by Jamie Beck
Jackson ogled the whiskey bottles behind the bar like a teenager looking at tits on the Internet. The sound of the crowd blurred and dimmed as his mouth watered and his throat yearned for the smooth burn just within reach. No one would blink at his ordering a drink.
“Sure you don’t want something stronger than root beer?” Tess teased. “It’ll take the sting out of Butler’s interception.”
Wait—Pats were up by three and intercepted? How’d that happen?
Between Gabby, Tess, and Noah, he’d hardly been able to watch the game. Coming here today had proved to be one of his shittier ideas. In fact, this whole getaway was probably a waste of time.
Instead of making headway on solving his old problems, he’d fallen headlong into new ones. That outcome seemed to be par for the course these days.
He eyeballed the Jameson bottle again: his choice, after all.
CHAPTER SEVEN
If he’d known the Giants would lose, Jackson might’ve had that drink after all. Stone-cold sober amid a crowd of elated, buzzed Pats fans, he now did his best to take the good-humored ribbing in stride. His team had lost, but he had won another battle against the urge to drink.
Tess sauntered over to him as he stood to go.
“Don’t worry. I don’t welch.” Jackson winked and tossed sixty bucks on the bar to cover his tab and his bet. “Congrats.”
Before Tess tucked the prize money in her pocket, she asked, “Sure you don’t want to take me up on my original offer?”
“No, thanks. I’m not available.” That was the truth, even if she misinterpreted it to mean he already had a girlfriend.
He wasn’t available, or good for any woman, until he figured out how to be happy again. How to believe in the goodness of people—another thing Alison had stolen from him. How to resolve the lawsuit, convince his family he wasn’t a drunk, reclaim the sense of purpose he used to feel. Until he accomplished these goals, it’d be selfish to drag another soul into his personal hell.
Whether or not this jaunt to Vermont had been the best plan was unclear, but he liked Doc, he loved the area, and he didn’t have a better idea.
During the drive back to his apartment, Hank called. “Hey, Hank. You see the game?”
“Brutal.”
“Tell me about it. I watched it surrounded by Pats fans.”
“Ouch.” A brief pause lingered and Jackson could practically feel apprehension coming through the phone. “How’d that happen?”
“The TV in the apartment sucks, so I went to a local sports bar. Wore my Giants cap, too.” Jackson whipped his cap off and scrubbed one hand through his hair.
“Oh.” Hank fell silent, not asking what Jackson knew he would be wondering.
“Don’t worry, I haven’t had a drop since the intervention. I’m fine, just like I keep telling you all.” The fact that Jackson thought about drinking at least once each day didn’t bear mention. That admission would only fuel their concern. They needn’t worry, because he’d be damned before he’d lose his grip on one of the few things he could control. “So, did you call for something other than to gripe about the shitty game?”
“Actually, yeah.” Hank hesitated. “Have you talked with your lawyer or David recently?”
“Not since I arrived. Why? What’s up?”
Hank paused before answering. “According to the grapevine, Doug’s lawyers are planning to question Ray, Jim, and me about what happened that day.”
“And?”
“And I was hoping you might settle all this so we don’t have to be involved. I don’t want a bunch of lawyers up my ass with questions that could hurt you and your business. Plus, it’d be better to end this before it gets around to your clients.”
Jackson counted to three, fully aware that Hank only wanted to help, yet still irked. “I’m not settling. Tell the truth and I’ll be fine.”
“It’s not as clear-cut as you think. Depending on how far-reaching the questions are, I’m afraid it could hurt you.”
Jackson’s ego shot a heat wave through his body. How could anyone believe Doug could hurt him?
Jackson had a perfect track record for bringing in projects on time and on budget. That’s all clients cared about. “Has any client ever complained about my—our—work product?”
“No.” Hank sighed.
“Aside from that one day, did I ever do anything questionable on-site?”
“Not that directly affected a project, no.”
Jackson huffed triumphantly. “So what’s the problem?”
“You were hungover on-site more than once this past year, and your moods affected the crew. They noticed.”
Big fuckin’ deal, Jackson thought but didn’t say. “Did I ever mistreat anyone or unfairly judge their work, even in one of my hungover ‘moods’?”
“Not exactly.”
“Then I still don’t see the problem. As long as my behavior didn’t hurt anyone but me, it’s nobody’s damn business.”
“Except it did eventually hurt me, even if accidentally. And it worries everyone who cares about you.” Hank’s quiet admonishment fell on him like a hammer.
A lack of an easy comeback made him suddenly queasy.
Jackson turned down the private road that led to the Bouchards’ home, his mind recalling the look on Hank’s face right after his wrist took the full brunt of his fall. It wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t been trying to break up the fistfight brewing between Doug and Jackson.
“I’m sorry about your injury, Hank, and I don’t expect you to lie about anything. But I stand by my actions. Doug started everything with his big mouth, and then he shoved me.”
“After you grabbed him by the shirt.”
“What?” Jackson had been hungover, not drunk, so his memory had to be right.
“He shoved you after you grabbed his shirt.”
“That’s not what happened.” Jackson’s grip tightened around the steering wheel, his mind straining to replay the incident.
“Yes, it is. You fired him and dumped his tools on the floor. He made another smart-ass threat and you grabbed his shirt, then he shoved you. I stepped in because I saw your hand balling into a fist.”
Jackson’s entire being rejected Hank’s version of the story, yet he knew Hank had no motive to lie. Had he grabbed Doug first?
He had been outraged upon overhearing Doug trash-talking him to the others and threatening to destroy his reputation. Jackson had never been a violent guy until that day, but, in truth, he’d never been a lot of the things he’d become lately.
“You still there?” Hank asked.
“Yeah.” His thoughts were still racing when he pulled into the driveway. He noticed Luc dashing around the play set, right past Jon, who seemed to be dragging his left foot while grasping for the slide. The man didn’t look right. “Hank, I gotta go. I think my landlord needs help.”
Jackson bounded from his Jeep before giving Hank a chance to say good-bye, calling out, “Jon, you okay?”
Jon didn’t respond. Jackson hustled across the yard and helped him sit at the bottom of the slide. The man’s eyelids fluttered and he appeared confused.
Jackson knelt in front of him. “Jon, does your chest or arm hurt?”
Jon numbly shook his head, mumbling, “No.”
“Okay, that’s good.” Thank God. Jackson composed himself. He spoke slowly and smoothly to help Jon remain calm, too, while he ran through the quick stroke symptom test he remembered learning from someone sometime. “Can you smile for me?”
Jon’s brows pinched together, and only the right side of his mouth quirked.
Right-side movement only. Remember that. “How about trying to raise both arms, high as you can.”
Again, only Jon’s right arm went up, and then he mumbled what sounded like, “Tingles.”
Damn. Stroke.
Jackson remembered Luc, who’d gotten distracted by a pile of rocks. He darted a glance at Jon. “Is Gabby home?”
As soon as Jon nod
ded, Jackson hauled him up and supported him as they walked toward the house. Then he glanced over his shoulder. “Luc, come on, let’s get your mommy.”
Luc ran ahead yelling, “Mama, mama!”
Jackson burst through the front door, calling out, “Gabby, get some aspirin and call 9-1-1.”
He heard her running up the basement steps. “What’s all the racket?” Then she took in the scene and dropped her laundry basket. “What’s wrong, Dad?”
“I think he’s having a stroke.” Jackson settled Jon in his recliner. “Get him an aspirin and call 9-1-1, unless it’d be faster to drive him to the hospital.”
Gabby stood, frozen in place, growing paler by the second.
“Gabby, aspirin, 9-1-1,” Jackson urged. “Now!”
Tears sprang from her eyes and then she forced herself into action. Within seconds she was back with aspirin and water, and very shaky hands.
“I’ll call 9-1-1.” Jackson turned and stepped away from her and her father so he could talk to the emergency operator.
Tremors shook Gabby’s small frame, probably from adrenaline. “Luc, baby, come. We’re going on an adventure.”
Considering the way Gabby already had become unglued, Jackson knew having to manage Luc while dealing with her dad’s stroke would send her over the edge.
He crouched before her, grabbed hold of her hands, and squeezed them reassuringly. “Gabby, let me watch Luc so you can focus on your dad.”
“No, I couldn’t. He can’t . . . Luc doesn’t know you well enough,” she said, her tone thinned from strain, her eyes darting from her dad to Luc and then to Jackson. “Do you even know how to deal with kids?”
“It’s already four fifteen. I think I can handle a couple of hours until he goes to sleep.”
Gabby looked straight at him, her desperation almost as clear as her demanding eyes. “Did you drink anything after I left the bar?”
Their gazes locked while he suppressed his immediate “what the fuck” response. He released her hands and stood. When did he become a guy that couldn’t be trusted? He didn’t let people down; it was the other way around.
“No.” He couldn’t fault her mothering instinct to protect Luc, but it didn’t make the blow any easier to take. “You can trust me. I swear on the memory of my mother.”
She glanced at her father, who seemed to be slipping into a deeper state of confusion. Luckily an ambulance siren wailed outside the house.
“Thank God they got here so fast.” Gabby bolted off her chair and swung the door open. Luc started crying, likely panicked by the loud noise and his mother’s frenzied behavior.
The EMTs questioned Gabby, but she hadn’t been outside with her father when it happened.
“Gabby, take Luc for a sec while I talk to these guys.”
She looked relieved to have Jackson take over.
After getting Jackson’s explanation of the precipitating events and timeline, the EMTs did a quick neuro exam and tested Jon’s vital signs, confirming Jackson’s suspicions. They began loading Jon onto a stretcher, which made Luc cry louder.
Gabby had Luc on her hip, shushing him and kissing his head. “It’s okay. Pappy’s going to be okay. He’s just exhausted, Luc. He needs a good rest.”
She tried to put Luc down, but he molded his entire body against hers, crying louder and harder. “Please, buster, I can’t take you with me. Stay here with Jackson. I’ll be back later. I promise.”
“No, Mama.” Luc climbed over her body like a monkey in a tree. “No!”
Jackson had no frickin’ clue how to help, but he ventured in with the first thing that came to mind. “Hey, Luc. I hoped you’d show me where you go fishing. Maybe we could catch a frog or something.”
Luc continued crying, warily peering at Jackson.
“There’s still some daylight left if we hurry. Maybe we could even take some cookies with us.” Jackson shrugged. “Or maybe you don’t like cookies.”
“I do like cookies,” Luc said over a hiccup.
“Oh, good. I like cookies, too. Do you know where your mom keeps them?”
Luc nodded, his grip on Gabby softening a bit.
Jackson raised his hand to shield his mouth as if he was letting Luc in on a secret. “You know, once your mom’s gone, you’ll be the boss, ’cause I don’t know where anything is. Maybe we’ll have cookies for dinner.”
Gabby must’ve felt Luc’s resolve wavering, because she managed to slide him off her body.
“You okay to drive?” Jackson asked her.
“Mmm hmm.” She kissed Luc’s head and said, “Mommy will be back later.”
He wailed again, but she made a run for her purse and then for her car, ignoring his cries so she could get to her father. Jackson scooped Luc up and let him watch through the window. The toddler strained toward the windowpane, but Jackson kept a tight hold on him.
Once the ambulance and Gabby’s taillights disappeared, Luc’s meltdown took a spectacular turn. He twisted and screamed like a banshee. Naturally the little guy was terrified. The only permanent male figure in his life had just been strapped to a gurney and swept away, and his mom had left him.
Jackson knew these kinds of moments taught a person something about trust and faith, and even though he seriously doubted the goodness of mankind these days, he’d be damned if he wouldn’t do his best to ensure this little boy’s faith wasn’t compromised so early in life.
Taking care to make sure Luc didn’t hurt himself, Jackson fastened him to his side and started toward the kitchen as if Luc weren’t having a fit. It proved a challenge because, despite his pint-size body, the boy’s hysteria gave him the strength of the Incredible Hulk. “Let’s find the cookies first. Your mom says the pond’s got lily pads, so there should be frogs.”
Luc finally stopped wriggling, but the crying persisted, so Jackson started opening cabinet doors until he spotted Halloween Oreos. “Ah ha!”
He held the package in his free hand, which got Luc’s attention. Luc stopped crying long enough to reach for the cookies.
“Oh no. Not until we get to the pond. So, if I put you down, are you going to stop crying and take me to catch frogs?”
Luc strained toward the cookies, which Jackson then held far outside his reach.
“Luc, answer me or I’m gonna put the cookies back.” He donned a solemn expression. “What’s it going to be, buddy—cookies and frogs, or crying?”
Jackson shook his head at how idiotic he sounded. Luc’s churlish expression caused Jackson to suppress a smile. He could tell he’d won the battle because Luc’s eyes remained focused on the Oreos.
“Cookies,” Luc whined.
“And frogs?” When Luc nodded, Jackson set him down. “Awesome. Take me to the pond, little man.”
Jackson opened the kitchen door, waiting for Luc to lead the way. Luc raced toward the edge of the yard to the head of the wooded trail. Watching him dash on unstable legs made Jackson smile, which felt inappropriate under the circumstances.
Still, seeing Luc’s in-the-moment mindset sparked a memory of running through the woods near his childhood home with David when they were young kids. Playing with army men in the dirt and tree roots until their fingernails and knees were caked with grime. Even back then, David had been the cautious caretaker while Jackson had impulsively barreled through each day.
They’d been good friends, and Jackson wouldn’t pretend he didn’t want that back. But David still kept secrets, which meant he could still close Jackson out again at any time.
The crunch of tiny feet on dry leaves pulled Jackson from his reverie. Luc had gained several yards on him, so Jackson picked up his pace.
Remnants of daylight filtered through the canopy of gold and red leaves and crickets hummed in the background. The peaceful scene stood at odds with what was really happening in this little boy’s life.
The wooded path opened up to an idyllic mountain lake, exactly as Gabby had promised. Any kid would deem this a haven, as would Jackson. Kayak
ing in the early-morning mist, skating on its frozen surface, hiking around its edges. A peaceful place one wouldn’t want to leave.
A collection of lily pads floated along a marshy-looking edge to the left. “Let’s go over there. That’s where the frogs will be hanging out.”
“Cookies, peese?” Luc came to a dead stop, his gaze resting on the Oreos.
With each interaction, Jackson became more certain that Luc would never be anyone’s doormat.
“All right, buddy. Let’s have two now. After dinner, we can have a couple more.”
Luc’s hands shot out, awaiting their prize. Before Jackson took a cookie for himself, Luc had already shoved one of his into his mouth.
“Jeez, Luc. Small bites. You’re gonna choke.”
Luc bit his second cookie in half—a tiny victory for Jackson.
“Come on, now. Let’s find a frog.” He ruffled Luc’s hair and guided him to the marshy edge of the lake. “Have you caught frogs before?”
Cookie crumbles stuffed Luc’s mouth, but he managed to shake his head.
Jackson smiled, delighted to be the first to do this with Luc, though why that mattered, he couldn’t say. Setting the cookies aside, he crouched on the bank of the water. “Frogging is a slimy mess. Does that sound fun?”
“Uh-huh.” Luc crouched beside him, waiting.
“First we have to be quiet and watch for a frog. It’d be easier if we had a net, but we’ve got superfast hands, right?”
Luc imitated Jackson, who’d rested his hands on his knees and craned his neck to and fro in search of anything interesting. Jackson smothered a smile at the mimicry and pretended to be serious about the search, doing whatever he could to keep Luc’s mind off his grandfather.
Luc quickly grew restless. Jackson whispered, “Shhh. I think I see something right there.”
He didn’t, but it got Luc’s attention and bought him another minute or two.
“No fwogs, Jackson.”
The funny mispronunciations always caused a smile to form deep within Jackson’s gut. “Be patient.” And then, miracle of miracles, Jackson spotted a wee little frog on one of the lily pads. Holding one finger to his lip to shush Luc, he pointed with his other.
