Somewhere Over the Freaking Rainbow (A Young Adult Paranormal Romance) (The Secrets of Somerled) by L.L. Muir

about an hour or so.
    There were still a few things of his grandmother’s in his room; a housecoat on the back of the door, a fishing pole mounted above the window, and a strange little table next to the bed. She used to keep old Harlequin romances in the drawer. He’d tossed the books, but the table was all right staying. The bed, finally, was his own.
    The housecoat had to go, and as he was taking it off the hook, his eye caught on an envelope propped up against the blue and silver drum that had served as his piggy bank for as long as he could remember. He might have never noticed the envelope if he hadn’t been so recently obsessed with finding a mysterious letter.
    He draped the quilted housecoat on the back of his desk chair, taking a second to feel the satiny fabric his grandma had been so fond of. He remembered finding her in her bedroom one day lying on the floor in her pajamas, laughing her head off.
    “Watch this, Jamie,” she’d said to him. Then, wearing her satin pajamas, she stepped back into the corner, then ran and jumped on her massive bed, sliding across the tricot sheets, and with no friction to stop her, landed again on her butt.
    She hadn’t repeated the trick, claiming that she’d never walk again if she did, but the two of them had laughed for a week, every time their eyes met.
    Jamison smiled. He’d been so worried about his granddad he hadn’t spared much time thinking about Grandma. If she were alive his life would have gone happily along as it should have.
    Strange. He didn’t remember writing on that envelope, but it was his handwriting, only it was more legible than usual. And there was something heavy inside.
    To be opened if something happens to me.
    He would have laughed, but then he remembered Texas. He could very well have written something four years ago and forgotten about it. But knowing that he was safe now, that it was all behind him, he didn’t want to open it. He didn’t want to know what the lump was, or relive any of it. He was home. Life was going to be tough enough. He didn’t need any more grief—even old grief.
    He dug through a green metal tackle box, another one of Grandma’s treasures he’d decided to hang onto for a while. There was an old Bic lighter she’d kept handy for when she wanted to melt a good and tight knot on a fishing line.
    He flicked the lighter and a healthy flame jumped to attention, like a genie, happy to finally be let out of the box. That ’ ll work .
    He pulled out the mesh garbage can and held the letter above it, then flicked the Bic again. This time the genie was hungry and made quick work of the envelope. Unlike his mother’s old letter, this one wasn’t discolored and crusty, or at least not until the flame aged it, liking its way along one side, the blackened edge rolling along behind the fire, begging for more attention.
    The fire went out, but the envelope was only half gone.
    He flicked again, starting with the lower corner, and the flame jumped to do its duty again, to eradicate the entire state of Texas. About a quarter of the envelope was left, the corner he’d been holding.
    He shifted his fingers to the very tip and flicked the Bic again, and the heavy lump slid out and landed in the bottom of the garbage. With nothing but a few carbon curls to cushion its fall, the clank was loud.
    Jamison frowned at it for a minute. For the life of him he couldn’t remember ever making a tape recording. The only mini tape recorder he’d ever seen was the one in his granddad’s ‘odd things’ drawer. He’d poked his nose in that drawer the day they’d arrived, looking for old treasures. There’d been no computer to play on, so he’d killed some time looking through the ridiculous stuff the old man hadn’t been able to toss in the trash, or rubbish bin, as Granddad called it.
    A powerful magnet, a slingshot, and the mini recorder were rescued; the rest got dumped. Maybe the old house was ready to let go of the past, like