From This Day On. Janice Johnson Kay
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the ensuing commercial. His thoughts reverted to their previous track.
Why would Dad think Michelle had put anything of even remote significance in that time capsule? Jakob was speculating on why it mattered if Amy got her hands on whatever that was when he thought, Oh, shit. Unlike Amy—he hoped unlike Amy—he had been old enough to understand some of what Michelle and his dad were fighting about before they separated and then divorced. Now he did some math in his head and thought again, Shit. His father knew something. Maybe not for sure, but enough to want to keep Amy away from that time capsule and what was in it.
Dad wasn’t using his head, though. Hadn’t it occurred to him that if neither Michelle nor her daughter showed up to claim her contribution, the college would undoubtedly mail it to Michelle at her address of record? That address being the house where Amy currently lived and where, apparently, she was opening the mail.
Whatever secret this was, neither Jakob nor his father had a prayer of keeping it out of Amy’s hands.
Thinking back to the conversation, he guessed his father didn’t really know anything. He was only uneasy.
Jakob considered calling him back and saying, Hey, what’s the scoop? But he doubted his father knew how much he’d overheard all those years ago.
And maybe misunderstood, he reminded himself. He’d only been nine years old when Dad and he moved out. His confusion over what he’d overheard was one reason he had never said anything to Amy. He hated her anyway, he’d assured himself at the time. After that, as they got older, he didn’t know what he felt about her, only that they weren’t friends, and they weren’t sister/brother in any meaningful way.
They still weren’t.
Yeah, but his interest had been piqued. It wouldn’t hurt to give her a call, would it? Take her to dinner, maybe, if she didn’t make an icy excuse. He found he was curious to know what she was like these days. His impression five years ago—even nine or ten years ago, when they’d shared Christmas Day—was that Amy had passed to the other side of her wild phase. She’d removed most of her piercings and let her hair revert to its natural chestnut color. Her makeup had been toned down considerably, too. She’d become an adult.
He knew she was a reasonably successful writer now. He’d actually bought magazines a few times to read her articles, which he had to admit had been smart, funny and not much like the angry teenage girl and then young woman he’d known.
Maybe he’d like her now.
The thought was insidious and made him feel edgy for no obvious reason.
Call her? His hand hovered over his phone. Or don’t?
* * *
AMY WAS JARRED from the paragraph she’d been reworking by her telephone ringing. She glanced at it irritably. Friends knew not to call her past about seven o’clock in the evening. That’s when she did her best work.
But her eyes widened at the number that was displayed. It was local, and she was pretty sure she recognized it. After a momentary hesitation, she picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Amy.” The voice was deep and relaxed. “Jakob.”
“Jakob.” Her thoughts scattered.
“Dad called this evening. He was telling me about this time capsule thing. I’m being nosy.”
“It is a little strange.” She hesitated then thought, Why not? “Did you know my mother ever went to Wakefield College?”
“Can’t say I did, not until Dad mentioned it tonight. You mean you didn’t know, either?”
“I’d swear she never mentioned it. I assumed she’d done her entire four years at the University of Oregon. But apparently not.”
“Have you emailed and asked her about it?”
The all-too-familiar anger stirred again. Why would she ask when her mother would either not answer, or only tell her it was none of her business?
“No. She and I never talk about the past. And I’m sure it’s no big deal.” I am lying, Amy realized. To her, knowing her mother had put something in the time capsule felt like a big deal. “I just thought it was interesting, that’s all. It even occurred to me that there might be an article idea in the opening of the capsule.”
He got her talking about the possible article, mentioned one of hers he’d read, which flattered her more than it should have, and finally suggested they actually have dinner together.
“It would make Dad happy to know we’d done something.”
He’d played the guilt card deftly, she thought, but found herself tempted, anyway. Who else could she talk to about this? Jakob at least knew some of the background and seemed to be genuinely interested. He sounded like a nicer guy than she remembered him being, too.
Amy made a face. Yes, it was possible she’d been ever so slightly prejudiced against him. So, okay, he tormented her throughout her growing-up years, but maybe that wasn’t so abnormal for an older brother. Especially one dealing with his father’s remarriage followed by the birth of a baby sister who supplanted him, in a sense.
He presumably had grown up.
“Sure,” she said cautiously. “When did you have in mind?”
* * *
JAKOB HAD THE NEXT EVENING in mind, as it turned out. Either he didn’t have an active social life right now, or a cancellation had provided an opening in his schedule.
They’d agreed to meet at the restaurant, and he beat her there. Amy was glad she’d checked it out online and therefore dressed appropriately. It wasn’t the kind of place she usually dined. Her all-purpose little black dress fit in fine, though, and the four-inch heels lent enough sway to her hips, she was vaguely aware that a couple of men turned their heads when she passed. Good. She’d been determined to look her best for this reunion. Jakob might be her brother, but she sure as hell didn’t want him looking at her with disdain the way he had the last few times they’d seen each other.
The maître d’ led her straight to a window table where Jakob waited. He spotted her when she was on the other side of the room and rose to his feet, watching her as she came.
The minute she set eyes on him, she felt sure a cancellation explained the fact that he had been free to have dinner with a mere sister tonight. This was a man who could have all the women he wanted, whenever he wanted.
He got his height and looks from their father. Amy hadn’t. She’d forgotten how Jakob dwarfed her. Or maybe not—perhaps her subconscious had prompted her to wear the tallest heels she owned.
Jakob was also ridiculously handsome, his features clean-cut, his nose long and narrow, his cheekbones sharp enough to cast a shadow beneath. He had dark blond hair that was probably a little longer than business-standard, but lay smooth except for a curl at his collar. His eyes had been a breathtaking shade of blue when he was a kid, but had become more of a blue-gray by the time he reached adulthood. He looked as Scandinavian as his name suggested.
She did not. Amy had inherited her mother’s brown eyes and hair that was neither brown nor red nor anything as interesting as auburn. Mom was a brunette, but apparently a great-aunt was a redhead so it ran in the family. Nobody had curls like Amy’s, though. That cross was hers alone to bear.
“Amy.” Jakob smiled and held out a hand. Not his arms, thank heavens—nobody in their family hugged, and she didn’t want to start with him.
“Jakob.”
They shook, his big hand enveloping hers. It felt warm, strong and calloused, which was interesting considering he presumably sat behind his desk most of the time.
Or maybe not. He’d always been the outdoorsy type, and given his business—sporting goods—he likely tested some of the products himself. Lord knows there were plenty of mountains within a day’s drive for