Fall With Me

front pocket of her sweatshirt and starts walking fast again. “How were you supposed to know?”
    “I wasn’t, I guess. I’m still sorry. When did it happen?”
              “Almost a year ago.”
    “Oh, wow. So it’s still pretty recent.”
    “Yes.”
    “It always seems like it’s the wrong people who end up dying. This probably sounds horrible, but I don’t think it will bother me too much when my old man finally kicks it. Which will probably happen never, because he’s one of those assholes who’s going to live forever.”
    She glances at me. “That’s kind of a horrible thing to say. But I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t had those thoughts before myself.”
    We walk quietly for a few minutes, and I think I am starting to understand why she’s been as hostile as she has. Though tragedy has not been a prevalent theme in my life, usually it seems like people seek routine, the familiar, to help them get through it. Her summer job here is routine; I am not.
    “So you don’t get along with this lion-hunting father of yours?” she says, breaking the silence.
    “That’s one way of putting it. And considering he was going to refuse to pay my ransom, I’d say the feeling is probably mutual.”
    “You’re still going on about that.”
    “It’s the truth. And I know—no one believes me. Well, I think my brother might. He express mailed me this phone the other day, so he could call me—since my other one got lost the night I was abducted—and he hasn’t called yet, but I think he’s going to.”
    “So you were kidnapped but your brother wasn’t?”
    “Yes. My brother is not the sort that would ever get kidnapped. He wouldn’t let himself get into that sort of situation. Whereas me, on the other hand, I’m always getting into those situations. It’s kind of amazing I hadn’t been kidnapped before.” I glance at her. There is no trace of a smile on her face. Usually all I have to do is even think of opening my mouth to say something and the girl is usually falling over herself, laughing at what I’m about to say. Which actually can be a little unnerving sometimes. “You and my brother would probably get along really well,” I say. Yes, she’s just the kind of girl Cam would go for, and he’s probably just the kind of guy she would be into. Griffin the Matchmaker. Happy to help.
    “If your brother is even half as annoying as you are, I’d say not,” she says.
    “Jesus, girl! Are you this prickly with all guys, or do I just bring it out in you?”
    Finally, she gives me a wry smile. “Don’t say ‘prick’ in front of me.”
    I laugh. “Okay, fair enough.”
    We’re both quiet for a minute. She’s looking at me, and I wonder what she’s thinking about, but I don’t ask. It is actually nice to be standing here with her, not saying anything.
    She shakes her head and starts walking again. “Is your father famous or super rich or something?” she asks.
    “He’s definitely rich, and in his mind he’s famous. He’s Mr. Big Man on Campus at Concord Frazier Group, who I’m sure you’ve never heard of, which perfectly illustrates how famous he really is.”
    An odd look crosses her face. “What . . . where?”
              “Concord Frazier Group. It’s basically a company that owns a bunch of other companies. Pretty boring shit. But to the old man, it’s the most important thing in the world.”
    She stops walking and stares at me for a minute. I cannot, for the life of me, read the expression that has crossed her face. “I have to go,” she says. She turns and strides down the beach.
     

Chapter 12: Jill
     
    I hurry away, a strange feeling rooting itself firmly in the center of my chest. I can hear Uncle Nate’s voice clearly, echoing through my head: This all goes back to when Mike worked for CFG. Concord Frazier Group. Dad oversaw the management team that ran Organica, owned by the Concord Frazier Group.
    My thoughts whirl around my head. Dad worked for Griffin’s father? It seems so implausible, so unlikely that this could be the case. What are the chances of his son washing up on the beach of the summer camp that I worked at?
    It was no accident, Jill, mark my words. What kind of sign are you waiting for? What the hell needs to happen to make you realize that there is something more going on here?
    I can hear Uncle Nate’s voice like he’s right there, yelling in my ear.
    Maybe it’s nothing, I tell myself.
    Maybe it really