Not a big surprise, she supposed. It seemed like every memory she’d ever had of Jack converged in her head in a cheesy montage just to torture her. She remembered him helping her learn to ride a bike and beating up a bully who was picking on her. He’d gotten a fat lip for his effort, but as he told their parents with the beginnings of his future swagger, “You should see the other guy.” She remembered him showing her the shortcut through the woods that led to a convenience store on the main road where they emptied their piggy banks on candy and made themselves sick. Together they discovered the best climbing trees, made the best skateboard ramp, and when they were older, he taught her how to drive a stick shift by parking the car at the bottom of a hill and making her drive up it. Jack was a free spirit, the last of the rogues, with a brilliant brain for business and a weakness for the ladies. He’d knocked around the globe, circling it at least six times, and always coming home with exotic tales and strange gifts.
