations. But this makes so much sense, sugar. Oh, oh, oh, this all makes sense. Sadness,” he said, pointing to her father. “Darth Vader, and prison.” His finger shot over to Austin. “Prison. Prison? Kid, you’re too young to be a criminal. You’d better straighten out. But you’re past, present, and future in Jamie’s karma. These two both have the tattoos, we’ve got the light hair.”

Beckwith touched Pops’s shirt, causing the older man to swat at him.

“Coffee. Food. Dang, I am so good.”

She had no idea what Beckwith was talking about.

“Too many men, Jamie. They were all blending together, mixing with my mojo.” Finally he reached over and patted Jack on the shoulder, almost knocking Jack into the street. “He is the one for you! Shit, that’s so sweet. You didn’t have sex with him for nothing after all.”

While Jack sputtered, Jamie saw what Beckwith was trying to say. He’d seen them all in her destiny. Pops, Austin, her father. And Jack.

“Oh, Beck.”

Dang, she was going to cry. She’d chosen her destiny, and it was a good one.

“I know, I know,” Beckwith said, looking triumphant. “Okay, people. Everyone.” He clapped his hands together loudly. “With the true gift of a psychic, I can tell these two crazy kids need time alone. Everyone but Jamie and Jack needs to scat.”

“Can we go into the apartment?” Pops asked. “Or at least the lobby? My cheese is congealing.”

“Sure, old man.” Austin pushed the wheelchair, and Beckwith walked alongside it, giving a minilecture on karma, and the inappropriateness of giving predictions for old people and kids. Jim had lit up a cigarette and was ambling along beside them, listening attentively.

“What the hell just happened?” Jack asked.

“I think my father and I made some headway.”

“That’s great. But who was the guy in the dress? And do you think we can duck out and go hide at your place?”

She shook her head and grinned. “Not a chance. They’ll find us. Beckwith’s psychic, you know.”

“You really think he is?”

“I know he is. He told me about you, remember. That you’d make me so happy other people would gag at the look on my face.”

“Is it true? I make you happy to the point of causing illness in others?”

“Yes. Very much so.”

“Did he predict this?” Jack picked her up, held her right under her ass, enjoying the feel of her tight up against him. He wasn’t letting her go, ever again. “Marry me. I don’t want to wait, there’s no reason to wait when I feel this way.”

She sniffled. “No, he didn’t.”

She hid her head in his shoulder, and Jack felt a little panic rising. She wasn’t answering him.

“Marry me, Jamie, and tell me where to give my money. Help me find a new start, a new apartment that we can afford on our pitiful do-gooder salaries.”

Then she lifted her head and said, “Yes. I’ll marry you.”

Jack spun her around, nearly taking out a chihuahua trotting by on his leash. “Yes! That is totally the right answer.”

She laughed, her pert little nose lining up with his as she dusted a kiss across his lips. “I think so. And you don’t have to give away your money, Jack. I’m not that insecure, nor am I that selfish. You worked hard to earn that money, and you deserve to keep it and do whatever you want with it.”