Noah listened intently, focusing on compassion which seemed to radiate from his very body, “Thank you for saying that Jayne, I do appreciate it.”
“Oh, I'm not done,” Jayne continued, “I want you to know that I forgive you. I have to say the words not only for you, but for me too. Accidents happen, and while losing my son is the most devastating tragedy I have had to endure in this lifetime, you are not to blame, Noah.”
A single tear slipped from Noah's lash as he stood up and went over to Jayne when she finished. He pulled her up gently by her hands and embraced her tightly. “Thank you, thank you a thousand times, Jayne. I cannot tell you what it means to me to hear these words from you. I know Elliot is watching over us right now, smiling.”
“I think so too,” said Jayne, sniffling a bit. She was moved to tears when Noah came over to hug her.
“Forgiveness is essential to the healing process, everyone. I cannot tell you what it has done for me, and obviously for Noah and Jayne as well. Please learn from our experience,” Jack implored to the group as a whole.
After the session was over, everyone hugged one another and left feeling hopeful. Jack stayed behind to make sure Jayne was all set for a way to get home. It turned out, she was going to take Noah home for dinner and hopefully mend fences with her husband as well.
Jack headed back to the hospital to tell Sandra all that transpired. He was thrilled how Jayne and Noah were able to find closure and heal their pain from the loss of Elliot. He thought about Madeline, and though he missed her presence, he was at peace in his heart.
Bonus Book - Beautiful Encounter
Beautiful Encounter
A Sweet Romance Story
Adella Justine
Chapter 1
December always flies by, Francis told himself. Motivation of some kind was needed if just to abide the evening and he took comfort from the Christmas lights that now decorated all parts of town. As much as they were part of the problem, now that they were in full bloom it also meant their days were numbered. The stress and chaos of year’s end could soon dissipate into a calm January. Having reached a state of mental and physical fatigue long before festivities were in full flow, he had to hope it would be so. It was certainly absurd for a married father of three who worked long hours to hope for calm before then.
One stressful task at a time and it would soon be over, the first of which being a Friday night that fully highlighted the extent of his problem. When even end-of-week merriment has become a chore then even the most addicted party-goer has to acknowledge that rest is the tonic they should be sipping.
It had long been the company’s habit of extending some bar-time to clients when circumstance presented itself. With a long-term contract signed that day, casual invitations for a company tab at Jack’s Bar on Hudson Terrace were readily eaten up by most, if reluctantly so by Francis. There were no consequences to fear in declining the offer – he was lucky enough to work for a friendly company and hold good relations with management – but perhaps this was the problem. He’d always supported his employers when friendly requests were made for out-of-hours contributions, even if only drinks with a client. So with a mingled sense of pride and stubbornness he insisted on attending, despite feeling pretty miserable.
Did he have a winter cold coming on maybe? Or were the trials of the year just catching up with him? Could be both or something else entirely. Whatever the reason the only certainty was that he just didn’t feel right. A hectic week had taken its toll and none of the drinks that came his way felt refreshing as they should.
Thinking back, it was likely he was defeated from the start. The week had gotten under way with some silly argument about his second-born talking back to one of the teacher’s at school, an incident on which he thought both teacher and child to be acting immaturely over, before progressing to a midweek that saw first his own car then his wife’s breaking down. Staging an evening rescue from the layby of a rainy freeway already seemed like the last straw, but stubbornness ran deep in him.
He had always been a team player but sometimes stubbornness isn’t a great quality to have.
Beer had tasted good for about half a pint, then awful from then on. A verdict that rest was the order of the day was arrived at too late. As 11 approached he was still keeping up appearances at the bar, drink in hand, though every fibre of his being yearned for a pillow and unconsciousness.
If there is a giving-in gene then it was weak in him, but the sight of spirit rounds making their introduction was too much to take. No doubt his boss thought him shy for saying he wasn’t interested and some kind of glowing lime juice had been placed in front of him before he knew it. Even pride only goes so far after all and it was time to call an end to the silliness or else that murky fluid would see whatever else was in his stomach hitting the restroom prematurely.
Insisting he had to make a phone call, he made a temporary escape in order to collect his thoughts with fresh air as a new companion. With this yearning in mind, it was no surprise that once outside a view of the Hudson proved the most enticing prospect. He soon found his legs seeking out closer proximity with whatever strand of pure sea breeze he might be able to source there.
What was he doing?; there was no shame in being the first to leave. Someone had called him a lightweight when he was seventeen and he’d spent the last fourteen years making sure he proved them wrong every time there was a bar in front of him, even though he hardly drank anyway.
Taking in a festive view of the Great Washington Bridge, he then found his eyes seduced by the water running beneath, upon which the flickering Christmas lights became a forest of golden pines to his defenceless imagination. It was then that some form of common sense found him at last and the choice was made. He’d go back and let his employers know he was worse for wear, then make his way home. A cue of cabs he’d seen a short walk from the bar gave him heart that within forty minutes he would be home. Stay upright for that long and he could collapse on a comfortable bed, ignoring any grumbles from the neighbouring pillow until morning.
Turning his eyes from the sparkling canopy, his pace quickened as he continued with a circular route back to the bar but was only allowed to do so temporarily because that was when he saw her.
She might just as easily have been missed, with the many shadows cast by that remarkable construction making it hard to tell if a silhouette might be a person. Certainly he was not looking for complications, but the realisation that a young lady seemed to be standing alone, perhaps a hundred yards along the South sidewalk, succeeded in halting his momentum when it had barely begun.
It might only have been the memory of a statistic someone at the bar had been joking about; that GW Bridge was a suicide hotspot. Then again, if it had been a man he would probably not have thought twice, but a woman standing alone looked unusual at this time of night. There might have been plenty of Friday night bustle about the bars and the sound of motor vehicles on the air, but no one else stood on the Bridge as far as his eye could see and there was no telling that the woman’s position was visible to any of the passing cars.
Endeavouring to convince himself that nothing tragic was poised to happen, Francis changed direction and headed towards the ramp that leads to the pedestrian entrance. Achieving a view that was not obscured by rail or stanchion, he was able to ascertain that his initial reading was accurate and the rest of the sidewalk was empty, at least as far as the eye could see. There she was, pressed up against the side. Looking directly down at the water rather than at any of the sights along the river. Was she enchanted by the glowing forest as well? So much so that the icy wind was worth such a view?
There was no way of assessing that something was obviously wrong, but his imagination was at work and he knew he could not walk away hoping, without knowing, that it was far-fetched. Tiredness did not equal heartlessness and so he set about approaching. Casually he thought he would pass her by and joke ‘You’re not planning on jumping are you?’, but no sooner had he se
t off when a more direct Plan B was needed, because the figure suddenly put one heel up on the side and climbed over.
No time left for dilemma, Francis burst into a run which proved to be a frustrating attempt to sprint in the damn shoes he was wearing that were just not made for speed. He feared she would already have jumped long before he got there, but as each glittering pillar flickered by at last he reached a close proximity and the knowledge that all was not yet lost. She was still there, but now standing on the opposite side of the railing and holding on to nothing whatsoever.
‘Wait!’ he called out.
Was it daft to alert of his approach, or should he have attempted to grab rather than talk? There are no rulebooks for such things, but the weapon he chose was compassion rather than some kind of attempt at force, though even the slightest distraction might cause her to lose balance.
Whether or not it would have been what experts advised, his first probe into rescuing that lost soul proved well made. If her mind was made up then she was clearly still psyching herself up for the actual jump. At the sound of his voice she turned with clear surprise in her manner; she had not heard his approach. Instinctively he slowed his running to a walk while preying he would not regret doing so when she was still more than an arm’s length away. For the first time then he saw her face. She was younger than he expected, perhaps nineteen; pretty too, though a vulnerable countenance had always melted his heart, but the look on her face was far away, responding as if to something out of a dream with nothing to accompany the emptiness in her eyes.
‘You don’t want to do that?’ he pleaded, with the kind of tone he might have used for one of his upset children.
In response she opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out initially. Was she embarrassed at being seen? If so maybe she was not completely dead inside.
‘What’s your name?’ he asked, hoping to establish some kind of connection – asking what was wrong just felt like a ticket to failure.
‘Samantha,’ she replied, tentatively.
‘Samantha, I’ve had a bad day too, please don’t end it by scarring me for life. When I say goodnight to my kids I don’t want them to see an ugly world in my eyes.’
Again she opened her mouth searching for a response, this time finding some additional content.
‘But there is an ugly world outside.’
‘Are we ugly Samantha? Are the Christmas lights ugly?’ he went on, stepping ever nearer but ever more uncertainly and hoping that talk of Christmas didn’t get to the gist of what had ruined her life.
‘My life is ugly,’ she responded.
‘Did you know no one kills themselves in the morning? There must be a reason for that.’ He didn’t know if this was true, but solving life’s problems in a short exchange was not the way to go. He needed her to relent on her current state of mind; what came after could only be reached by there being an after.
‘Look I can’t solve all your life’s problems talking here on this bridge. I’m too scared to think straight with you standing there anyway,’ he pleaded, managing to smile and hoping some judgement like ‘isn’t this silly’ might manifest itself in her mind. ‘No one thinks straight at this time of night on a Friday. Let’s take it till morning’s light at least.’
‘But looking for a reason to get out of bed in the morning, that’s the worst part.’
‘Then get out of bed for me, just this once. We’ll meet in a nice breakfast bar or something, or lunch if you prefer. You need someone to talk to? I have a day off at last.’
That dreamy look on her eyes again, as if misery was too tired to settle there anymore. He might be making ground on some temporary solution, but wasn’t sure she wouldn’t topple off the side through dizziness anyway.
Taking a firmer step forward, he obtained a position where he thought he could make a grab for her at last, but still resisted such a course of action. Being dragged back into an existence you have rejected might only be delaying the inevitable.
‘Come on,’ he urged. ‘My name’s Francis, I was about to get a cab home till I saw you. Must have been fate, I should have been at home in bed by now.’
‘You don’t really want to meet me tomorrow, you’re just trying to do a nice thing. I don’t know you, Francis.’
‘Well you obviously can’t talk to whoever else is in your life right now, but you can talk to me. I’ve seen you here, I know I can take you seriously.’
‘Why would you want to talk to me?’
‘We’re two people who can be honest with each other. Don’t you think I need a break from planning Christmas? Tomorrow’s my first free day for weeks.’
‘I don’t want to live anymore, Francis.’
‘There must be much you want from life that you don’t have, but you’re so young. We all need time to make mistakes, just don’t make this one.’
A tear had been forming in her left eye that now overflowed and spilled down her cheek, at the same time as Francis thought she began to turn towards him if only slightly. Both gave him hope; the tear was surely pain at the thought of having to try again whereas if her allegiance remained towards the freezing cold water beneath then what was there to cry about? If Francis couldn’t persuade her more forcibly now then when could he?
‘Come on,’ he said, hoping his friendliness felt as sincere as he felt. ‘You’re scaring me being the wrong side of the railings. At least hold on to something.’
By this point even the slightest of waverings would have seen a sudden grab from him, followed by what would have to have been some kind of brutal attempt at lifting her back over. Thankfully this was not necessary as Samantha did as he said, placing first her left hand on the top rail then turning her back on the water and doing the same with the right. Francis was even confident enough to put a hand on her wrist in support, knowing it would be interpreted as anxiety for her well-being.
His nerves would not calm until she had fully climbed back onto safe ground, however, and watching her complete the procedure was simply terrifying. Samantha didn’t give the impression of having much strength in her arms, though this was probably due to emotional exhaustion and the cold rather than poor health. He wished he was strong enough to just reach across and lift her cleanly over, but the angle was too awkward for anyone but the strongest body builder to attempt without clumsiness. Samantha had to make the climb herself with Francis only able to hold on to her arm for support. When at last she set both feet on safe ground the sense of relief and compassion that washed over him was so potent he could have sworn he felt every anxiety and irritation of the week soothed and cleansed in one swift motion.
‘Sorry!’
Her first words were an apology that wasn’t needed and then more tears began to flow, perhaps partly through the embarrassment of her intentions being made clear to another member of the human race. Francis smiled a wide grin in response, told her he was no judge of her and found a cheery demeanour efficacious in helping to calm whatever shame she felt.
During their walk back towards Hudson Street they spoke more casually. He didn’t pry into what might be wrong with her; such details would come out in their own time if she did decide to confide in him. Instead they spoke about where they were from and what their interests were, which seemed like safer ground. He found out that Samantha – who insisted he call her Sam – was from Camden in South Jersey, an area he knew to have its problems. These days she was living in New York with two friends and trying to save enough money to go to college. She was twenty years old and indifferent to his enquiries as to whether she was an Eagles fan, but she loved music and could play the piano, not that she ever got to anymore.
One thing that Francis discovered about saving someone from taking their own life was that it certainly cleared the mind. A vague impression lingered that much had been troubling him before the unlooked for meeting, but whatever apprehensions of the week he had been ruminating on he could not now remember. Adrenaline also proved useful in masking the ill-feeling in his
bones and stomach.
Finding a cab was easy while the bars were still serving drinks and Francis cared not if any of his work colleagues saw him stealing off with a mysterious young lady. Samantha’s apartment was not in the same direction as his own, but he insisted his vigil on her night would only end once he saw her entering a safe abode. She’d promised to meet him the next day and was sincere enough to convince him there would be no additional attempts at ending her life on this night at least – he was fully aware there were many other methods – but even as they relaxed considerably there was no attempt to delve into the sludge of life’s problems.
Halfway out of the cab a clarity of some kind seemed to fall on Sam, perhaps in awkwardness that she was asking favours of a stranger, and she paused.
‘Thank you Francis,’ she said, warmly. ‘I don’t think I can… You know, you don’t really need to spend your Saturday listening to my problems. I promise I won’t do anything.’
‘It’s my first day off in weeks, I’ve told you.’
‘I know but… you have your family and with this time of year…’
‘Look Sam, at 11 tomorrow I’m going to be at Gregory’s on Times Square. I hope to see you there, otherwise I’ll just have to drink alone.’
‘What if your wife sees you meeting with a young lady?’
‘I’ll wear a disguise,’ he joked. Such things hardly seemed to matter considering the weight of the disaster diverted.
Sam smiled with the manner of someone finding it pleasant to give in, then she wished him goodnight and closed the cab door.
Chapter 2
An unplanned journey to the busiest part of town was not what he had planned for his first free day in weeks, but he was happy to make the journey. Indeed he found himself rising early, amazed by how a yearning for slumber had been replaced in both mind and body. Saving a life proved awakening. Arguably it wasn’t rest he’d needed all along, just something else.
What the Heart Desires Page 7
