The Long Journey to Jake Palmer

by James L. Rubart

  Jake laughed in spite of the vise grip around his stomach, courtesy of the rough air. “You’re on the far side of blunt, aren’t you, Leonard?”

  “I’m too old not to be. Cared what people thought till I reached fifty. When I hit sixty I started letting loose. Not all the way, but plenty. Now that I’m pushing hard on my mideighties, I don’t have time for any subtle language that only muddles up the truth.” He tapped his head. “What was I saying?”

  “You asked if they were true friends to me. They are.”

  “Then be with them.” He poked his chest. “At your age you think they’ll live forever, but they won’t. Neither will you. Who knows if this is the last year you’ll gather together?”

  Another question straight to the center of Jake’s heart.

  “Here’s my idea.” Leonard took a slow breath. “Don’t go to the same lake. Go to a different one. Fresh start. Same friends, but none of the memories lurking about from being at the lake you’ve always been to. Could be a life changer. I know of a place. It’s a lake with hope.”

  “Hope?” Jake frowned at Leonard, then turned back to the window. “Hope for what?”

  As Jake uttered the words, the turbulence started to ease. By the time Leonard opened his eyes and pulled out a small tablet of paper from inside his coat pocket, the jolts from the plane were gone. Leonard scribbled on the pad, ripped off the sheet, and handed it to Jake.

  “Here. This’ll give you all the information you need if you feel like checking it out. Name of the lake and the website for the house I’m saying you should rent. It’s secluded, off the beaten path, but still close enough to get groceries and most of the stuff you’d need for an entertaining week.

  “The rent is cheap, the lake is usually glass, and the eagles are common. Has plenty of room for you and your friends. The nice thing is, most people don’t find it, so it’s peaceful. Only twelve houses on the entire lake and so spread out from each other you can’t hear anything but the calls of the mallards as they lift off the lake in the early moments of dawn.”

  “Maybe you really should be writing my website copy.”

  Jake smiled, folded the paper, and shoved it in his front pocket. They touched down in Seattle fifty minutes later. When they reached the sign pointing toward baggage claim, Leonard offered his hand and Jake took it.

  “I’m going to overstep my bounds here, Jake. But I’m too old to care any longer, so here goes.” Leonard peered into Jake’s eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re on the verge of doing something that’ll make a lot of people in your life pretty dang sad. But then again, I could be wrong. So why don’t you tell me I am so I can stop worrying about you.”

  Jake didn’t pull away from Leonard’s gaze, but he didn’t answer either.

  “Don’t do it, Jake Palmer. Think hard about going this summer instead.”

  “All right. I will.” He handed Leonard a business card. “Let’s keep in touch.”

  “You mean that?”

  Jake hesitated before saying, “Yeah, I mean it.”

  Leonard took the card, studied the front, then turned it over and read the printing on the back. “What is hidden will be revealed. What is hidden needs to be known.” Leonard held up the card and waggled it. “You believe this?”

  “I used to.”

  “I have a feeling in my gut you’re going to get the chance to believe it again.”

  4

  At nine o’clock the next morning, Jake paused at the door of his Kirkland office and stared at the black lettering on the glass. Read Your Label, Inc. His company, come back from the dead.

  Peter had played a big part in convincing him to lease the new space and go back to work. Three months ago, Jake hired a new staff and started booking gigs again, but after his performance in Chicago, a voice on his shoulder was whispering it had been a mistake. That he should give it up and live off his product sales. His DVDs and online courses were still bringing in solid money every month. His latest book was selling well even two years after it came out. He didn’t need to work again if he didn’t want to.

  A rapping on the other side of the glass lifted his eyes. Skyler, his executive assistant, stood inside. Smart, excellent intuition with clients, an affinity for exotic tea, very short blond hair, quick eyes, and a killer smile. She pulled the door open for him.

  “How was Chicago?”

  “Good trip. Good restaurants. Good client. My presentation wasn’t the best, but I think a lot of them really connected with the ideas.”

  “So it was good?”

  “Yeah.” Jake chuckled as they walked down the hall and into his office together. He turned on his desktop computer.

  “Do you prefer to hear about the major fires or the minor fires first?” Skyler cocked her head while she studied him, and while she didn’t exactly bat her eyes, it looked like she was flirting with the idea.

  “Let’s hear about the ones you put out already.”

  “That would take soooo long.” She settled into the burgundy chair.

  “Majors then.”

  “None, I took care of them all.”

  “Minor?”

  “Them too.” She flashed her enchanting smile.

  “Speaking of good—”

  “Me?” She pointed at herself, then patted her shoulder. “Gosh, thanks, boss. I’m flattered.”

  Jake laughed and came out from behind his desk. “Is this the moment where you ask for a raise?”

  “If you like.”

  “Give yourself a ten percent bump immediately.”

  Skyler cocked her head. “You’re serious?”

  “Yes.” Jake returned to his desk and pulled up his e-mail. “You’ve earned it.”

  “Wow. Thank you so much.”

  “You’re very welcome.”

  Skyler stood but didn’t leave. “Um, should I wait till later in the day to tell you that your ex called and pushed me hard to get your cell phone number, or should I tell you now?”

  A slice of pain shot through Jake’s body. There was no need, no reason for them to speak. Ever. If possible he’d live the rest of his life never having another conversation with Sienna. He hated himself for wanting to have one with her right now.

  “I think you should wait till Christmas.”

  “I’ll make a note of it.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I suggested she e-mail you.”

  “Perfect.”

  Skyler turned to leave. Jake started spinning through his e-mails.

  “A little advice, Skyler.”

  “Okay.”

  “Don’t get divorced.”

  “Uh, I didn’t meet a guy and get married during the four days you were gone.”

  “Good move. Keep it that way.”

  “No guys, no marriage. Got it.” She paused. “Unless they’re difficult to resist, right?”

  Jake looked up from his computer, realizing the conversation had taken an unexpected turn. She winked. “I just brewed a fresh pot of coffee. Want me to get you a cup?”

  “I can grab it, but thanks.”

  Jake watched her leave, then stood and made his way into the kitchen. Three of the mugs next to the coffeemaker were adorned with quotes from his seminars, and he sighed as he looked at them.

  Step Out of Your Bottle, It’s Time to Read the Label.

  Set Them Free. Read the Things They Cannot See.

  Read It. Believe It. Live It.

  A short time back, the sayings would have given him a shot of belief. In himself. Now the only shot they gave was to remind him he’d become a cliché—the guy who preached a message he didn’t live himself.

  Jake poured himself a cup of coffee with a miniscule splash of salted-caramel creamer, then ran his finger over the lettering on his mug. He just needed time.

  Time, sure. Just like new uniforms were all the Mariners needed to make it to the World Series.

  The click of heels on the kitchen floor spun Jake around. Skyler. S
he strolled across the kitchen and leaned back against the counter, her hands resting on the black quartz countertop. She glanced furtively out toward the hallway and said, “Would it be all right if I asked you a completely inappropriate, potentially embarrassing question?”

  Jake’s heart rate quickened. Had she found out about his accident? Anyone who did some serious Internet searching could finds shreds of information about it, but his pleas for privacy had been mostly successful in keeping his name out of the story. And why would she search in the first place?

  “Sure.” He gave a halfhearted smile. “Embarrass me.”

  “We seem to work well together.” She paused and folded her arms and looked at him from under her eyelashes. “It’s caused me to be curious as to how we might work together outside of the office. If you know what I mean.”

  “You’re asking me out.”

  “I’m just thinking a drink sometime might be nice. Nice and casual.” A hint of red crept into her face. “I mean it’d be nice. But also casual.”

  “Yeah, I get it.”

  Jake stared into her brown eyes and the hint of a smile that moved over her face. She was curious? So was he. After she’d worked in the office for less than a week he’d imagined what it would be like to get to know her on a more personal level. Yes, a drink would be wonderful. He sucked in a quick breath and gritted his teeth against the emotion spinning through his heart.

  “Sorry, Skyler.” Jake stared at his mug as nervous laughter sputtered out of his mouth. “That’s not something that’s going to happen.”

  Jake took a sip and left the kitchen without waiting for her to respond. But in the hallway, he turned back.

  “It’s just that—”

  “It’s fine. You don’t have to explain.” Skyler’s voice was monotone. She wouldn’t look at him. “I shouldn’t have asked. Not professional. I get it.”

  “I like you. I think you’re outstanding and in a different life I would have already asked you out. It’s just that . . . dating anyone right now isn’t something I can do.”

  She glanced at him, then away. “Your divorce is still too fresh.”

  He lied. “Yeah. That’s it.”

  “I understand.”

  “It’s not about—”

  “Really. It’s okay.”

  Jake sighed. Skyler wiped down a clean counter. He returned to his office. The problem wasn’t having the resolve to turn down anyone who asked him to grab coffee or lunch. That was easy. Necessary. A nonnegotiable of his life now. The problem was the incessant droning of the voice inside that longed for companionship. Why couldn’t he shut that part of himself down? Not good for man to be alone? Bingo. The gift of singleness had not been dropped in his lap the day after his divorce was final. Immovable object? Meet irresistible force.

  5

  Alight rain started as Jake slogged from his Jeep to the front door of his home in north Bothell. As he reached for the doorknob, his phone vibrated and he glanced at the caller ID. Peter.

  Jake answered and said, “Yes, I’m thinking about it.”

  “Stop thinking, Clark, and tell me you’re coming.”

  Jake sighed, opened his door, and stepped into his entryway. “Is this the ten millionth or twenty millionth time I’ve told you to stop calling me Clark?”

  “You didn’t actually tell me just now.” Peter’s booming laugh plowed through the phone. “Say those two simple words. You can do it, I know you can. I’m. Going.”

  “May. Be.” Jake set his briefcase down and flicked on a light.

  “Nice progress, Clark! In four days you’ve moved from not going to maybe.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Listen, Jake. I know you’ve lost a lot in the past year and a half. Don’t lose us too.”

  “I’ll let you know soon, one way or the other.”

  Jake hung up and the silence of his house struck him like a hammer as it did every night. He should start leaving music on, but that’s what Sienna did before she left; it would only remind him of how alone he was.

  He flicked on a few more lights, set his briefcase on the kitchen counter, and went to his bedroom to get into gym shorts and a T-shirt. Jake did a fast weight workout for his upper body in the guest bedroom he’d converted into an exercise room. After a quick shower, he dried off and tried to avoid looking in the mirror but failed. From the top of his head to three inches above his belly button, he was still Sienna’s Adonis. But everything below that point more closely resembled Dante’s Inferno.

  He couldn’t even see his belly button unless he looked hard. What the doctors called skin grafts were mixtures of violent reds, dark pinks, and tiny charred swirls still black as night nineteen months later. A tapestry of grotesque blotches—browns, reds, splashes of albino white—wrapped his legs, his ankles, and his feet like a lava flow of real-life horror.

  Jake ripped his gaze away, breathing more heavily than at any time during his short workout. He eased back into his bedroom, dressed, then ambled toward the kitchen to get dinner. But he found himself stepping into the darkness of his den.

  He flicked on the light. On his bookshelf was a photo of him and Peter atop Mount Rainier. But he was drawn to the framed photos that lined the wall to the right of the door. Five pictures taken each fall at the finish of an Ironman triathlon.

  Jake glared at the photos, ticked off at them, yet still not able to take them down and donate them to the local garbage heap. His gaze settled on the picture on top: his first Ironman. Boise, Idaho. The only goal in that race was to finish. He’d grown a beard that summer as he trained and didn’t shave it off till he finished the race. Jake shook his head as he recalled the ugly thatch of black hair surrounding his mouth. But such triumph had shined in his eyes, and his arms were stretched over his head as if he could reach the heavens.

  He’d never come close to winning in his age groups, thirty to thirty-four, and then thirty-five to thirty-nine, but that had never been the point. The goal was always to better his previous year’s time. The goal was to push his body beyond what it thought it could do. The goal was to force his body into submission so it would be in a condition to allow him to conquer any mountain, figurative or literal. The discipline gave his life meaning, and it was one area where the only person he had to be good enough for was himself.

  But now there would never be two more photos to complete the set. He’d promised himself seven Ironmans, but he wouldn’t be keeping that vow. Nor the ones he made about climbing Kilimanjaro. Or riding across America on a bike. Or a thousand other dreams he’d told himself would come true. He was lucky he could walk, the doctors had said.

  Jake continued to stare at the framed photos, his breathing steady, his heart rate low, but a fire was building inside. He rose slowly and approached the pictures. When he reached them, the volcano inside erupted. With four sharp blows of his fist, he smashed the glass of each frame, then ripped them from the wall.

  As if he were someone else, Jake slumped into the chair in front of his desk and watched himself grab the hem of his sweats down by his right ankle and pull the fabric up over his calf. He stared at one of the darkest globs of charred flesh anywhere on the lower half of his body. At one time that spot had boasted an M-Dot tattoo, the mark of someone who belonged to the exclusive club of those who had completed an Ironman. Now it was buried in a mass of scar tissue forever.

  Jake let the pant leg fall. He rose and slammed the door of his den as he walked out toward the kitchen. Another night of a silence that screamed too loudly in his ear was the only thing on the menu.

  After his emotions settled, he flipped on the stove and warmed up spaghetti from four nights ago, then sat down on his couch to take part in the same exciting activity he engaged in most evenings. A movie. Then a few pages of a novel. Then an hour or so working on his stupid model train set in the garage. Exciting times.

  After his meal was warmed up, he turned on his TV. An old Sean Connery movie, Just Cause, filled the screen. The one where the
best James Bond ever was a Harvard professor lured back into the courtroom after twenty-five years to take the case of a young black man condemned to death for the murder of a child.

  On-screen, Connery was saying, “Just give me a sign,” to Ed Harris as he searched for the clue that would solve the crime. Jake put on his best Sean Connery accent and held his arms out wide.

  “Jush give me a shine. Am I shawpost to go on the trip? Jush give me a shine!”

  Should have made him laugh. It didn’t, but he told himself the effort was noted by someone somewhere in the vastness of the universe. By God? Possible. But unlikely. God had abandoned him that night at the gas station. He hadn’t even let the punks who had ruined Jake’s life get caught. All things work together for good? Yeah, right. Sure they do.

  Jake finished the movie, decided not to read or work on the model, and by ten fifteen his head was on his pillow. Sleep had started to take him when his cell phone vibrated. He opened his eyes a crack, picked up his phone, and opened the text.

  Hey Jake. It’s Leonard. We met on the plane. Just thinking about you. Hoping you decided to spend the week with your friends. I don’t think you’ll regret it.

  Jake shook his head and smiled. Half of him thought he’d never hear from the old guy again. Leonard thought he should go, huh? Funny. It felt like more than a thought. For some strange reason it felt like a command. When he’d asked for a sign he didn’t expect an answer. But what was the point in asking for one if he didn’t follow through when it arrived?

  Plus, Leonard had nailed him during the flight. The old man was right. Jake was on the verge of an extremely poor decision—to go down the same path his mom had taken when Jake was just a kid. He told himself the thoughts weren’t too serious, but he admitted that too much flirting with the idea could easily become deadly serious. And he’d vowed never to give his dad the ammunition to tell everyone, “I told you so,” after Jake was gone. But even that resolve weakened after the disastrous Chicago trip.

  A week with his friends would at least put the UFC match going on in his brain on hold. And if he got nuts and decided it was time to close the final chapter, at least he’d have the chance to say good-bye to them. He snatched his phone off the end table next to the couch and dialed Peter. He picked up on the first ring.