by Amanda Dick
He felt drugged, like the emotions were there, but they were so distant now, just beyond his reach. He went from feeling everything just minutes ago, to feeling absolutely nothing.
“I’m fine. Thanks.”
The priest looked him over again, obviously not convinced. “What are you doing out here, son?”
“I don’t know.”
“You look like you need some air,” he mumbled, reaching in to squeeze Jack’s shoulder. “Care to take a stroll with me?”
Jack found himself exiting the car on autopilot. He looked around him, dazed, unsure. The priest’s hand on his shoulder again grounded him and he turned towards him.
“Come on,” Father David prodded gently. “Let’s go this way.”
They walked in silence at first, Jack’s head still foggy as they made their way into the small cemetery. He stopped to wait as Father David closed the gate behind them, and they strolled up the centre path together slowly.
“You look like you could use a friendly ear, Jack.”
Jack waded through the words in his head. Father David and he weren’t exactly bosom buddies and it felt weird even being with him now, when he didn’t really consider himself one of his parishioners. And besides that, where should he start when everything was so messed up? He looked around them, at the well-kept gardens and shady trees that overlooked the headstones.
“Maybe I can help?” Father David offered gently.
Jack huffed out a laugh in spite of himself. Embarrassed, he shoved his hands into his pockets and hung his head. “I wish it was that easy.”
The priest didn’t speak for a few moments, and the only sound was of their footsteps up the path. The headstones spread out either side of them like a miniature city, dotted with flowers and greenery.
“I saw what happened at your Dad’s funeral,” Father David said, glancing sideways at him. “I didn’t know your Dad as well as you did, but I think I can safely say I knew him longer,” the priest continued. “We talked about a lot of things in that time, especially over the past couple of years. I think he would’ve been proud of you for coming home. It can’t have been an easy thing to do.”
Jack’s hands clenched into fists inside his pockets. “I’m not so sure about that. I don’t feel like I’ve made any difference at all, coming back here.”
The rhythm of their footsteps lulled him, and he felt rather than saw Father David’s nod of understanding.
“You know, life’s a funny thing. You’re so busy doing things, living it, that oftentimes you don’t really have a chance to step back and see the bigger picture – the effect you’re having on everyone around you.”
Jack’s heart raced as he looked over at him.
“How our lives intertwine, how what we do matters,” the priest continued. “It’s all linked – everything we do, everything we say, every decision we make. We are powerful – the things we do matter, even the little things. And we don’t always get it right.”
Jack stared up at the path winding ahead of them. His head began to spin.
“It’s okay to make mistakes, that’s what makes us human. God expects us to make mistakes. And He’s not the only one with the power to forgive, either. People have that power, too.”
“What if you don’t deserve forgiveness?”
The priest’s hand on his shoulder startled him and he looked up into Father David’s penetrating gaze.
“Everyone deserves forgiveness, Jack,” he said firmly. “If God forgives you, you should forgive yourself.”
Jack found it impossible to tear himself away.
“How do I know that God forgives me?” He felt like a child again, questioning everything, unwilling to just believe for the sake of it.
“He will. You just have to ask Him.”
They stopped walking and stood facing each other. Jack struggled hard to breathe normally, frustration clawing at his insides. He wanted to believe, so desperately. He wanted the pain to end.
“So you made some mistakes – who hasn’t?” the priest soothed. “You can’t change the past, but you can change the future. You’re here now and that’s what matters.”
“Ally tried to kill herself,” he whispered hoarsely, tears spilling down his cheeks.
Some part of him hoped that it wasn’t true, but saying it aloud made it seem so much more real.
The priest’s face was a picture of solemn acceptance. “Yes, I know.”
Jack stared at him in silence, hopelessness oozing out of every cell in his body.
“She was at her lowest. She was in pain,” Father David said with a knowing look. “We all make mistakes, Jack. You have to learn from them or it’s a lesson you’ll have to keep learning over and over again. She made up for it by not giving up, by fighting back, by choosing to be here, with us. You can choose to give in to it – or you can choose to fight. Ultimately, that’s what it comes down to.”
Jack let his brain absorb the priest’s words, fighting their way past doubt and guilt and self-condemnation. His head ached and he wanted nothing more than to sit down – right there, in the middle of the cemetery – and just wait until everything fixed itself.
“Just remember, Jack, you’re not the first person to make a mistake and you won’t be the last.”
Jack’s chin quivered as he fought for control. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Maybe you could try talking to her?”
Although deep down he knew the priest was right, the prospect terrified him.
“But first, perhaps there’s someone else you need to talk to.”
He indicated a spot just over Jack’s right shoulder. As Jack turned around, he saw a grave. Covered in flowers, a simple marker at its head bore his father’s name.
Ally sat at her kitchen table at 4am, listening to the wind. The huge tree in her backyard scraped against the house, the windows rattled in their frames.
She felt sick. All she kept seeing was Jack’s face when she told him what she had done. Horror shone in his eyes.
She had done that. She had thrust a knife into his heart and twisted it.
She wished with all her heart that she could go back to that day and flush the pills down the sink instead. If she had had the benefit of hindsight, she would have seen that things would get better, but that kind of realisation only comes from having lived through something.
She thought she had put it behind her, accepted the past and moved on. She had forgiven herself.
But how could she ever forgive herself for what she had done to Jack, by sharing it with him?
Jack walked up Ally’s front path the next morning, shaking his hands out like he was approaching a bout in the ring. He breathed out through his teeth and tried to line up the words that swirled inside his head. Somehow, he had to make her understand.
He took the steps two at a time and knocked on the door. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shifted his weight impatiently from one foot to the other.
Finally, the door opened and Ally stood before him in jeans, a t-shirt and a multi-colored, paint-splattered apron.
“Morning,” he said tentatively.
She looked exhausted. He could relate. Sleep hadn’t come easily to him last night, either.
“Hi.”
She wouldn’t look at him. His heart sank.
“Can I come in?”
She took her time thinking it over, and he wondered if they were going to have to have this discussion on her doorstep.
“Okay.”
She turned to allow him entry, and he walked past her into the hallway. Unfortunately, his thoughts didn’t become any clearer inside the house than they had been outside of it. After his chance meeting with Father David yesterday and the time he had spent sitting by his father’s grave, his heart and his soul in turmoil, he had hoped this would come easier.
“I want to apologise,” he began tentatively. “If I was a little off yesterday, I’m sorry. I was just blind-sided, really. I know it happened three years ag
o, but to me it feels like it just happened yesterday. I mean, it scared me – really scared me.”
She stood before him, head bowed, silent. Had he messed up the apology, too? Why wouldn’t she look at him?
“Me too,” she said in a small voice. “But it’s over now. We don’t have to talk about it anymore. It’s in the past.”
Not this time, babe.
He reached out to take her by the arms, squeezing gently and wishing like hell she would look at him.
“I get why you don’t want to talk about it,” he said, his heart racing. “But I just want you to know that you can trust me. I’m not judging you, Ally – I’d never do that. You don’t have to protect me from anything, either. I can take it. I came back, didn’t I? I’m not going anywhere, no matter what. I don’t expect you to believe me, but let me prove it to you. Don’t shut me out, please?”
He felt a shudder go through her. He waited, his heart sitting in his throat as he stroked her arms, afraid of hurting her. She seemed so fragile.
Finally, she lifted her head. Her beautiful eyes, more blue than green now, were brimming with tears. She nodded, setting them free.
He reached up to brush a stray wisp of hair away from her face, trying not to think about what might have happened if Callum hadn’t found her in time. This homecoming would have been so very different.
“I’m glad you’re here. Nothing else matters except that,” he said gently. “We’ve got a shot at something really special here – a second chance. Not everyone gets one of those.”
She sniffed, trembling in his arms, as he pulled her close. He laced his arms around her, needing physical verification that she was still here, still breathing. The need to simplify everything was overwhelming. If he held her close, it wasn’t so frightening. If he held her close, he could keep her safe.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you then, but I’m here now.”
He felt her give herself to him, physically. He braced himself as she laced her arms around his back and he buried his face into her hair.
“Thank you,” she mumbled into his shirt.
He smoothed her hair under his chin, her heartbeat solid and steady against his own.
CHAPTER 18
“Life can only be understood backwards, but it must be lived forwards.”
- Soren Kierkegaard
“I think that’s it,” Ally announced finally, fitting the lid onto the full container of sea sponges and handing it to him as she directed him to the shelf on which they belonged. Adding the container to the many others already there, he turned to face her, running his hands along his jeans to clean them. It felt good to be involved in something as mundane as cleaning her studio with her. He looked at it as a metaphor.
Then he spied the ripped canvas leaning up against the opposite wall. Was that a metaphor too? “What are you going to do with that?”
She stared at it for a moment. “Trash it.”
“Wasn’t that the painting I saw the other day, the work in progress deal?”
The easy conversation of moments ago abruptly disintegrated.
“Yeah.”
“Why didn’t you just paint over it? If you didn’t like it, I mean.”
She shrugged again, turning her attention back to him. “I don’t know. Guess I didn’t feel like starting over.”
He nodded, anxious to keep the mood light. “Temperamental artist kinda thing, was it?”
“Something like that.” She smiled fleetingly, arranging her legs and laboriously getting to her knees. She pushed herself up into a crouch, using her hands to balance for several moments, her face a picture of concentration.
“Can I help?” he offered, readying himself.
She waited a moment before pushing herself upwards and backwards and he heard the locks snap into place as her legs straightened. Bent in half, she quickly checked them by hand.
“No, I’m fine.” She dragged her crutches towards her, using them to push herself upright. “I know it looks awkward, but its fine. I do it all the time.”
“It doesn’t look awkward,” he lied.
“Yeah it does.” She slipped her arms through the cuffs. “Believe me, if I could figure out how do to this gracefully, I would. But, y’know, it is what is.”
Her movements were all military precision, yet her tone was one of casual dismissal.
“Well, it sure impressed the hell out of me. You make it look easy.”
“Do I? I guess that’s something then. All those months of practice paid off.”
Months of practice.
He pushed aside the guilt and concentrated on the achievement. She smiled at him and it forced the guilt further into the background.
Last night, he had lain awake, trying to remember where he was three years ago. He came up empty and it bothered him. Where the hell was he while she was trying to end her life? Every town/job/apartment seemed interchangeable. Reluctantly, he realised that it wasn’t important where he was. It was over, it had happened and he hadn’t been there.
Then he recalled the argument they had had before she had thrown him out. He had asked about the yoga mat, and she had retaliated, throwing him off-centre. After finding out about her suicide attempt, whatever was going on with the yoga mat seemed minor by comparison. But he still owed her an explanation, one she had every right to ask for.
Realisation hit him square in the gut. A moment of clarity, and the fog lifted.
Follow her lead.
It was no use hiding – all that would do is drive a wedge between them. If she had been strong enough to make it back from the brink after her suicide attempt, he could be strong enough to provide the answers to her questions. He needed to take his cue from her.
“Can I make you something to eat?” Ally asked. “It’s the least I can do after all your help.”
He dragged himself back from the past and into the present. “That’d be great, thanks.”
“Just let me wash up first.”
He stared down at his own grimy hands. “Good point.”
As she left the room, he convinced himself to concentrate more on the present moment. The past was a minefield he was less than qualified to navigate. Here and now he had a better chance of handling, he just had to focus. He leant back against the workbench, trying to relax.
“All yours!” she called.
He made his way down the hall towards the bathroom as Ally disappeared into her bedroom. Plunging his hands under the cold water, he soaped up and rinsed then reached for the hand towel to dry off.
Her bathroom contained more visible signs of her disability than any other room in the house. He had noticed it the other day when he had taken a shower in here, too. Grab bars were everywhere and a shower chair sat in the stall. The vanity unit and basin were lower and recessed, presumably to allow her wheelchair access. He was determined not to let any of this bother him, but it was hard not to miss, just the same.
He exited the bathroom and wandered down the hall to the living room, sinking down into the couch. Yes, things were different, but he would get used to it just like everyone else had. The only difference was he was new to all this, and they’d had more time to adjust.
Behind him, Ally’s bedroom door opened and he stood up, leaving his reflections behind for now.
She had not only removed her apron, but she had changed her top, too. Along with her jeans, she wore an emerald green, short-sleeved t-shirt that brought out the green in her eyes and accentuated all the curves he remembered.
“You look amazing,” he murmured, his eyes roaming lazily over her petite frame.
When they finally came to rest on her face, she was blushing.
Callum slid a six-pack of beer over onto the passenger seat of his car. Staring at it, the strangest feeling of déjà-vu washed over him. Four years ago, before the accident and everything went to hell, he would grab a six-pack and take it over to Jack’s. After Jack disappeared and when things slowly settled into a new normal, he used to do t
he same thing with Tom. Now, things seemed to have come full circle again. It was Jack he was going to see.
After what had happened yesterday, he was worried about him. He needed to find out where his head was at. It didn’t take a genius to work out that he had to be hurting. That feeling of helplessness was one that left you hollow for a long time afterwards.
It’s what Tom would have wanted.
The thought was accompanied by a deep ache at the back of his throat. He tried to swallow it down as he turned the key in the ignition, pulling out of the parking lot.
He wondered what Tom would’ve made of the whole situation, if he were here. How would he have handled it? Uncomfortably, he realised that it was more than likely that Tom would have placed himself between he and Jack. Having Tom here would’ve also given Jack someone to talk to.
He sat idling at the intersection, indicator blinking left, staring straight ahead while he ran the scenario through his mind.
It was Tom who had made these last few years bearable. He had been the one that Callum had needed the most and he had selflessly given of himself for Callum’s benefit – for everyone’s benefit. Yes, he had lost Tom, but so had Jack. He had a feeling that Jack’s address book wasn’t exactly overflowing.
A car horn jolted him back to the present and he made the turn, an emptiness gnawing at the pit of his stomach.
Pulling up in front of Tom’s house a short time later, he saw that Jack’s car wasn’t there. Maybe he was over at Ally’s? As his gaze lingered, he thought he saw movement coming from the bushes to the right of the house. Frowning, he wondered if it was Jack. And if so, where was his car? His curiosity getting the better of him, he got out and headed up the front path, veering over the lawn to the right.
Before he could go any further, a man emerged from the bushes. They were about the same height, and he had cropped dark hair and shoulders like a professional football player. They stared at each other for a moment. Something about the guy didn’t feel right.
“Can I help you?” he asked, keeping his tone conversational.
