by Rachael Wade
“How lucky she was to have you by her side before she passed on, sweetie.”
“How thankful you must be to have been able to say goodbye to her in those final moments, Emma. Not many people get that opportunity, you know.”
“What a strong girl you were for holding her hand, honey. I’m sure she’s smiling down from the clouds and thanking you for being so brave.”
It was bad enough to have to hear those things for the past year, when only a select few others and I knew the truth.
Now, Jackson Taylor, in his triumphant, disgusting drunkenness, announced it to all of Pete’s Tavern, and without a doubt, word would spread to the rest of the island in a matter of weeks. I wouldn’t be surprised if half the town knew already, and it had only been two days since his betrayal. Now, instead of those comments, I’d receive uncomfortable glances, awkward stares, and I’m sure, a few well-intended yet pity-infused comments along the way.
To most, it wouldn’t matter. And really, why did it matter what other people thought of the truth? It was my truth, after all. I was the one who had to live it. Why did it matter that I hadn’t read the obituary? It was just a composition of words on paper. The words didn’t matter, only the truth, so why the big fuss to begin with? Why allow it to cover me with a haze of guilt, shame, and regret for over a year now? What did it all mean and what did it say about me that I even gave a damn?
Jackson had answered that question for me, and so had my mom and Whitney, in more or less words than Jackson. But they all knew, all understood the same thing. Forgiveness wasn’t ever easy, but a feat much more manageable when you weren’t the subject of its grace. Maybe I’d always be a broken recipient of grace. And in that musing, I found rest.
I was allowed to be. I was human, not superhuman.
Picking up the obituary and, standing to my feet, I reached for a lighter from the kitchen drawer and set it on fire, letting the burning ash float onto a small coffee saucer. I blew gently on the flames until they disappeared, then funneled them into a small tea tin for safe keeping.
***
Monday morning started with a bang. I was late to work, and when I arrived, Ms. Velma was on the warpath.
“I have 10 other residents to tend to this morning, Ms. Velma. I promise you I’ll be back to check on you before noon. You have my word.”
“Oh, your word is useless, you ninny! Show me, don’t tell me! You always run around here and tell me you’ll be there when I need you, making promises you can’t keep. Why, Mrs. Hildenbrand gets lunch sooner than I do, and you run to her at the drop of a hat when she loses her cane. Can’t you keep your promises to me for just once?” Restless and more agitated than I’d seen her in a long time, she waved a cranky finger at me and folded her arms. “Or maybe you just don’t care about me at all.”
I slowed in the doorway, taking a deep breath. Turning to set her breakfast tray on the dresser, I came to her side and sat down. “You know what? You’re right.”
“I know I’m right!”
“Good.”
“And I’m not happy.”
“I know. I’m sorry for that.”
“Damn right, you should be sorry. You hurt my feelings, you know, and I’m one proud old bitch, so it takes a lot to admit that. I don’t have any family, and I know that doesn’t make me much different than a lot of these ninnies in this joint, but when I say I have no one, I mean I have no one. No one to eat dinner with in the dining room, no one to walk to the mailbox with, when I can even get my ass up, that is. Hell, that Martha never invites me to her room when the beautician comes. Doesn’t she think I might want my nails painted hussy red?” Her dark eyes narrowed and her wrinkled lips turned down as she glared out the window, her shoulders falling with the thought.
“Well I’m not old, but I’m a proud bitch too, Velma. I don’t like pity and I don’t like people doing things for me, especially when I have to ask for it.”
That got her attention.
She snapped her head around, studying me for a second. “I hear you’re leavin’ soon.”
“Not until the spring.”
“You gonna keep giving us old bags baths out where you’re goin’?”
I chuckled. “No, actually I’m going to school full time. I’ll have to get a part time job somewhere, but I doubt it’ll be a nursing job.”
“So you don’t really like taking care of us, huh? That explains a lot.” She pouted, her petulant tone making me smile.
“Whether you see it or not, no matter how many mistakes I make with you, Ms. Velma, I enjoy taking care of you very much. I love it, in fact. But I love animals, too. This school program and the internship I’m aiming for will hopefully give me an opportunity to teach others to protect them.”
“Humph.”
“I’m sorry for my mistakes, Ms. Velma. I’m not perfect. I’m sure I’ll make many more of them before I leave. Can you forgive me and trust me when I say I’m doing my best? And when I’m not, you have my word I’ll try harder, okay?”
“Oh, enough of the Hallmark Channel exchanges, already.” Her voice was bitter and rough as always, but her hand snaked out and covered mine, her cold fingers pressing down hard over my knuckles. She turned her head back to the window to peer out and let her head fall back against the pillow.
I stood and picked up her tray from the dresser, thinking how much I’d really miss the crazy bat when I left. Hurrying down the hallway, I sighed when I felt my cell phone vibrate from my pocket. I dashed into the dining hall and set the tray on the counter, praying to God it wasn’t Jackson again. He’d been relentless trying to reach me since Thursday night, leaving countless apologies on my voice mail and banging on my door morning and night, begging me to hear him out. My response was to slam the door in his face repeatedly, or ignore his efforts altogether. I’d started to worry what tactics he’d resort to next just to speak with me. Ruben had even come to see me, apologizing on his behalf over and over again, and Carter swore to me he hadn’t done anything with the redhead.
“He knows what he’s done is unforgiveable,” Carter had said over dinner with me and Whitney Saturday night. We met at Whitney’s diner and she ate with us on her break. “He quit the club, swore off Pete’s for the rest of his life, and is practically living on your doorstep. He wants no one else, nothing else but you, Emma. Take it from someone who had to swallow watching his best friend fall for a scumbag playboy who slept with his students...I can spot sincerity when I see it, and someone’s mistakes aren’t always a good judgment of their character. They’re mistakes. Set-backs. Not lifestyles.”
“Oh, I think his behavior is a perfect judgment of his character,” I countered. “These aren’t isolated set-backs, Carter. This is his lifestyle. It’s who he is and who he will always be, and he’s made that perfectly clear. And I love you for trying to help me, here, but I don’t think you’re the best person to size Jackson up based on your heart-to-heart chats. You haven’t known him nearly as long as I have.”
Carter scooped up some french fries and played with his new lip ring as he chewed. “Look, the guy’s gone mental. I know drunk stupidity never flies as a hall pass to do whatever the hell you want, but I’m telling you, the guy was plastered. He’d just broken up with you, and Jeff and Ruben were being douchebags, spurring him on. He was dealing with a lot that night. He decided to tell his Realtor he wasn’t going to close on the house, called off the deal to sell his dad’s boat, and faced losing you, all within a couple of days. Had he been in his right mind, he would have never hurt you like that.”
Whitney rolled her eyes, aggravation seeping from her pores. “First off, you weren’t there to witness the incident. Second, for the fifty thousandth time, he dumped her! He didn’t want a long-distance relationship, and she was willing to try. And right mind or not, he almost slept with some random bimbo! You’re still just making excuses for him because you feel indebted to him because he got you that job. So what? You have no obligation to be on his side.”
“I’m not on his side, Whit. I’m just calling it like I see it and trying to put an end to this whole thing. They’re both hurting. It’s so unnecessary when they are so clearly crazy about each other. At the very least, they should at least go their separate ways in peace, with some resolution.”
I slumped back into the diner booth. Here we go again. Carter trying to keep the peace, and the two of them talking about me like I’m not sitting right in front of them. The last thing I wanted was for this thing with me and Jackson to cause arguments between Whitney and Carter. Their relationship was still in its fun, fresh newbie stage, and I didn’t want to be the bad-cheer fairy, sprinkling doom and gloom wherever they went.
“Okay,” I straightened and stood, leaving cash for the tip, “believe me when I say that I appreciate what you’re both trying to do here. But I’m tired of talking about Jackson. The prick broke my heart, and unfortunately, I still love him. But I have to accept that. I knew the risk involved when I decided to be with him. I’m headed home. I’ll see you two kids later.” I’d left the diner that night and returned home to find a collage of sticky notes on my apartment door, each one signed, “J.” Oy vey. As if I didn’t know who the messenger was!
The persistent vibration of my phone pulled me from my reverie and back to work. Yanking it from my scrubs pocket, I leaned against the counter and eyed the caller ID.
“Whit?” I answered, scanning the fresh crowd of residents as they filtered into the dining hall for their breakfast. “Aren’t you working, too? Look, can I call you on my lunch break? I’m really busy—”
“I’m sorry, Em, but I think you need to get over to the marina.”
“What? Why would I want to do that?”
“Jackson’s boat burnt down.”
“What?” My eyes darted around the room, my shoulders tensing.
“I don’t know, I just started my shift and Carter calls me from the marina telling me Jackson’s boat burnt down. There are cops swarming the dock right now, and Jackson’s nowhere to be found. No one can get a hold of his cell.”
“I—I can’t leave my shift, there’s no way they’ll let me off.” My arms began to shake and I began to bite my nails. My mind raced with dread: What if Jackson wasn’t okay? What if his boat was completely destroyed? Sara’s boat. As livid as I was with him, I didn’t wish that upon him. Not in the slightest.
“I know, I know. I can’t get over there right now either. But I thought you’d want to know. You told me what that boat meant to him, so...”
“Yeah, I do want to know. Thanks, Whit. Let me see what I can do and I’ll call you back. Oh, and Whit?”
“Yeah?”
“Please tell Carter thank you...for calling and letting you know, I mean.”
“I will.”
“Love you, bye.” I hung up and in my state of panic forgot to greet the morning cooks behind the counter. Instead, I rushed to the front office and presented my case, knowing my boss would look down upon me requesting to leave so early when it had nothing to do with an illness. To my relief, though, she didn’t ask which friend was in trouble or what I considered to be a ‘family emergency’, letting me clock out with the promise to return for my afternoon shift.
When I arrived at the marina, I raced down the dock, slowing as I approached the commotion surrounding the remains of Jackson’s sailboat. From the looks of it, the entire cabin was destroyed, the name ‘Sara’ barely legible on the side, the blue paint charred to a crisp black and brown. My stomach twisted at the sight, my heart lurching in my chest at the thought of how torn up Jackson must be. No matter what he’d done, I still loved him. I cared, as much as it pained me to admit it. He was still the man with the blanket, the man who lifted me up so gently when I lay in a heap on the side of the road. He was still the man who had let me grieve in peace. Never asked questions, never brought the subject up unless I wanted to discuss it, never made me feel ashamed for how I’d chickened out and left Jen to die.
Until last week at Pete’s, anyway.
“Emma!” Carter’s voice appeared from somewhere in the crowd. Our eyes met and he weaved around until he reached me, his friendly, sympathetic expression an instant calming balm.
“What the hell happened?” I lunged forward and gripped his shoulders. “Is he okay? Where’d he go? What are the cops saying?”
“No idea, still can’t get a hold of him. His phone goes straight to voicemail. But he knows about the boat.”
“What? How do you know?”
“I was working at the shop and saw the flames through the window. I started to yell for someone to call the cops and when I dashed outside, I saw him running from the boat. I called for him but he didn’t hear me. He jumped in his truck and sped off. The cops think it was arson, not an accident.”
“Who would do this?” my voice came out in a whisper, my eyes scanning the boat to further assess the damage. Chattering surrounded us as other boat owners and island locals gathered to swap gossip, and the fire and rescue team exited the scene as they packed gear into their truck.
“I’ve been asking myself the same question. Jackson isn’t exactly universally loved, I know, but I don’t know who would do something this extreme.”
I shook my head, agreeing. “I have to find him. I’ll be a nervous wreck until I know he’s okay. You didn’t see which direction he drove off, did you?”
“No, I just saw him speed out from the parking lot. Did you get in trouble for leaving work?”
“My boss was cool about it, but she wants me back by 2 o’clock for my afternoon shift.” I glanced down at my watch. “So I better get moving now if I want to find him.”
“I’ll help, I just have to finish up this job at the shop. I promise I’ll let you know if I hear anything, and you have my number, so keep in touch and let me know if you find him.”
“I will. Thanks, Carter.”
He gave me a hug. “Hey, if you get to him before I do, let him know he’s welcome to crash with me as long as he needs, okay?”
“I’ll tell him. I know he’ll appreciate it.” Releasing him, I waved and darted back to my car, spinning out of the parking lot without looking back. My thoughts scrambling, I worked to guess where he might be. Carter said he’d seen the fire. Why would he take off like that? Did he know who did this? Did he leave to seek revenge or to deal with some sort of confrontation? As I drove, I speed dialed everyone who might have heard from him, including Jeff, who was less than thrilled to hear from me, but shocked when I’d told him the news. Ruben was just as dumbfounded and promised to do everything he could to track him down.
Merging onto the highway and heading into Fort Myers, I could only think of three more possibilities for places he might visit: his dad’s jail, Pete’s, or the club he’d been working at. Where else did he have to go? He had no home now. Knowing that he swore off Pete’s, I crossed that one off the list first, and I couldn’t imagine he’d run to tell his dad about the boat without thinking things through first. The news would likely break his dad’s heart. Rushing there would be too rash, even for Jackson. And if what Carter said was true about the strip club, that he’d quit, it wouldn’t make sense for him to go there, either. Maybe that was wishful thinking.
As I roared down the highway, the sign for the cemetery flickered in my peripheral vision, the green and white lettering flashing at me with bold urgency. Without thinking, I switched lanes and pulled onto the long drive and into the parking lot, searching for him before I even stepped out from the car. I scanned the grounds for the oak tree, trying to recall on which end Sara’s stone was located. Wandering toward the formation of trees that outlined the far right edge of the cemetery, I sped up when I recognized some of the beautiful rose garden arrangements, their path leading me straight to the shaded area beneath the familiar oak tree.
I came to a complete stop when I spotted him, his back facing me as he stared down at Sara’s angel. His hands were in his jean pockets, his head hung low and shoulders saggi
ng. Two feelings registered at the sight of him—relief, then sadness. Sadness for the man with the blanket, my savior and comfort, now the man who’d hurt me and delivered just as much pain as he’d saved me from.
As he peered down at his mom, I shivered, remembering how I’d almost missed Jen’s funeral. So emerged in despair, I’d barely been able to lift myself from his couch that morning, let alone manage to shower and make myself presentable for the ceremony. He’d helped me walk to the bathroom and waited patiently while I showered and dressed, then had driven me to the funeral himself, rescuing me from another regret I’d almost risked having to live with. The stillness in his truck was so heavy that morning, I’d clung to his presence like air to breathe the entire ride. I had struggled to stand through the wake, my mom on one side and Whitney on the other, each one supporting me like crutches. And as the ceaseless stream of friends, acquaintances, and even strangers approached me to offer their condolences, I glimpsed Jackson in the back of the room, standing silently, just as he stood now.There for me, just to make sure I was okay. To catch me if I fell.
Taking slow, cautious steps toward him, my feet crunched on the leaves beneath them, alerting him to my presence. His head gently raised and he turned to glance at me, cursing under his breath. He quickly swiped at his eyes, clearing his throat.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, his voice gravelly, back still facing me.
“I needed to know you were okay.” Stepping to his side to meet him, I slipped my hands in my pockets and looked straight ahead. “I’m really sorry about your boat.”
“Thanks.”
“Jackson—”
“Emma,” his head shifted and he gave me a side glance, “you shouldn’t be here.”
