by Rick R. Reed
I nodded and felt a little ashamed of myself. Only that morning I’d questioned my decision to come back here. She was right. Not only because of the natural beauty surrounding us, but because this was where my roots were. When you grow up in a place, it’s easy to take its charms for granted, as Maisie pointed out.
On our walk, we had made small talk—about the weather, the view, how nice it was that the park, after all these years, was still unsullied, a sanctuary and a refuge. I think, although I can’t lay claim to what went on in Maisie’s head, that we were both dancing around discussing the real reason we were getting together today.
Jack, also known as Jackson.
I was still internally debating with myself whether to tell Maisie the truth about what I’d realized when she forced the issue a little bit. She turned to me and said, “Last night? When you mentioned Jack? You called him Jackson.”
The last part of what she said wasn’t a question, although she eyed me closely, waiting for an answer.
“Yeah.” I waited for the next words to come but found myself scrambling, trying on and discarding ideas for various ways to tell her what I recalled.
“Jackson is Jack’s given name,” Maisie said. “It’s, uh, the only legacy of his dad, who didn’t stick around to see him grow up. Jackson was his middle name, and I think, although I don’t know it as fact, that Jackson was probably his mother’s maiden name.”
I nodded.
“So why did you call him that? I ask because when Jack moved away from here, he kind of reinvented himself, and even though all his life he’d been Jack, he started referring to himself as Jackson.”
I nodded.
Maisie prodded. “Did you know Jackson? Did you know my son? Before?”
I scanned the horizon for a long time, wondering what just the right words might be. But I eventually came to the conclusion that most often, the right words were the simplest ones. Or in this case, in this moment, one. “Yes.”
Maisie turned to me. “But when we talked before, you said you didn’t know him. That there were lots of gay people in Seattle.” She caught herself, and I could almost hear the idea occurring to her. “Or did you know him here? In Fawcettville?”
I shook my head. “No, I think we probably were a few years apart in school, although I wouldn’t rule out our paths having crossed at some point.” I shrugged. “It’s a small town.”
“So what made you remember him? You knew him in Seattle?”
I looked at Maisie and could see how hungry she was for answers. I wished I had more to tell her than I did.
“Yeah. We met in Seattle, I guess is more the right description.” I paused. “We had a date. It came back to me, oddly enough, in a dream I had after we were together last time.” I thought about what prompted the dream and told her, “I think it was the snow that triggered everything.”
“The snow?”
“Yeah. It was snowing when I left your place. And the night Jack and I had our date, it was snowing in Seattle. That’s memorable because it doesn’t really snow that often there. But this was in 2008. I remember the year because it was that December, just before Christmas, that Seattle got hit with something like ten inches of snow.”
I glanced over at Maisie and was surprised to see she was taking my words harder than I’d thought she would. I mean, I knew she’d be interested. But the way her hand rose to cover her mouth and the wild look in her green eyes told me I distressed her a bit.
“Are you okay?” I touched her shoulder for a moment.
She nodded. “Go on.”
“Well, as I said, I remember the year because of that snowstorm. The night we had our first—and last—date was the night the snow started. I remember I was coming home for the holiday and had trouble getting to the airport and then a lot of trouble getting out. It was a mess.” I grasped one of Maisie’s mittened hands and squeezed it. “Maybe if it had been a regular, rainy old winter night, I wouldn’t have been so sure.”
Maisie just nodded, and I saw that she was breathing a little faster.
“We really hit it off, Maisie. There was a bit of magic in that date, you know? I really thought it was the start of something. Then, when I got back to Seattle, it was like he’d vanished. He didn’t return my calls or my texts. I wasn’t quite sure where he lived, or I would have gone by.” I grinned. “I was that smitten.”
“You couldn’t find him because I had him brought back here.”
When I looked over at Maisie again, I was stunned to see tears standing in her eyes. “Beau! Oh Beau! That night you had your date? I think that was the very same night Jack was attacked. It had to be, for just the same reason you mentioned—the snow.” Maisie stared down at the valley below, and a couple of tears trickled down her cheeks. I worried they might freeze, so I reached up and wiped them away.
I knew what she was telling me. I maybe didn’t want to face it because it was too ugly to imagine that after a couple of stolen kisses and soulful stares, Jackson moved off to be attacked in the street by someone, beaten so badly it hurt him far beyond the pain of his physical injuries. I’d thought if I ever did find out what happened to my mystery man from that night, I would be relieved, grateful that at least I got some closure to the puzzle. Instead I was horrified.
“Oh, Maisie, this is just weird.”
She nodded. “I know.” I noticed she was shivering.
“Look, let’s get out of the cold. I’ll treat you to some hot chocolate, and we can split a plate of fries at the Elite Diner. Is it still there?”
She smiled at me through her tears and nodded.
“C’mon. Let’s go.” I stood and held out my hand to her.
* * * *
At the diner, small talk reigned once more, at least for a few minutes. After we’d warmed up and complimented the fries, I brought the subject of Jack up again.
“I debated whether to tell you or not about my knowing Jack. Mainly because I couldn’t really see what difference it would make.”
Maisie reached out and covered my hand with hers. I noticed her nails were bitten to the quick.
“I’m glad you did, Beau. It’s nice to meet someone he knew back in Seattle.” She took on that faraway expression again. “I was so proud of him. Getting his law degree, setting up a whole new life for himself in a city I’d never dreamed of living in. He was supposed to have a really nice condo with a view of the Space Needle.”
She shook her head, and I could see the sadness in her eyes.
“I was supposed to go out and see him that spring. He was going to buy my ticket!”
At this last, tears sprang to Maisie’s eyes, and I reached out to grasp her hand.
I wasn’t sure what to say, so I feebly went back to my excuses. “I don’t think I saw it right away because—” And I caught myself because I didn’t know if the words I was about to say were very nice.
But Maisie finished for me. “Because he looked so different?”
I nodded. “I’m sorry. But the man I went out with on that date and the man in that bedroom at your house hardly look like the same person. Oh, Maisie, I don’t mean to cause you pain.”
“No, it’s okay. I don’t have to tell you. My Jack was gorgeous. When he was in college and he came home? He used to come to the track to see me at work, and all the girls just went nuts. He was like some god to them.” She chuckled. “I didn’t have the heart to tell them which side his bread was buttered on.” She stared down at the plate between us, stuck her finger in a pool of ketchup, and brought it up to her mouth. “My son, since he’s been home, has lost about fifty pounds. He doesn’t eat unless I force him to. Which is where I’d hoped you would come in.” Bitter laugh. “We see how well that worked out.”
Already I was thinking of coming back, trying again.
“They broke his nose when they beat him up. Even though they set it after, it never healed quite the same, so his face would look different to you, Beau. But it’s just that overall, he’s literally a bea
ten man, beaten down. He’s lost his spark, something that used to be so damn alive. Whatever happened to him that night, in a way, killed him. Because that man in Jack’s bedroom, I sometimes think, is not my son.”
I couldn’t imagine what she was going through, the pain and the loss. I’d never experienced anything even close. “I want to help.”
Maisie stared down at the surface of the table for a long time. Then she looked up at me, a sad smile affixed to her face.
“Oh, Beau, that’s sweet of you, but I don’t know what you can do. I’ve tried to get him back to a therapist. And I would be overjoyed if he’d just go—maybe it would help him remember what happened to him and…”
Her voice trailed off as she stared at a point over my head for a long time. I imagined she was seeing Jack reborn or perhaps as he once was.
“And if he could get back to that night, know what happened and deal with it, there’d be a chance for some healing to begin.” She shook her head. “But he won’t. You’ve seen him. You’ve seen how stubborn he is, how willfully obstinate. If I hadn’t known my son before, I’d probably have nothing to do with the man that’s in his bedroom now.”
Our waitress came by, asking if we wanted anything else. The intrusion from the outside world seemed almost surreal. Barely looking at her, we both shook our heads. I mumbled, “Just the check, when you get a chance.”
Maisie said, “Listen, you’re really a sweet guy, Beau. But as I said, I’m not sure what you could do.”
“Maybe if I remind him of our date that night, it might jog something loose. If he could remember that, maybe he’d remember more.”
I thought Maisie might be pleased at the idea. Instead she lifted her hand to her mouth and looked horrified.
“No. I know I just said he needs to remember, but it has to be done in the right way. That’s why I wanted him to see a professional on a regular basis—even though I can’t afford one.” She touched my arm and then withdrew her hand. “I don’t know if I’ve ever met someone as caring as you. You barely know us.
“But one thing I know is that Jack is the way he is because he’s damaged. He’s broken. And he’s broken because he’s afraid. Whatever happened to him that night is too painful to remember, so in a way, his mind is keeping it all a blank. You know, to protect him. Problem is that what’s left is just a shadow of who he was. And that, Beau, breaks my heart.”
We didn’t say anything for a long while, lost in our own thoughts. The waitress brought our check, and Maisie insisted on paying, despite my protests. After she got her money out, crumpled singles and a ten, and laid it on the table, she looked over at me. “Why?”
“What do you mean?”
“Why do you want to help? I mean, it’s noble. It’s kind. It’s compassionate. And I certainly don’t mean to put you on the defensive. But I don’t understand. You’re a young, handsome man. You have a skill and experience. You could get a good job and make a life for yourself. Why would you want to be around us? There’s no hope here.”
“Oh, Maisie, don’t say that. There’s always hope. Always.” I sighed. Ever since she’d asked “Why,” I was thinking of how I should answer. In the end, I just let it come out. “You don’t understand why I want to help if I can. I don’t blame you! And first I want to say I don’t kid myself into thinking I could be much help. But the answer is—” I took in a deep breath. How to say this without sounding corny? Without sounding pathetic? “The answer is I never forgot him. Who knows what would have happened if that night had turned out differently for Jack? I have to admit that maybe we might have gotten together again, had a few more dates, and it would have fizzled out anyway.” I paused. “But I don’t believe that. Sometimes, with missed connections like Jack and I had, the person can become sort of perfect in our memory, and we think ‘If only, if only,’ but I don’t really believe that either.
“See, one thing I’ve learned is that when we listen with our hearts, we hear the truth. And I think when I met Jackson, I instinctively knew he was someone special.”
“He was,” Maisie said and then corrected herself. “He is.”
“I don’t know if I believe in love at first sight…” My voice trailed off. “Scratch that. I do. I do believe in love at first sight. Because it happened to me. I remember Jackson was at the restaurant, waiting for me. He was sitting alone at a table, staring out the window when I came in. He was eating a piece of bread, dipping it in olive oil. He was far away, listening, I think, to the music. I still remember what was playing. It was an aria from Samson and Delilah, by Saint-Saens. I remember because I looked it up the next day. I don’t remember what the title of the aria was now in French, but it translates to something like “Softly Awakes My Heart” in English. It was beautiful, a moment stuck in my memory forever, no matter what happens. The music’s message was only, I think, the universe’s way of confirming what I felt for him the moment I laid eyes on him.” I closed my eyes for a second. Maisie would either be touched by what I just said or she’d think I was crazy as a loon, a saccharine romantic stuck on fairy tales. But when I opened my eyes, I could see Maisie was there in the moment with me, and her face wore a winsome expression, pained yet full of hope.
“We’d only exchanged a few e-mails—we’d met online—and when I was walking to the restaurant, I wasn’t sure if this date was going to be yet another fiasco in a long line of online dating disasters.
“But Maisie, when I saw him, he just looked so vulnerable. And so sweet. Before we’d even spoken a word, I had an idea of what kind of person he was. And I think I began to fall in love with him. Hasn’t that ever happened to you?”
“I wish!” She shook her head. And I thought how sad for her, to reach her age and still be alone and not knowing the rush of first love.
“Well, it wasn’t just how he looked sitting there, not knowing I was watching him. And it wasn’t just his appearance, although he was gorgeous…my kind of man. We really hit it off that night. We talked for hours, easily. About everything.” A memory came to me then, and I could see the smile on Jackson’s face. “He told me about you.”
Maisie cocked her head. “Really?”
“Yeah. I just remembered. He told me what a good mom you were and how, growing up, it had always been you and him against the world. He said you never had much, but you never made him feel he lacked a thing.”
“Oh now, Beau, quit making stuff up to make an old woman smile.” But Maisie wasn’t smiling. Tears stood in her eyes.
“I’m not making it up. He told me he called you every Sunday, without fail.”
“He said that?” Maisie sounded a little breathless.
I nodded. “It only added to my esteem for him. When we said good-bye that night, I couldn’t wait to see him again. I was like a little kid.”
“But you never saw him again.”
“But Maisie, I have. Here. Now. And I know that buried beneath that sad, tortured exterior is Jackson, the man I fell in love with all those years ago.” I sighed. “More than once, in my relationship and eventual marriage to Ross, I thought how things might have all been different if Jackson had only called me when I got back. I comforted myself in thinking your son was a jerk, just like the majority of men on the planet, weaseling out of something by never calling. I had no idea what happened to him, though.
“Ross, in retrospect, was never right for me. He was superficial, selfish, self-centered, but I glossed over all that until I couldn’t anymore. My dad saw right through him!” I chuckled. “I had no idea about that either, until I moved home.” I wasn’t here, though, to talk about Ross and how I was licking my own wounds.
“Maybe I’m selfish, but there’s a part of me that thinks if I can get close to Jackson again, maybe I can bring about the outcome I’ve wished for and dreamed of all these years.”
Maisie laughed. “You really are a romantic, aren’t you? You’re very sweet, Beau.”
“Ah, get out of here. I just want my Prince Charming, and maybe I
’m a fool and a glutton for punishment, but I’d like to try to help if I can. Even if we can get Jack to a better place and he doesn’t want anything to do with me after, I can still feel good in knowing I made a difference.”
“So what? You want to take the job? You want to cook for Jack? Even though he throws your food at the wall? And by the way, that’s a favorite maneuver of his—the stains will probably never come out!” She laughed, but it was kind of a grim laugh.
“I want to do it,” I said, determined. Mary Beth would use a saying of our mother’s to describe my affirmation. She’d say I needed to have my head examined.
Maisie sighed. “I told you I can’t pay you much. Like fifty, sixty dollars a week. That’s nothing.”
“Why do you keep bringing that up? Have you been listening?” I smiled to soften the question. “I’m not doing this for the money. I have a little saved up that’ll keep me for a while. Hell, you don’t even have to pay me.”
She wagged a finger at me. “That I will not tolerate, sir!”
“So you’ll let me give it a try?”
Maisie said nothing for a long time. “As long as you promise me one thing.”
“What’s that?”
“That you won’t try to force anything. He can’t remember because it’s a way to avoid pain. If you rush it or force it, you could make things worse.”
“I know that,” I said softly. “It’ll be just cooking and conversation.”
“Conversation?” Maisie laughed. “Good luck with that! But I know what you mean, and we can try.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
I stood. “Then let’s put an egg in our shoe and beat it. I need to start planning what to make for him next time, something that’s going to be so good, he couldn’t bear to fling it at the wall.” But already, inspiration had sprung to my mind, inspired by my date with Jackson.
“I can’t believe you just said that.”
