“I’m leaving.”
“I know you’re leaving but…”
“You don’t understand, Jackson, I’m leaving San Francisco.”
Jackson stood still. His carefree smile drooped. She saw sadness settle in his clear blue eyes and in his face.
It was the last time she saw him. She couldn’t remember what he said next or what she said. She couldn’t remember how she found Tiffany and how she made it home. But she remembered leaving that day, sad, wondering what if. . . .
She blamed herself. She could have written to him but she thought that their relationship meant something to her and nothing to him, when in fact, she was all he could think about for years.
Summer carried the loss of her first love in her soul, only unpacking the empty feelings on special occasions. Most of the time, Summer tried not to think of him, but he was still there in the back of her mind, and whenever she saw a tall handsome man she couldn’t resist her thoughts. She couldn’t watch a college game or professional football game without wondering about Jackson. Knowing that he was far more brilliant then the average guy, she expected him to be heading his own company after college, and after playing for a pro team as a quarterback, of course. Whenever she allowed herself to think of him, she smiled.
***
Returning home from the drive to Fort Stockton, Dave dropped her at her front door. She opened the door and gazed about her living room. She wore her empty feelings like a shroud, hiding them from herself and the world.
Summer’s gaze settled on the doorknob. She focused her eyes on everything Jackson had touched. She stared at the empty bed where he slept. She stared at the floor where he stood, and the shower where she knew him to be standing naked with a body to-die-for.
She walked to the window in his room and peered out at the trees. The path was worn from their walks in the mornings after breakfast, at noon after lunch, and nights after dinner, and where they sat under the stars for only a week. The sun had been a comfort to him. The fresh air and the peace of the wilderness trail, with its pine trees and brush, had been what he needed to heal.
They had pleasant evenings sitting and discussing books he had listened to at night. But now he was gone. The loss of his love made her joyless. She didn’t have the strength to put away her thoughts of what would happen if she had agreed to marry him. Now she had neither him nor his body to love and bring her the comfort of his presence.
She could have seized her happiness at any cost. She could have made love to him. She saw in his eyes that he hungered for her. Her regrets were eating at her. She felt that she should do something about it whenever she had the money or the time. Could she hope that he would remember her?
It frightened her to think that he might rebuff her.
Summer bought local papers and read the San Francisco Chronicle online. She perused the paper each day, trying to find an article about Jackson. She decided to go to the library and pull up old papers from the past years.
Chapter Seven
Jackson landed in San Francisco in a private jet with the words, “Van Hughes Oil and Gas,” written in bold letters on the side. In the shadow of the limo stood his driver; Jackson recognized him and signaled with a raise of his hand, and the driver rushed to open Jackson’s door.
Jackson wore a dark blue suit and a white shirt with no tie, which his father had brought from Jackson’s closet. Jackson left the hand-me-downs from the hospital. Left behind anything that could remind him of where he had been.
There wasn’t anything of value left from his accident he discovered after questioning the doctors. He had no ring or watch, no car keys, no phone to trace his whereabouts for the past months or years. All he knew was what the doctors had told him and they knew very little—that he may have been a soldier but that was unlikely. The confusion came about because his plane was located in Afghanistan. There was still a gap in his memory. He was supposed to be in the oil fields of Iraq.
Something nagged at his conscience as if he was another person. He didn’t wait for answers. He just wanted to get home and rest.
***
The halls of his father’s large mansion were just as he remembered. His mother decorated and decorated until she almost had a nervous breakdown. It was her hobby. She had to do something, she would tell Jackson, otherwise, she would go crazy waiting for his father to come home from his meetings and travels.
“He has a life, I don’t,” she would complain to Jackson.
Remembering his mom’s words sent waves of chills down his back.
“Don’t spend your life devoted to the quest for power, it’s not worth it,” she would say, her voice trailing off. “I wish I had more children, at least it would have felt like a family. Maybe a girl or two, then I could have them around me like your father had you. He would never let me have any say in raising you,” she rambled. “Have a family. Find a woman who you love and who loves you, not a corporate match your father is pushing you into.”
Now his mother’s words rang in his thoughts. She was dead. He could never see her face again. He became despondent. Struggling with his good and bad memories, he walked through the mansion, taking in the sights and sounds. Jackson wondered why his father never sold the huge house and moved to something less stately and more relaxing. He could have bought a seaside mansion and retired.
Entering the library, the walls contained the loud arguments and contentious relationship he had with his father. The shouting matches that had ensued when his father discovered he had purchased a party house. In the heat of the argument, he had confessed that he was in love and would not go to Stanford as planned. He made another mistake by admitting that the girl was in high school, and that he would marry her and together they would see the world.
His father won that round of their war. Jackson went on to Stanford, where the demands on his time caused him to think about Summer less often.
All the visions of his one night with Summer came to him and he searched his mind for the girl’s pretty young face, but he couldn’t seem to remember more. Why would he forget something as important as her name? He tried hard to connect a name to the face but it evaded him.
How could he hope to find her without a name? Jackson let out a large sigh. It had been five years since then. She must be married and have children. No, not her, he thought. She had planned to go to college to become a doctor.
He walked into his childhood bedroom. It was decorated with pictures of him playing football, some going back to when he was only ten years old. One showed his father throwing him a football. He remembered dropping it and his father scolding him. He never lost or dropped a ball again. He accumulated many trophies that now lined along the shelves of the mahogany bookcase. Jackson passed his hands over each one and the moments came back to him in vivid colors.
He picked up the winning high school football and shuffled it from his right hand to his left hand and then he cradled it. He had learned a valuable lesson, that no matter what, he would never let the ball drop and he never did when he played the game of football.
Yet he let the ball drop when he didn’t pursue his own happiness.
Sitting on his bed with the football planted firmly in his arms and his feet dangling, he leaned backwards on the bed. He fell asleep exhausted and woke only to the rays of sunlight streaming through the curtains. The light stimulated him and he smiled. He expected to see a small sparse room when he rose from his bed. Confused by the enormous room, he opened the door and stepped into the hall.
Chapter Eight
Stirring in bed, then stepping on the floor, Jackson pushed the buzzer calling for the butler who brought his breakfast. Reaching for his robe and putting it on, Jackson glanced at the tray with eggs and a large slab of ham as if it was foreign. The silk robe had his initials on the front. He passed his hands along the hand-sewn letters and felt each one. He felt unusual wearing it.
Looking at Charles pouring coffee was strange, too.
“So nice t
o have you back home, my boy,” Charles said. Charles was sixty-five and had been with the Van Hughes since he was a young man.
“I thought you would have retired by now,” Jackson said, shaking his hand.
“My wife died when you were away. I saw no reason to leave. Your father said he had a job for me as long as I wanted one. What with him losing his dear wife and you away, we have been keeping each other company.”
“I’m glad you thought enough of my father to stay on.”
“My pleasure,” Charles said, handing Jackson the newspaper.
“How long have I been asleep?”
“You must have been tired. I think it has been about twenty-four hours. That’s why I brought you breakfast. The question you should have asked, though, is how long have you been away?”
Jackson glanced at Charles, waiting for the answer. “You have been gone three years, my boy.”
“Three years?” Jackson said, hardly believing the sound of the words.
“Yes. Your father has been sick with worry ever since you argued with him and you took off. We know you have been in Iraq and Afghanistan because you were scheduled to go there on company business. We heard that your plane had been under attack and went missing.”
Jackson listened and looked around. “I can’t remember what I’ve been doing in that time.”
“You don’t remember anything?” Charles queried, not understanding how this happened.
“I will need your help, Charles. I need you to tell me what has been happening in the three years I’ve been away.”
“Well, Victoria…”
“Yes, Victoria,” Jackson repeated.
“Well, she never married. Although many a young man has proposed marriage, she happily turned them down. She vowed that she wouldn’t marry unless it was proven that you were indeed dead. What a loyal girl,” Charles said, handing Jackson his cup of coffee. “You do drink coffee,” he stated, glancing down on Jackson seated at the table. Jackson nodded yes.
“I agree. Victoria is loyal,” Jackson admitted.
“I hear she will make a wonderful wife. You do need someone that is very social and well connected,” Charles added.
Jackson raised an eyebrow and shook his head in agreement. “You’re beginning to sound like my father.” His father had pushed the union between him and Victoria; however, his mother was neither for nor against the idea.
She stated, “It should be Jackson’s choice. Love is not an arrangement made over dinner; It is of the heart.”
Jackson’s heart beat for the girl he met for that one night. He vowed she would be the one he would marry. His father said that it had nothing to do with reality. The reality was that he may never see her again and that she was not in his social class. She had no connections and she was not of the money class.
Jackson reminded his father that he was not born into money. When Jackson talked to his grandfather, the older man expressed how hard it was at first to feed his family in the beginning, and he admitted that he was one inch from going under. After years of struggling, overnight his grandfather made it big with stocks. Jackson’s father inherited some of the money, but Jackson’s grandfather left his company and a large endowment to Jackson to merge the companies and start his own company.
His grandfather was certain that Jackson’s father would sooner or later run the company into the ground. It was now sooner than anyone had thought.
“Miss Victoria is here to see you,” Charles said, standing in the doorway, before leaving Jackson’s room.
“I don’t know if I’m ready to see anyone.”
“Your father called her the minute he found out that you were alive.”
“Why didn’t he give me time…?” Jackson glanced at Charles. “Don’t tell me, my dad is in financial trouble.”
“I’m afraid you’re correct,” Charles said, with a downward glance.
“I’m being auctioned off to the highest bidder,” Jackson said with a furrowed brow.
“I wouldn’t look at it like that, my boy. Just think of her as an unexpected addition to your stock portfolio, where in time it will increase in value.” Charles picked up Jackson’s clothes from the floor and laid them on the bed and left the room. Jackson’s gaze wandered out in the garden hidden among the fog.
What was he to tell Victoria? The last time he saw her was at his college graduation and he flew away in his jet, headed for Afghanistan that night. It was a business trip and she would understand that.
The army hospital in Fort Stockton finally gave him a report on their assessment of what had happened and why he ended up in an army hospital. He had been mistaken for a lieutenant because when the plane crashed and his security detail had been killed, a platoon of young soldiers found him and dressed him in the shirt of their dead lieutenant.
He was transferred to Germany and then to the US, where he remained in a coma for months.
***
Walking down the stairs to greet Victoria brought back unpleasant memories. He had to try to forget them. He wished it was the memories of her that he had forgotten and not the girl he fell in love with. Standing at the top of the stairs he gazed on Victoria. She appeared beautiful with her blond hair and sculptured figure. Her eyes were blue and translucent as ice.
“I would have come to your room but Charles thought that you would prefer to meet me here, instead.”
“You look gorgeous Victoria.”
“We will make a handsome couple. The star football player and…”
“The homecoming queen,” Jackson added with a taut smile.
“I’m lucky,” Jackson said, taking her hand and kissing her on the lips. He didn’t feel lucky. He felt as if he had surrendered everything to the status quo. Jackson never wanted to be like everyone else. He fought hard to be different. He fought hard not to be mediocre and he had succeeded, but now he was back where he had fought so hard to escape.
“Have you had breakfast?” he asked her.
“Yes, but I would love to have dinner at some outrageously extravagant restaurant.” Victoria smiled.
“Name the day, time, and place,” he said, strolling out the door to the garden, holding her hand.
They sat outside in the garden under a terrace near the pool.
“I think we should marry soon. Let’s not wait, Jackson,” Victoria said, glancing at him. She continued with her plans. He listened but he didn’t hear her. She went on about when the marriage should take place and where, and also suggested that they should honeymoon in the south of France. Victoria had never been out of the US and now she wanted to travel. Jackson, lost in his thoughts, stared aimless at the ripples of the blue water in the pool. He lifted the back of his left hand to his mouth.
“Are you okay, sweetheart?” Victoria asked, pulling his hand down and holding it. “I know you’ve had issues with the memory thing…but…” She paused to choose her words, worried that she would upset him.
Jackson didn’t feel the surge of electricity when Victoria touched his hand. He didn’t feel the heat of passion that courses through a young man’s body, causing an elevation of wanton desire.
He didn’t want to take her to bed at that moment and make love to her. Kiss her breasts, suck her nipples, kiss her stomach. Devour her body and then penetrate it with wanton satisfaction. He never felt this for Victoria, but for some strange reason he felt this and more for the girl he kissed under the oak tree.
“I have no issues with my mind. There are gaps in my memory. There is nothing that you should be concerned about,” Jackson said, raising his voice with a level of coldness.
“I just wanted our marriage to be special.” Victoria began to tear up. Jackson remembered that she would do that when she couldn’t have her way. She cried and made herself sick when he didn’t invite her to the party because he knew that Summer would be there. Nevertheless, she found out that he was with a junior girl and she called him a man whore and said that the girl was nothing but a slut, even though she knew
nothing about Summer.
Any girl that Jackson would date, she would take to Twitter and her thousands of followers would call the girl out and damage her reputation. She tried that with Summer, but she didn’t know her name and Jackson and Tiffany wouldn’t reveal it.
“Don’t worry, Victoria, it will be special,” he said apologetically, holding her in his arms. Jackson wanted to avoid any drama.
Victoria’s eyes met Jackson’s “You have been in a coma, I guess you haven’t had a woman in a long time and when we are married, I will give you all you need. If you need something now, we can go to your room and I can give you a blowjob.” She reached for his crotch and stroked it. He remembered a lot about Victoria, but he never remembered her offering herself to him.
He removed her hand. “What I need, Victoria is time. Go and plan our wedding. We can look for the ring tomorrow.”
“Okay.” Victoria’s gaze met Jackson. “Will it be a large diamond? It has to be larger than Maryanne Forester’s.”
“It will be.”
Satisfied that she would have the largest and most expensive diamond among her friends, Victoria slinked off and left Jackson. How had he returned to a place he was hoping to run from?
He was never attracted to Victoria but it was expected that they would marry. The whole idea was a farce. They were two different people now. Maybe when he was a teenager they may have had something in common. But this was not high school and his life had changed.
He tried to run away from his life of excess, but now he was knee-deep in it.
Chapter Nine
When spring came, Summer dedicated her time to going to her classes, working and getting in enough hours to graduate. She heard nothing from the Veterans Affairs after months of contacting them. Finally, they sent her letters stating that she had to be a relative to obtain further information and since they had discovered that she was not, no further contact with the VA would be necessary and there would be no further letters to her from them.
Finding Summer Page 8