“I’m just trying to . . . Mom needs you to—”
“Jaker?” His dad’s eyes went hard like they always did before he was about to slap Jake, and Jake went silent. “There’s ways we do things around here, and ways we don’t do things. If you can’t figure out which is which, we’ll need to have another kind of conversation, which you won’t like very much.”
“Okay, Dad.”
The decades-older Jake stared at Susie, her face full of sorrow, eyes wide.
“What happened, Jake?”
“I got off the school bus that day and had all these plans to make my mom feel better. Was going to vacuum the whole house. Then dust. Then sing this song that made her feel better. It always worked, this simple little silly song I made up that made her laugh. That made all her sadness go away, if only for that moment.”
Jake’s voice sounded hollow in his ears and his mind drifted away as if someone else was speaking. “I was the one that found her. Didn’t know what to do. Finally remembered to call 911.
“I waited for the ambulance to come and cried every tear I had. Then I stood in the corner of the room, frozen, and watched the paramedics try to revive her. They worked for so long, at least it seemed like such a long time. But even at that age, I knew it was pointless. She was gone, just a dead body. And as I stared at her I realized something. I knew something in my gut that I’ve never forgotten.”
“What did you know?”
“I realized I was the only one who could have saved her. And I didn’t.”
“That’s not true, Jake.” Susie took his hand.
“Yeah, it is. If I’d been enough, if I’d been what she wanted. If I’d been a better kid, if I’d only come through. I could have prevented it. I know I could have. If only I’d . . .”
“What? What else could you have done?”
Jake stared at Susie, her eyes imploring him to believe the truth, but he didn’t know what that was. “I could have done something.”
Susie squeezed his hand. “No, you couldn’t. You were ten years old. Ten!”
“I could have stayed home from school, I could have been there to stop her.”
“You could have dropped out of school at age ten and stayed home every day? Your dad would have allowed that?”
“No, no . . . but I could have . . . I could have . . .”
“Look at me, Jake.” Susie took both his hands. “You know what I’m saying is true. You know a ten-year-old kid isn’t responsible for his mom and dad. Please tell me you know this.”
His mind raced through the times he’d told his mom he loved her in the weeks and days before she’d taken her life. The notes he left for her, scrawled in his ugly ten-year-old handwriting. How he tiptoed into the kitchen and out onto the back patio every morning that spring and stared at the smoke from her cigarette snaking its way up to the heavens and prayed that she’d get well. But it wasn’t enough.
“I know it with my head, Sooz, but my heart sees it much, much differently.” He dug his fingers into his hair. “I can’t go down her road. I won’t.”
“No, you can’t. And you’re right, you won’t.”
“But how do I get the regret out of my head?”
“You have to let that go, Jake. By facing it. You have to.”
Jake sighed through clenched teeth. No, he didn’t have to.
“Are we done?” Jake started to get up, but Susie pointed at his chair and he sat back down.
“I’m so sorry about your mom, but I need to tell you something because I love you. This might sound harsh in light of what you’ve just told me, but for the same reason, this is even more important for you to hear.
“You have a decision to make. About what kind of man you are. Are you going to stay on the fringes, circling the deep pain of your life for the rest of your days, or are you going to risk it all and step inside and face whatever you find?”
He frowned at her. “Go inside where?”
“You know exactly where.” She poked him in the chest. “In there. Deeper than you’ve ever gone before.”
Jake got up again, and this time Susie didn’t try to stop him. He looked down at her and gave two quick nods. “What if I told you that’s exactly where I’m going tomorrow morning?”
“I’d ask you what that means.”
“I’d tell you I have no idea, but I’m going anyway.”
23
As dawn crept over the hills to the east, Jake pushed through the tunnel of trees toward the field. It seemed narrower this time, as if the branches had grown closer in just a few days, the green boughs now brushing his shoulders as he moved forward.
He pushed past the curtain of willow branches at the end of the corridor and stopped. The instant his foot hit the ground on the other side, a surge of adrenaline sent him stumbling to his right. Nothing looked different. The trees, the grasses, the pond, the waterfall were all the same. But he knew the meadow had changed.
This time he felt like he was part of the field. He was in the field but the field was also inside of him. The thought made little sense in his head, but this wasn’t a place of the mind—it was of the heart. Peace coursed through his body, mind, and soul, and he had no doubt he was about to be given what he wanted most in the world.
He closed his eyes, breathed deep, then opened them and eased forward. The ground under his feet felt softer, the breeze coming straight at him warmer than his first time here, the calls from the birds in the trees more melodic.
Jake didn’t think, didn’t need to. He allowed himself to be drawn in without consideration of where his feet would take him. A rabbit scurried out from under the brush like before, but this time it spotted him, stopped, and stared directly at him for a moment before scampering back into the brush and disappearing from sight.
He looked back at the branches of the willow tree now blocking his view of the corridor. The real world had vanished. Real world? This one he now stood in was as real as anything on the other side. His friends back at the house were the ones living in a dream.
Jake turned back and now the meadow did look different. Nothing significant. Little nuances like the color of the sky overhead. A deeper blue. The emerald leaves of the aspen trees more vibrant. He closed his eyes again and strolled forward, breathing air that seemed to make him lighter, that seemed to pour strength into his arms and body and legs. His skin tingled as if it was . . . yes, on fire. But a fire of power and life.
When Jake opened his eyes again, he found himself standing at the edge of the pond. The water seemed clearer than before, the creek feeding it more animated as it cascaded over the glistening boulders, the tall grasses at the pond’s edge greener than before.
An otter broke the surface on the other side of the pond and Jake watched the ripples slowly come toward him till they reached his side. As they died he studied his reflection in the water, starting with his face and working his way down his body till he fixed his gaze on his legs. As he stared at the mirror image, Jake shook his head. Not possible. The reflection in the water couldn’t be accurate.
Jake staggered back and went down hard when his heel caught on something behind him. He tried to catch his breath—not from the fall but from wonder—sat up, closed his eyes, and begged God to make the reflection real.
When he opened them he stared at his legs, mouth cracked open. They were whole. Perfect. His skin faultless, muscles sinewy and strong. He flexed one leg, then the other. Jake reached toward them in slow motion as if his legs weren’t real and if he touched them they would morph back into the repulsive, scarred sticks he’d lived with for the past year and a half.
A finger, then two, then his whole hand. They were real. Laughter started deep inside and spilled into the early morning air like a geyser. Without looking, he reached back and ran his hand over his right calf. Smooth. Perfect. Was it there? His M-Dot? He twisted and looked down. Yes. There, the dark red of the ink, the black outline, both as fresh as the day he’d had it done. Unbelievable.
&
nbsp; Wait. Had he been healed completely? Jake leaped to his feet and tore off his shirt. He jerked his head down at the same time his hands fumbled on his hips, his glutes, his upper thighs. Yes!
Jake kicked off his shoes and dove into the pond. Was that okay in this holy place? More than okay, his heart shouted. This was a time to immerse himself in the wonder of what God had given him and let God’s joy course through his body like a flood. Why had he doubted? Why had he pushed God away for so long?
Forgive me.
He swam toward the other side of the pond. Halfway across, a realization struck him though it should have already been obvious. Not only had his body been healed cosmetically and structurally, his strength had been restored. The muscles he’d worked so hard to develop had returned to what they’d been before. Maybe stronger.
When he reached the other side, Jake pulled himself from the water and took off in a full sprint toward the far side of the meadow, then ran full out in a circle around the entire field. It had to be at least a half mile around. Yes! No worry about his body overheating. When sweat seeped from his lower torso he swiped it onto his fingers and stared at the water and laughed. To sweat again! Seemed strange to celebrate something that had always been such an irritant, but it was so right.
When he reached the tree line where he’d started, Jake jogged to a stop and let his gaze sweep the meadow again and again. Whatever this place was, it was without question a slice of heaven. Why God had created it, who could know? Why did only certain people find it? No idea. All he knew in this moment was a gratitude toward God he couldn’t express in words.
“Yes, Lord!” He shouted it with everything inside, his arms thrust to the heavens. Then he fell back—floated back would be more accurate—and collapsed onto the lush grass. His arms were wide, his legs splayed out as laughter again poured out of him.
Time slowed till it slipped away. He lay in the meadow and let the wind blanket him. Finally he rose and looked at the corridor that would take him back to his life. Life the way it should be.
Jake shook his head. He was healed. Jake grabbed his legs and squeezed his flexed muscles. Whole. Restored. Time to show the world.
He sprinted back to the pond, scrambled at its edge, picked up and put on his shirt. The pull to stay in this paradise was strong, but the lure of the corridor was stronger. He had to go to his friends, shout to them and the world about what God had done.
Had to find Susie, find Leonard, find Peter, and tell them what had happened. An image of Ari filled his mind. For the first time since he’d met her, Jake allowed his deep feelings to surface. He was drawn to her like he’d never been drawn to another woman. More than anything he wanted to get to know her, see if what he’d imagined in her eyes when she looked at him was real. He could almost believe God had orchestrated their meeting through Peter, and this orchestration was now a resounding new symphony. Now he was whole. Now he could be who he really was with Ari.
She’d already stayed two days longer than originally planned. Maybe she’d be willing to stay a few more. Maybe he would invite her for a long walk as soon as breakfast was over and tell her about his journey.
Jake sprinted back toward the curtain of willow vines and plowed through them ten seconds later. He turned and took a last glance at the meadow, trying to burn an image of it into his mind. But he knew he didn’t have to try hard. The memory of this morning would never fade.
He half ran, half walked through the winding tunnel of trees that would lead him back to the water, back to his kayak, back to the cabin. A minute later the ground grew soft. Thirty seconds after that Jake was up to his waist in water, pushing aside the cattails.
As he slogged forward, the cattails seemed to have grown stronger, and he had to push harder to get through them. But soon he reached the spot where they thinned and he was swimming toward his kayak. His strength wavered a bit as he swam, the adrenaline of his encounter with heaven subsiding, but the peace it had given only increased.
How was he to describe what had happened when he got back to the house? He would show his friends, of course, but what words could he find to tell them about the meadow, his restoration, the overwhelming sense of God in that place? Would they believe him? After one look at his legs they would have to. And what if they wanted to come with him next time? Maybe Leonard was wrong. Would he even be allowed to find it again?
Enough. Their questions would come and he held no answers. But if possible he would do everything in his power to bring them all to the corridor.
Just before reaching his kayak, Jake glanced at the spot where Leonard had been when he’d first reached the end of the lake. He didn’t expect the old man to be there, and he wasn’t. But Jake had hoped he would be. Who to tell first? Had to be Leonard.
Jake hoisted himself into his kayak with more effort than he expected and slid into the seat. The experience had understandably sapped as much energy from him as it had given. It made sense. He hadn’t run like that for eons, and even in a place like the meadow, his lungs weren’t accustomed to that kind of exertion. Let alone his mind being overwhelmed in a state from the emotional roller coaster. He grinned.
As Jake reached for his paddle he caught a glimpse of his legs. His scarred, burnt legs.
24
Darkness swept over Jake, then through him, into the cracked parts of his soul so deep he had never sensed them before. His gut tightened and he fought to pull in ragged breaths. Sweat broke out on his face and hands, his arms. But not below his waist. Not on his legs. Not on his feet.
His vision went black and he clutched the sides of the kayak to keep from toppling into the water. He gasped for air and tried to keep from looking at his legs, but he couldn’t stop himself. What kind of sick joke had God just played on him? Did he enjoy this kind of cruelty? Jake fought to keep his heart from shutting God out as he’d done for a year and a half, to believe God was in this somehow, some way. But how could he? The meadow wasn’t heaven, it was hell.
For a moment he wondered if what he’d experienced on the other side of the corridor was real. But only an instant. No! He refused to believe it. It wasn’t a dream, wasn’t a vision, wasn’t some deluded fantasy he’d concocted inside his head. His gaze whipped to the place on his arm where he’d scraped it against a tree during his run. The scratch was there, a thin line of blood hardening. He clutched at it as if to make sure he wasn’t seeing things.
Jake twisted in the kayak, his eyes seeking the corridor. But it wasn’t there. Vanished. Even the reeds he knew he’d broken to reach the lake looked like they’d never been touched.
“No!”
Jake screamed the word over and over till his voice grew ragged.
“Why, God?” Jake whispered toward the cattails, but the only response was their slight movement as a breeze came in from the east. There would be no answer, even if the corridor didn’t exist anywhere but inside his head. No! He wouldn’t consider that for a second. He’d been healed. It was real. There had to be something missing, something else God wanted him to do.
Steady. He had to take his time. Think. Make rational decisions. Jake glanced again to the spot where Leonard had bobbed two days ago. Yes. That was the smartest move he could make.
He didn’t care if his body would overheat. He’d let it cool in the water as soon as he reached Leonard’s. As he covered the distance to the old man’s home, Jake tried to pray, but words abandoned him. Or maybe he was too angry to pray. Angry. Stunned. Betrayed.
By the time Jake had taken five strokes forward, the breeze kicked up to a full-out wind, plowing straight into him with gusts up to at least fifteen miles an hour. Perfect. The ideal complement to the horror he’d just been through.
Jake struggled against the wind, his arms sapped of strength, his stamina flagging. But he kept pushing. Leonard would have answers. He had to. Tiny whitecaps danced on the water, sending spray into Jake’s eyes and soaking his shirt, but he continued to ignore the burn in his arms and concentrated on ste
ady strokes. Dig in, pull, repeat.
Finally he reached the gentle curve of the land as it swept around to the left, and Leonard’s home grew slowly closer. Three minutes later he reached the dock and laid a hand on the gray, weather-worn planks and slowed his breathing. Relax. Answers were coming. They had to.
Jake got out of his kayak and slipped into the water next to Leonard’s dock. He let the coolness of the water seep into his body for two, three minutes, then pulled himself onto the dilapidated dock. The boards creaked under his feet as he strode across them, but the sound barely registered in Jake’s mind.
“Leonard!”
Jake went to the garage and swung open the door. Nothing. Next, the house. He banged on the sliding glass door. No answer. Jake pounded it again. Again, no response. Jake tried the door. Unlocked. He stepped inside.
“Leonard? It’s Jake. I have to talk to you.”
There was no sign of the man. Not in his garage, house, garden. Yet Leonard’s truck and scooter were there. As was his boat. Jake strode around to the side of the house and gazed up at the hill behind Leonard’s home.
There. Movement up on the hill two football fields away. Too far away to be certain it was Leonard, but who else would it be? Jake took a deep breath. Yes, the hill was steep and the sun was getting warmer, but if Leonard had made it up there, so could Jake.
He stopped after fifty yards. He’d paddled over from the corridor too hard. There wasn’t enough strength left to climb this hill. But his desperate need to get answers drove him upward. In another two minutes his breathing had turned to panting and he stopped. Had to catch his breath, slow down. Leonard wasn’t going anywhere.
Maybe he should wait. It wasn’t a bad idea. But Jake dismissed the thought after a few seconds. He couldn’t wait. He would take it slow. Get there without dying. Then get perspective on what had happened to him in the field.
Jake shielded his eyes against the rising sun and scanned for Leonard. Yes, it was him. In silhouette, but Jake had no doubt.
The Long Journey to Jake Palmer Page 16
