Forever

by Lewis, Linda Cassidy

  But that box was the second one he rescued. The morning after his father’s death, he sneaked into his parents’ closet and took the old shoe box his father kept in the back, hidden behind his old military duffle bag. Many times during Tom’s childhood, he’d seen his dad sitting on the edge of the bed looking at something from what he called his “box of memories.”

  When Tom first got possession of the box, he saw the contents only as a collection of photos and an odd assortment of papers, but as he looked through the box at later stages of his life, his perceptions changed. His father had been selective when he compiled his photo collection. One professional print, labeled RM/2c John T. Cogan, showed his father dressed in World War II Navy whites. A few pictures were of his paternal grandparents and uncles and aunts, but most of them were snapshots of Dave and Tom, some with their father and some without.

  “Whatcha doing?”

  Tom looked up to find Lindsay standing in the doorway. “Just looking at some of my dad’s things.”

  “Can I see?”

  “Sure.” He scooted the box over to make room for her on the bed.

  She picked up one of the photos and smiled. “This is you and Uncle Dave, right?”

  “Yep.”

  “It’s funny to see you as a kid. I mean, I know you were one, but it’s hard to think of you that way.” She picked up the Navy photo. “I’ve never seen Grandpa this young. He was really handsome. You look like him”—she grinned—“except for the handsome part.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  She flipped through the stack. “How come there’s no photos of Grandma?”

  For the first time, Tom realized there was not a single photo that showed his mother. His mother had not been camera shy; in addition to the usual snapshots, she’d posed for numerous studio portraits. And even if she’d been the one behind the camera for some of the snapshots in the box, Tom distinctly recalled the picnic when a couple of these pictures were taken, and he knew there were other shots that included his mother because he’d seen them in her family photo album. His father had purposely excluded his wife from his private photo collection. Tom sympathized, but he would never admit that to Lindsay.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “Maybe Uncle Dave has them all.”

  “Except the one of your whole family and your parents’ wedding photo that Mom framed.”

  “Right.” Julie had insisted that, despite his feelings about his mother, Lindsay should see those photos.

  Among the papers in the box was a letter, postmarked December 16, 1943, from his grandmother to her son “Jackie” telling him all the family news. Lindsay read it aloud.

  “That was probably the first Christmas my dad had ever spent away from his family,” he told her.

  “Awww, that’s sad but sweet.”

  Next they looked at Father’s Day cards that Tom and his brother had crayoned during their grade school days. In a big yellow envelope, neatly trimmed and folded, were newspaper clippings from their high school sport days—Dave’s for football, his for baseball.

  “Your mom saves stuff like this about you too, you know.”

  “Yeah,” she said. “I get the message, Dad. Being bratty to her is immature. You know I love her, right?”

  “Of course.”

  She kissed his cheek and stood. “I’ll leave you to your memories. I’m going out to meet some friends at Dairy Queen.”

  “Drive carefully.”

  She turned back to him with a scowl and stomped her foot. “You never let me drive like a maniac.”

  He shook his head, but he was smiling. “Get out of here.”

  When Tom picked up the last thing in the box—a brochure for houseboating on Lake Cumberland—a lump formed in his throat. Six winters in a row, his father started planning that vacation, and every spring his mother vetoed it. That last winter, his father told his sons that “no matter what” they were going to Kentucky and renting the houseboat in June. But Jack Cogan died in April.

  Once, it had occurred to Tom that in his grief and general teenage angst, he might have unfairly vilified his mother. But after further consideration, he decided that his mother truly was self-centered. A snob. A would-be social climber. And he believed something worse—his father had worked himself to death at the age of forty-four trying to provide the money her wants demanded. Her reaction to his death had been to rant and rave, angry that he’d “left” her.

  At fourteen, Tom hadn’t known anger was a part of the natural grief process, but at fifteen, he understood that and something else. His mother’s anger was not from grief. She was furious that her husband had left her with a pitiful insurance policy, putting her back to square one in her social climb. Only two months into her widowhood, his mother started dating. Eleven months later, she remarried. Her marriage to a successful neurosurgeon elevated her to the social class she’d always envied.

  By the time their mother remarried, Dave had an apartment of his own, and Tom moved in with him. Their mother uttered not one word of protest. Tom had never told anyone how much that single act of her neglect hurt him. He got a job with a construction firm that summer and hoped to stay on in the fall, but Dave insisted he return to school. After graduating the following spring, Tom took the construction job again. His career was set.

  With a sigh, Tom set aside the small box containing his father’s memories. The box of books at his feet reminded him what he’d come up here to do. Twice he’d promised Annie that he would find out more about those hunters and their rifles. Jacob no longer mattered to him, but he’d honor his promise. He could take the book to work and photocopy a few pages for her. That reminded him of the copies she’d given him. He’d never looked at them. When he’d emptied his pockets that night before getting undressed, he’d stuck them in the drawer of his nightstand. They didn’t matter now. He reached for the book on longhunters. After he dropped off his photocopies at the theater, he’d have no need to see her again.

  And he’d tell her that.

  Eddie sat in his car facing Tom’s house. He’d parked a block away, which didn’t matter because he was listening as much as watching. In none of his human lives had he reared a child. Now, overhearing Tom’s side of the conversation with Lindsay made Eddie consider that he might have underestimated that bond. Tom would fight hard to protect his daughter. Then again, Eddie could make excellent use of that weak spot. And such a pretty little weak spot she was.

  Conjuring up Lindsay’s image and thinking of what he’d like to do to her aroused him. His hand crept to his crotch. He was just getting into it when the object of his lust opened the garage door and got into her car. Hmm, what better way to get a message to her father than to follow Lindsay and show up wherever she was going. When she reported back to him that she’d had a conversation with the man Tom detested, he wouldn’t like it, even start to fear, but not quite know why.

  Eddie zipped his pants and started his car. He’d backed into a side street before Lindsay’s car flew past him. His excitement grew as he followed her, devising how to approach her, what to say. He had a bad moment when she pulled into another residential area and stopped in front of a house. But when she only honked the horn, his hope rose again. He couldn’t help laughing when another sweet young thing ran from the house and jumped in Lindsay’s car. If only it were time. Two for one would be almost more delight than he could take. Almost.

  Five minutes later, Lindsay pulled into the Dairy Queen parking lot. Eddie parked and was reaching to turn off the engine when the girls joined a crowd inside. His mood blackened. It wouldn’t do to approach her when she was surrounded by several girls—and damned boys. Even he couldn’t manipulate that many minds at once. To say what he’d planned would alert too many, might even get him reported to the police as a potential sex offender. Despite his anger, he was smiling at that description as he left the parking lot.

  10

  June 11

  When Tom arrived at work the next morning, he found that Bonnie,
three years past retirement age and tickled that he referred to her as his office girl, had stuck a fluorescent green sticky-note to a stack of forms on his desk.

  Catch up on these TODAY!!!

  He rifled through them. Some of these were three days old. It wasn’t like him to let his paperwork slide for three days. Three? He couldn’t remember ever deliberately leaving his work undone. Disgusted with himself, he worked on the backlog of forms while he fielded phone calls.

  One call came from Julie. “Would you please try to make it home for dinner tonight? It’s important.”

  “I’m trying to catch up on paperwork, but whatever it takes, I’ll be home by six.”

  “Promise?”

  “Promise.” It wasn’t until he ended the call that a lead weight dropped into his stomach. Evidently, tonight they’d have the talk. Julie had finally agreed with Patricia that she could do better. She would tell him, and rightly so, that she’d counted far more than three strikes against him, and he was out. O-U-T. And he wouldn’t just be sent back to the dugout; he’d be thrown out of the clubhouse. Cut from the team. See ya, wouldn’t wanna be ya.

  What if he couldn’t talk her into giving him one more chance? Jeezus. His imagination was running wild. There could be a dozen “important” things she wanted to talk about. It was this thing with Annie making him feel guilty. And he hadn’t even done anything wrong. Not really. And besides, he was only going to see her one more time. Then he’d straighten up his ass and do whatever it took to make Julie happy again.

  Still, the lead in his stomach told him this was not a night to look forward to. He attacked the last of the paperwork on his desk. Work was as good a distraction from his dread as anything. A few minutes later, Bonnie brought him a fresh cup of coffee and two of her homemade snickerdoodles, and he wondered, not for the first time, how she detected his moods.

  As he worked, Annie kept intruding on his thoughts. It was near noon when he decided to phone her. One last time, he reminded himself. “Good morning, Annie. Do you work today?”

  “No, why?”

  “I’ve got to drive up to Anderson to take care of some business, but I wondered if we could get together for a few minutes later this afternoon. I looked at that book on longrifles last night, and I wanted to show it to you.”

  “All right. Um … there’s a park, about two blocks south of the Cineplex; do you know it?”

  “I’ll find it. After I see how my day’s going, I’ll call to let you know what time I can meet you there. Okay?”

  What he’d done didn’t hit him until two seconds after he ended the call. What happened to his photocopy plan? Shit. At least she’d suggested the park as a meeting place, but the Coach House was a mistake he wouldn’t have repeated anyway.

  So the park was good. The park was out in the open, in the daylight, nothing hidden. And that was as it should be. That’s what he wanted.

  *

  Though Annie left her house immediately after Tom’s second call, she found him waiting in the parking lot when she arrived. He motioned her to come to his truck. She hesitated, not wanting to ruin the new dress she wore. Tom drove a black Ford pickup, which he kept clean on the outside, but from her experience with men who worked out of their trucks, she pictured the inside caked with construction dirt and cluttered with empty cigarette packs and fast food trash.

  Reluctantly, she walked around to the passenger-side door. He reached across the seat and opened the door for her. As it swung open, her jaw dropped. “It’s spotless.”

  “Yeah, I know. I’m compulsively neat.” He grinned, though he clearly meant it as an apology. “It’s the only thing I inherited from my mother.”

  Annie heard the edge in Tom’s voice as if it pained him to speak of his mother, but she would never ask why. That wasn’t any of her business. “So,” she said, climbing into the truck, “what did you find in your father’s book?”

  “Well, I’m not sure how much this will help you understand what these visions are all about, but I think it’s interesting.” Tom reached into the back seat. “I brought the book because I wanted you to see the photos. This one is close to what I remember Jacob holding in his hands. It’s called a Lancaster rifle because that’s the county in Pennsylvania where the style originated.”

  Tom thumbed through the pages as he talked, pointing to photos to illustrate his words. “They call them longrifles because the barrels were up to forty-six inches long. They had a flintlock action and were known for accuracy, but after about 1830, some of them were converted to caplocks—a percussion rifle. Look at these beauties. Back then, one like this cost a man half his annual wages.”

  Because he held the book between them on the center console, she leaned closer to get a better look at the photos. His body heat warmed her left side. She breathed in the faint scent of his aftershave. As he read aloud, she stole a look at his face. He kept his eyes on the book as though she wasn’t even there. Couldn’t he feel how much she wanted him?

  Annie sat back upright. As he recited the text, Tom traced his fingers across a two-page color photo, but she only half-listened. He was in his own place, not there with her.

  “Tom?”

  In mid-sentence, he ended his monologue on hand-carved stocks but didn’t look up.

  “You don’t believe you were Jacob in a past life, do you?”

  He replied, his voice flat and barely above a whisper, “I don’t know who I am.”

  A chill scurried up her spine. “What did you say?”

  Tom blinked twice, then looked up from the book and turned toward her speaking in his normal tone. “No. I don’t feel the reincarnation thing like you do. I mean, I’ve seen things through Jacob’s eyes, and felt things through his body, but that kind of stuff happens in dreams too. Do you think all your dreams are glimpses of past lives?”

  “These aren’t dreams, Tom. We’re awake when they happen. But even if we were asleep, what we’ve experienced is too real, too detailed to be just dreams. Besides that, Jacob really existed. We’ve seen his name on historical records.”

  “Yeah.” He nodded and closed the book with a sigh. “I guess I don’t have any frame of reference for something like this. I like to have the facts and figures. I tend to see things in black and white.”

  “Why do you think that man shot you?”

  “Shot Jacob,” he said. “I don’t have—”

  “Okay then, can’t you tell me what Jacob felt when he turned to face his killer?”

  “I’d say he was pissed.”

  Annie ignored Tom’s sarcasm. She was irritated enough that he wouldn’t accept that he and Jacob were the same person. How could he act as if what happened to Jacob didn’t even matter?

  “… as Maggie?” he asked.

  “I’m sorry. What?”

  “I asked you what Maggie felt in that first vision.”

  “Terrified. She’d hoped they could get away before he found out.”

  “He?”

  “Well … I don’t know who he was, I didn’t even get a clear look at him, but I knew he wanted to see you dead. That man—” Suddenly, her heart raced out of control. The cab closed in on her. She jerked the handle to open the door. “I can’t … air …”

  She stumbled blindly away from the truck and into the park. Tom caught up, guiding her onto the path. As they strolled the depth of the park, she breathed deeply, exhaling her anxiety. In single file, they entered the small woods on the far side of the park. Annie was in the lead. After a few steps she looked over her shoulder, but instead of Tom …

  Jacob smiles and reaches for me, and I rush into his arms. He kisses my lips, my throat. His fingers find my hair, and I help him loosen it from the pins. He buries his face in the thick waves, murmuring in my ear.

  “I love the scent of you. On the darkest night, I could track you by this scent.”

  Annie stood in Tom’s arms. Arms he’d wrapped tightly around her, enveloping her, holding her as though he wanted to fuse her body to
his.

  “I love you,” he whispered, lips pressed against her hair.

  He wouldn’t let her pull away. She allowed him to hold her, melted against him, and for that moment, it was as if they were fused. Annie felt herself as Maggie and Tom as Jacob. Finally, Tom had accepted their relationships, past and present.

  He loves me. That’s all that matters.

  Tom kissed her gently until she responded, and then his mouth took possession. He pressed one hand at the back of her neck, tangling his fingers in her hair. With a gentle tug, he lifted her chin, pulling his lips away from hers to trace them along the pulse line on her neck. The tip of his tongue chased the vibration of a moan as it rose in her throat, then plunged again to follow the curve of her collarbone. His lips caressed her bare shoulder before sliding up to her ear.

  “I don’t want to leave you again,” he whispered, his voice thick with desire, “but we must be careful for a while longer.” He drew back to gaze in her eyes. “Do you believe that I love you?” Before she could answer, he kissed her again. “I need you. I want to stay with you … but I—”

  “No!” Annie jerked away. She couldn’t bear to hear Tom say he had to go home to his wife. It nearly choked her to say, “I understand.” Reality had slapped her in the face again. She was a fool! He belonged to someone else, not her. That’s what she had to deal with. She stepped back. “I’ll talk to you … later.”

  Surprise and confusion warped his features. “Wait …”

  She edged past him, and he reached a hand toward her. When she felt the brush of his fingertips against her arm, she turned and ran, nearly blinded by tears. At the edge of the parking lot, she stopped and looked back across the park. Tom had followed her out of the woods only a few yards and stood just outside the tree line, head bowed. She turned away.

  Annie passed the black Lexus, now parked next to Tom’s truck. She was sure the driver of that car, silhouetted behind the dark-tinted windows, had watched her tearful flight up the park path and would be the good Samaritan type, calling out to her, asking if she needed help. But only silence followed her. After she reached her car and slid into the driver’s seat, she looked across the park again. Tom’s position was exactly the same. In the couple of minutes she sat there crying, he didn’t appear to move a muscle.