“You did all those things?”
“Well, sure. Some pot, too. Oh, and a little GHB. That’s probably what got me. I don’t usually do that stuff.”
“What the f**k is wrong with you, Griffin? I mean, seriously, life is just one big rave for you, isn’t it?”
“Yes, the world is my dance floor. God is a DJ, didn’t you know?”
“Continue,” he says, his voice tight. “With the story, not your drug addiction.”
“So I was there, the music was bangin’, the vibe was tight, it was a good time. And then I don’t really remember anything until I wake up stuffed in some walk-in closet on someone’s yacht.”
“And then . . .?”
“And there were these two guys there—sorry, I didn’t catch their names—and they said that they’d been in touch with Dad and unless he paid 7.2 million—kind of a random number, huh?—and confessed to something, that they’d kill me. And then they said Dad wasn’t really taking them seriously and had me call him, and guess what—he didn’t take me seriously, either, and that’s when I called you.”
“So you have no idea who these guys were.”
“No. Never seen them before. And, like I said, will probably never see them again. Because a whale breached, hit the boat, the boat sank, and off I swam. Guess those years of swimming lessons finally paid off, huh?”
He’s quiet, though I can practically hear the cogs turning in his brain.
“What’s up, Cam? Do you know something about this?”
“No,” he snaps. “I don’t. But I find it highly disturbing that these men would follow you to Thailand and kidnap you and then try to extort our father. Don’t you?”
“Well, duh.”
“Yet instead of doing anything about it, you get yourself a job in California. What are you doing, anyway?”
“Working on a horse ranch.”
He snorts. “Seriously?”
“No, I’m actually a male prostitute. That seemed a more lucrative way to go.”
We talk for a little longer. Cam grills me, but after a few minutes it’s pretty clear that I don’t have any juicy tidbits that are going to help him figure out whatever it is he needs to figure out. I don’t actually believe him when he says he doesn’t know anything about it, because if he didn’t, why on earth would he suddenly be taking such an interest? There is a part of me that wants to believe maybe he really is just as highly disturbed as he claims to be that someone kidnapped his little bro. Yeah, sure, okay.
We get off the phone. Allison looks at me. “Who was that?” she says. “What the f**k were you talking about? Kidnapped? A boat?”
“It was nothing,” I tell her. “A story I made up. That was actually an ex-girlfriend. She wants to get back together. Wanted to. I just . . . I just had to make up a story so she’d back off.”
Allison smiles. “That’s so sweet you’d do that for me.”
I tuck the phone back into my pocket. “I guess I’m just that kind of guy.” For the rest of the ride, I’m left wondering what kind of guy my brother is.
Chapter 14: Jill
The Raspberry Pilgrimage—as it became known—is an all-day affair that sends us down to Watsonville in the two Econoline buses with Sea Horse Ranch painted on the side. The couple who owns the raspberry farm is long-time friends of Bill and Lorrie’s, and the kids will get to spend the day helping out, not just with the raspberries but also the cows, chickens, sheep, goats, and beehives.
Griffin and Allison are noticeably absent from our adventure. While we drive south on the 1, they’re headed north, to San Francisco. And though this would probably shock him, I’m disappointed Griffin isn’t here.
When you find out something that is surprising or you’re not expecting to hear, your mind can do any number of things. It can go completely blank. That’s what happened when I found out about my parents’ accident. For a moment, I was incapable of registering a single thought. And then, when one thought finally was able to form, it was a single short word, on repeat: No.
But then, other times, your mind can go completely into overdrive, and that’s what happened the other night with Griffin. I stayed up all night thinking about it. Wondering if this was the sign Uncle Nate was talking about. Wondering what I would do with this information that only I knew.
The best thing I could come up with is instead of ignoring him for the rest of the summer, I’ve decided to get to know him better. Uncle Nate is right; if Dad’s death wasn’t an accident, of course I want to get to the bottom of it, and this really does seem too coincidental to just ignore. I even thought of calling Uncle Nate and letting him know, but something stopped me.
No, the voice said. Do this on your own. Only go to him if you find something.
Though what I’m expecting to find, I’m not sure. From the very little I know about Griffin, it’s clear he and his father don’t exactly have a stellar relationship, so it’s doubtful he even knows anything about it, but there’s always the chance he knows something without even realizing it.
I’m preoccupied with those thoughts all day, watching absently as the kids pick berries and chase chickens and milk the goats. When we finally load everyone back onto the two buses, I’m glad, because I can sit and zone out and try to figure out exactly what my plan is.
We get back to the ranch and the sun is just setting. Bill gets a fire going and the kids sit around, toasting marshmallows and talking about their farm adventures.
“That goat cheese was actually pretty good,” Brett says. “I thought it’d be kind of nasty, but it wasn’t. I wouldn’t mind going back down there.”
Several of the kids nod in agreement. It’s nice to see how they’ve settled into camp here, the new friendships that have been forged. I see Simon sitting next to Heather, and they’re both laughing, and for a moment I forget all the other stuff and feel happy for these kids, that they’re having a good time here, regardless of whatever trouble they have in their lives back home.
When Bill breaks out his guitar and starts strumming, I slip away.
I walk down to the beach and let myself flop down in the sand. There isn’t a cloud in the sky and I look up at the explosion of stars, toward the east, and pick out the Summer Triangle—Vega, Deneb, and Altair.
This will not be my life next year, I think. I’m not exactly sure where I’ll be or what I’ll be doing, but it sure as hell won’t be this.