The silence that follows is so profound it presses on my eardrums. I can almost hear Jasper’s neurons firing. He says, carefully, “So . . . did they pay for this? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
“What? Hell no, those vultures don’t give a damn about us!”
“Okay, then why—”
“It’s the curse. Whatever you want to call it. It—they go after Gravelys, they always have—”
“Opal?” Jasper inhales carefully. “I know. I already know all this.”
“You—what?”
“I’ve known for a while. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but I wasn’t sure you were ready to hear it.”
Jasper pauses, but I can’t think of anything to say. I may, in fact, never think of anything to say again.
“Okay,” he says. “Okay. Well, thank you, first of all. I don’t know how you paid off a private high school, but it’s . . . I know you were just trying to help.” He says it earnestly—too earnestly, like a parent thanking their child for a homemade Christmas gift. A sense of foreboding thickens the air.
“Second, I’m sorry, like really sorry, but”—he hands the phone back to me and wraps my limp fingers around the case—“I’m not going.” He’s rarely sounded more sure about anything.
“If you think you’re working at the goddamn power plant you’ve got another think—”
“Because I’m starting at U of L this fall.” Jasper pauses, giving the syllables time to arrange themselves in my head. “I got a scholarship and financial aid, and the counselor says there are loans available, so you don’t have to worry about anything.”
In the original script of this conversation, I’m fairly sure that was my line. I was the one showing him the door out of Eden, handing him the keys to his own future. “You’re sixteen.”
Jasper smiles, a little shy, a little proud. “There’s no age requirements. It’s all test scores and credits and stuff. Charlotte helped me with the application and the SAT”—Charlotte, my former friend, who I now see is a stone-cold traitor—“and Logan’s mom helped with the state aid paperwork, and Mrs. Gutiérrez gave me a ride to the library today. I just met with my advisor. I’m already registered for classes.”
The enthusiasm in his voice falters a little, turns younger. “I know I should have told you, but I wanted it to be a surprise.” He fiddles with the button on his shirt cuff, sliding it in and out of the hole. “I applied for a couple jobs, first. Didn’t even get a reply. I guess I wanted to wait until I had a sure thing. And I wanted to show you I could do it. That you don’t have to take care of me anymore.” He looks back at me, forcing me to turn abruptly away and scrub my sleeve across my cheeks. The smell of my shirt only makes my eyes burn worse.
“Opal, hey, it’s okay. I’m not leaving you for good. I’ve got it all planned: I’ll major in business, get a job straight after graduation. And then it’ll be my turn to take care of you.” His hand lands tentatively on my shoulder, as if he isn’t sure whether I’ll bite it.
I sort of want to. How dare he scheme and sneak behind my back? How dare he tell Logan before he told me? How dare he not need me? Instead, I say, “I didn’t know you liked business.”
He laughs a little, like the question is silly, like I’m naive for asking it. “Guess I’ll find out.”
“You like movies. Film. Art.”
He lifts his shoulder. “So?”
“So, your stuff is really good. You’ve worked really hard on it. Why don’t you—”
“I don’t remember what Mom looked like. Did you know that?” He says it without inflection, like a man sliding the rug neatly out from under his opponent. “When I try to picture her face it goes all blurry in my head, and all I see is you.” He addresses the windshield, eyes fixed on the bulbous amber lights of the diner, voice low. “Opal, you’re bossy and you always think you know best and you have horrific taste in men. But you think I don’t know what I owe you?”
I thought my ribs had healed up, but I must have been wrong, because there’s an awful pain in my chest. My bones themselves feel wrong, chalky and friable, like old plaster.
I wait, breathing carefully around the hurt, until I can say, “You don’t owe me shit, Jasper. Do you hear me?”
“Yeah, sure.”