“Called it, I called it. Jinxed it, maybe, but I called it!” Her breathing became difficult.
“Do you know who wrote the note?” Brandon asked.
“I think, I don’t know, maybe?” Jioni sat on the hammock and put her hands on her face—she didn’t cry—her skull pounded though the more she thought about it; all the pain from the day, from the rat bite to the damaged arm: all reignited at this moment. The aching did stop when Brandon sat beside her and put his arm around her shoulder.
“I can find the person who took it and get your brochure back,” Brandon said.
Jioni didn’t respond and put her hands on her knees.
