Gathering Dark by Candice Fox (best life changing books txt) 📕

Jessica wouldn’t look at me.

“I’ll see what they have on your stolen car,” she said finally. “And I’ll check in on Tasik, see why he’s so determined to crawl up your ass. But that’s it.”

It seemed too dangerous to celebrate in any way as I stood there, but inside my chest an explosion was happening, of relief, of excitement. I felt an urge to hug Jessica, then an otherworldly repulsion at the idea, a sudden prickle of fury and hatred at this woman and what she had done to me, the necessity of her in my life both a decade ago and today. Outwardly I stiffened, determined not to do anything to let her know how grateful and confused I felt.

“What would you recommend we do?” I asked.

“I’m curious about this parachuting thing,” Jessica said. “You said the pamphlet was on top of the desk. You didn’t have to dig for it.”

“Right.”

“So it’s recent.”

“I guess so.”

“Go check that out,” she said. Sneak was standing naked at the pool fence, her breasts and belly pressed against the glass like flat sugared doughnuts. Jessica turned to me. “And try to get your little posse of jailbirds under control.”

I heard rapid, thumping footsteps on grass but didn’t have time to turn before the gate beside me lurched violently as Jamie scaled it from the other side. I looked up to see my son hanging over the top of the leaf-covered lattice, wearing a halo of morning sunshine.

“Whoa!” I laughed, shading my battered face with my hand.

“Whoa back,” he said. “What are you doing over there?”

I remembered Sneak standing naked at the pool fence, but when I looked back she seemed to have submerged in the water again. Ada was watching Jamie with interest. I expected Jessica to answer my child but the detective was examining her fingernails, leaving me to it.

“I was just, uh, visiting.” I gestured weirdly at Jessica. “Visiting my, um … friend?”

Jessica looked up at me. Her eyes blazed.

“Are you having a party?” Jamie asked. “Who’s that near the pool?”

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for school, kid?” Jessica asked.

“Shouldn’t you be out solving crimes?” The boy wobbled his head, sassy and proud of it. I bit my tongue as I watched the cogs and wheels in his mind working. He pointed at me. “Hey, wait a minute. Do you guys know each other from—”

“Jamie, just—”

“From jail?”

Neither Jessica nor I spoke.

“Because you put people in jail,” Jamie said, pointing at Jessica now. “And you used to be—”

“Knitting class,” Jessica blurted. Everyone stared at her. “We met each other at knitting class. We both knit. Toys. Sweaters. So do they.” She jerked her thumb at Ada and Sneak. “It’s a knitting circle.” Sneak was at the deep end of the pool, seemingly engaged in a whispered conversation with the filter box.

“I didn’t know you knit stuff.” Jamie looked at me, skeptical.

“I’m not very good,” I said. I reached up and rubbed his arm. “Now go get ready for school, buddy.”

Jamie thumped away like a happy rabbit, up the lawn toward Sasha’s house.

“I love you!” I called. He made a vomiting noise in response.

“He usually says ‘I love you back,’” I assured Jessica. She said nothing. “Knitting circle, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jessica sneered.

“I actually can knit,” Ada chipped in with a smile, waving her cigarette. “It’s useful to know a variety of knots and ties. Good life skill.”

A cold shiver ran through me. If Ada had heard our conversation with Jamie clearly enough to comment, perhaps she had heard Jessica warning me to get the dangerous woman off my team. Jessica seemed to be thinking the same thing. She sighed and walked away, into the house.

Dear John,

I don’t know what to say to your confession about the homeless guy. You’re telling me to go with it, to follow my instincts, that voice inside that’s saying “Fuck it!,” and then you tell me the first time you did, you killed an innocent person. That’s hardly an endorsement of the free life, if I’m honest. But you’re right. I’m slipping. I missed (skipped!) a class at community college the other day so I could go to a party with my douchebag boyfriend. He doesn’t have a lot of respect for me but I’m hanging in there anyway. That’s the first class I’ve skipped. Ever. At the party, I enjoyed the sense of recklessness. I enjoyed it so much, in fact, I got crazy high and have no idea what I did for a while there. I remember that this guy was walking around with a big yellow snake on his shoulders. We left the party in someone’s car, went somewhere, into the mountains maybe. The rush of reality creeping in heavily the next morning was sickening. Like a big monster that came lumbering through the door. I’m so angry all the time. Why do I have to do this? And why do I have to do it alone?

I feel terrible for talking about how caged and hunted I feel when you’re sitting there in your cell twenty-three hours a day. I just watched a Louis Theroux documentary on San Quentin. I didn’t realize you have steel mesh on the front of your cell. You can’t even see out properly. I guess I thought there might be bars, a view of something, people going by. Maybe a window. It occurs to me that if you did have a secret bag of cash out there somewhere, you might try to find someone who would take it and share the adventures they had on your dime with you. It would kind of be like you’re along for the ride. They could send you postcards. But you know how that goes, don’t you—they send you a few then they get bored and stop, and you can only wonder what they’ve done, whether they’ve got themselves killed in Colombia while chilling out on the beach, and now some cartel scumbags have got your cash.