PRESENT TENSE
Chapter One Hundred Five
Jack drove swiftly through the city traffic and
rain-slicked streets, not paying much attention to where he was going. People
honked at him and slammed on their brakes as he cut them off, but he didn’t
care. Nothing mattered at the moment.
The fight with Rose replayed itself through
his mind over and over. Why had they blown up at each other like that? Maybe he
shouldn’t have taken the bottle from her, but he had only been trying to help.
It had been inevitable that things would come
to a head, though. It had been only one in a long line of bad days, with the
whole family upset and grieving, not knowing how to express it or how to
comfort each other. They had all been under a lot of stress, and had been
trying to carry on with everyday things without much success. He and Rose
couldn’t seem to talk to each other about what had happened, and Lizzy reacted
to the tragedy and to the continuing strain as many four-year-olds would—by
misbehaving, which only made things worse.
Jack sighed inwardly, trying to put the fight
and the tension of the past week out of his mind. He needed to get away from
all of that for a while, to have some time to himself—but so far he didn’t seem
to be succeeding. He couldn’t leave his thoughts behind, and he couldn’t be
alone in the teeming city.
Looking out at the rainy afternoon, Jack
turned at the next corner, heading out of town. He needed to find some place to
be alone.
When he reached the freeway, he sped up,
pushing the car to well in excess of the speed limit. People stared, some of
them honking their horns as he went by, but he ignored them. He didn’t know
where he was going, and he didn’t really care. He was going too fast, and he
knew it—but somehow, it didn’t seem to matter. Why should he care if he crashed
the family’s remaining car, possibly injuring or killing himself in the
process? He just didn’t care.
But someone else did. Jack saw the flashing
lights in his rearview mirror before he heard the siren. Finally slowing down,
he pulled over to the side of the road, resting his hands on the steering wheel
as a Highway Patrol officer walked up to the window. Sighing, he rolled it down
and looked at the man, who was glaring at him and wiping cascades of rainwater
from his face.
Jack didn’t say anything, but just looked at
the officer, knowing that he was in trouble and that he well and truly deserved
it.
"License and registration, please."
After Jack handed them to him, he leaned down and looked him straight in the
eye. "Did you know you were going one hundred in a sixty-five zone, and in
the rain, no less?" the officer demanded.
Jack just shrugged. He knew, but he wasn’t in
the mood to explain himself right now.
The officer sighed, irritated at Jack’s lack
of response. Most people argued, or made excuses, but Jack just sat there,
looking sullen. The officer quickly wrote him a ticket and handed it to him.
"Slow down," he warned Jack, looking at him seriously. "There’s
worse things than a traffic ticket."
Jack tossed the ticket into the glove
compartment, then leaned his head back against the headrest, rubbing his
temples. He knew damned well that he had been driving unsafely, but that didn’t
make him any happier. He started the car again, pulling back into traffic.
A ticket would be just another thing for Rose
to scream about, he thought, moving up an off ramp. Then he corrected himself.
Rose really didn’t scream about things all that much; this afternoon had been
unusual, and the result of too much tension on the part of both of them.
Jack kept driving, trying to put the thoughts
out of his head. He wanted to go somewhere where he could be alone to think—and
he needed to get there safely, without another traffic ticket, or worse.
*****
Jack finally stopped at Lake Hemet, the same
place where he had taken Rose the day after they were married five years
earlier. There were few people around now, with a light snow falling and
evening fast approaching. One or two hardy individuals were to be found near
the lake, fishing or walking, but aside from that he was alone.
Zipping up his coat, Jack got out of the car
and began to walk, avoiding the lake at first and heading down the deserted
dirt road, his hands thrust deep into his pockets to protect them from the
cold. When he judged that he had gone far enough that even the few visitors who
could tolerate the cold and darkness were far away, he climbed carefully down
to the shore, sitting on a granite boulder and curling up against the cold.
It was not unlike the place he had gone to be
by himself in Masline, except that here it was much colder, and the ice-edged lake
stretched before him, reflecting the last of the sunset light. But Masline was
far away and long ago, another time, and he doubted that the place he had once
gone to even existed anymore; most likely, it had long ago been bulldozed and
covered with the identical tracts of houses that Rose so detested.
Pulling his knees up to his chin, Jack
wrapped his arms around his legs and stared out at the lake, his thoughts far
away. He was still angry with Rose for blowing up at him, but he had to admit
that he was partly to blame, too. He had known how the sight of things that had
once belonged to Paul upset her—in truth, they upset him, too, which was why he
had had everything put into storage.
He didn’t like seeing Rose cry, which was her
reaction every time she was reminded of their son. He knew, as well, that she
often awoke crying from nightmares about the accident—but he didn’t know how to
comfort her. He wanted to; her grieving sobs tore at his heart when he heard
her, but her sorrow was almost his undoing, and he wanted to be stoic and put
the incident in the past. It wouldn’t work, and he knew it, but emotions and
logic didn’t always go together.
Jack brushed the snow from his head, looking
out across the lake. It was completely dark now, and there were no stars or
moon to light things, nor nearby city lights visible. The darkness and
stillness was complete, except for the occasional sound of a vehicle passing on
the highway about a mile away and the rustling of the wind through the bare
brush and pine branches.
What would have happened if he hadn’t taken
the bottle from her, he wondered, or if she hadn’t blown up at him over it?
Would they have finally been able to sit down and talk about what had happened,
be a comfort to each other, or would they have pulled away again, uncomfortable
with the situation, pretending that nothing had happened—until things had
another chance to blow out of proportion?
He didn’t know, but he was sorry for the
words they had exchanged, for the way they had pulled their worried daughter
into the fight. He couldn’t blame it entirely upon Rose; he, too, had used
Lizzy in their argument. It wasn’t fair to the child to be caught in the middle
that way. She hadn’t done anything wrong, and had been better behaved than
usual.
He and Rose had both been wrong. He admitted
that to himself. At first, he had been so angry that he had blamed the whole
fight upon her, but that wasn’t true. Now that he had had time to think about
it, he realized why they had gotten so upset with each other, and that they had
both been wrong. They needed to talk about things, to try to understand each
other.
He couldn’t help but remember Rose’s angry
words about replacing Paul with another baby. She was right that they couldn’t
replace him, and he hadn’t been suggesting it—but did she really not want more
children? He hadn’t been thinking of it right away, of course—Rose had just
suffered a miscarriage, and needed time to heal, if nothing else. And he didn’t
think that another child right away would be a good idea, but maybe in a year
or two…if Rose was willing to have more children. She didn’t want to go through
the experience of losing a child again, at any age—although it could still
happen, since they still had Lizzy. He felt a cold chill go down his spine at the
thought. Lizzy was as precious to him as Paul had been; he had loved them both
equally.
Jack sat up, wondering how late it was and
how long he had been sitting there. The cold had penetrated his warm coat and
shoes; his toes felt as though they were freezing off. It was time to go—but he
wasn’t sure that he was ready to face Rose yet. Would she be relieved to see
him back, or angry, after the way he had walked out on her earlier?
There was no use in worrying about it. He had
to go back, if only because Lizzy would be upset if he didn’t. And he wanted to
talk to Rose, try to make up and work out the misunderstanding. Rose might
welcome him, or she might be angry, but there was only one way to find out.
Standing carefully, he rubbed his eyes, then
frowned, carefully scraping away the tears that had frozen to his cheeks, and
was glad that no one had been there to see him.
Climbing down from the boulder, he made his
way slowly up the steep, sloping bank, heading for home.