#jackna

Amy was staring at him. He could sense it across the room. Jackson flipped a page, paused, and said in Latin (quite dryly, in fact), “Is there a spider on my head?"

    “No,” she replied in kind, “but you’re reading Una’s book.”

    “I refute the argument thus,” Jackson said, switching to English. “It is not Una’s book, it is a library book. This is the call number here, see?” He held up the book, showing the white label on the spine. Amy shrugged. “True. But Una was reading the same book when she was here… day before yesterday?” She added, switching back to Latin. Jackson shrugged. “It’s a good book.”

    “You’ve chuckled twice.”

    Jackson could find nothing to say to that, so he went back to the book. Across the room, Amy’s phone rang.

    “Hello?

    “Moon Moon! Yo. Are we on for Sunday?”

    Jackson stopped reading the moment she said Moon Moon. It was Amy’s nickname for Una: endearing, if a little uncalled-for, and he would recognize it anywhere. That thought concerned him.