Distant Shores (28 page)

Anita's mouth trembled. She made a don't-you-worry-about-a-thing gesture with her hand. “Your daddy always told me you'd figure that out someday.”

In the hotel ballroom, waiting for his turn to speak, Jack couldn't think about anything except Birdie. It surprised him, actually. Every time he tried to consider his great new job offer or the upcoming
People
magazine shoot, he wanted to pick up the phone and call his wife. None of his triumphs were quite as sweet without her beside him, saying softly,
You did it, baby.

That was the thing about sobriety. It cleared the mind, scrubbed away all those blurred edges, and left everything standing in a bright, true light.

Since his conversation with Warren, that light had been particularly unflinching. He saw the whole of his life.

Every day had been a search for
more
. Nothing had ever been enough. Not even Birdie. He could admit that now. There was no point in lying to himself anymore.

Because of the man he'd been, he was alone now. A husband estranged from his wife, a father estranged from his daughters. Except for work, he had no responsibilities beyond the ones he chose.

But freedom wasn't what he'd thought.

For years, he'd imagined Starting Over. In his endless fantasies, he'd gotten a second chance at all of it—fame, youth, adoration. And mostly
(be honest, Jack)
what he'd dreamed of were other women. Younger women with firm bodies and skimpy dresses who climbed in bed with a man and wanted nothing more than his hard cock. That had been his dream. A faceless, nameless woman who loved his body and never asked him to put down the toilet seat or to buy tampons on his way home from work.

Now he had that. The affair with Sally was front-burner hot. The sex was great—physically satisfying, anyway—and afterward was perfect. She got up, dressed quietly, and left for her own apartment. No scenes about staying over, no pretense about love.

No sharing, no laughter, no warmth.

Warren had been right; Jack had made a bad trade. True warmth for false heat.

The dream—that
lights, camera, action
life—wasn't full. It was frighteningly empty.

Now, as he sat in the middle of his so-called exciting life, all alone, he realized at last that he, too, was empty.

“Jack?” Sally tapped his elbow.

He came stumbling out of his thoughts. The audience was clapping. A quick look at Sally told Jack he'd missed his introduction.

He got to his feet and threaded his way through the crowded ballroom of the hotel. The place was filled with white-clothed tables.

He stepped up to the microphone and gave the same speech he'd given at least a dozen times in the past few months. A plea for athletic accountability and good sportsmanship. The local chapter of the Boys and Girls Clubs of America applauded wildly when he was done. Then he spent the next hour posing for photographs, answering questions, and signing autographs.

Sally came up beside him. “Thanks for doing this for me. My brother-in-law owes me one now. Everyone thinks he's a god for getting you to speak.”

“It's always nice to help out kids.” Jack couldn't believe that canned response came out of his mouth, and to Sally, of all people.

A tiny frown pleated her brow. She took his arm and led him out of the ballroom and down to a quiet corner table in the bar. “I'm confused.” She kept her voice lowered, pausing only long enough to order a glass of white wine.

“Why are you confused?” He knew, of course.

“You've been avoiding me all week. I didn't put any pressure on you, did I? I know you're married. So, what's wrong? I thought we were on the same page.”

In the dim light, she seemed impossibly young. It made him feel even older. “For the last fifteen years—until you—I was completely faithful to my wife. But I counted and remembered every woman I'd denied myself.”

“You kept score?”

It was an ugly way to phrase it, but true. “I was so proud of every woman I didn't sleep with. I thought,
‘Good for you, Jacko, you're strong as steel.'
Every night, I went home and crawled into bed with my wife and I told her I loved her. I meant it, too.”

“What does this have to do with me?”

The decision that had been rolling obliquely toward him was suddenly crystal clear. “I don't want to be that guy anymore. I don't want to be sleeping with a woman simply because I can.”

“That's a shitty thing to say. I know we aren't head-over-heels in love, but I thought we were friends.”

“Come on, Sally. Friends talk. Get to know each other. They don't crawl into bed together and wake up alone.”

“You never wanted to wake up with me.” Hurt crept into her eyes. “Whenever I offered to spend the night, you changed the subject.”

“You're a great woman, Sally.”

“Another quick-change remark, Jack. What you're trying to say is I'm not Elizabeth. I know that. But
I
was the one who followed you to New York. She didn't.”

“I'm still in love with her,” he said gently. “I didn't know how much until I lost her.”

Sally looked at him. “Are you saying it's over between us? Just like that, you've changed your mind, and who cares how Sally feels about it?”

“You deserve more than I can give you.”

“No, I don't.”

“Then you should.” He saw how hard she was trying to appear calm, but her lips were trembling. She thought she loved him; that had never occurred to him before. How had he been so blind? He reached out, covered her hand with his. Suddenly he felt every one of the years between them. “I'm not The One, Sally. Believe me.” He remembered the first time he kissed Elizabeth, how she'd cried. “When it's right, you know it.”

“Fuck.” Sally sighed. “You know what the really shitty thing about that confession is? It only makes you more attractive. What about my job?”

“Tom thinks you'd make a great associate producer.”

“Great. I've become one of those women who sleep their way up the ladder.” She downed the rest of her wine. “I'm outta here. A girl's self-esteem can only take so much honesty. Bye, Jack.” She took a few steps, then turned back around. She wasn't smiling. “I'll take the promotion, by the way.”

“You earned it.”

“I guess I'll always wonder about that, won't I? Good-bye, Jack.”

He watched her walk away, afraid of what he'd feel. In the old days, it would have been regret.

It was relief.

He paid for the drinks and went outside. The portico of the hotel was crowded with people—tourists, guests, liveried bellmen. He barely noticed them.

As he reached the street, rain hit him in the face and made him think of Oregon. Of home.

He understood his love for Elizabeth now. It wasn't a skin-deep emotion like so many others. It was in his bones and sinews; it was what had kept him standing straight and tall for all these years.

They'd said the words to each other every day for years, but they hadn't meant it often enough.

He knew where he wanted to be right now, and it wasn't in his empty apartment, surrounded by too many regrets. He'd already lost the ability to see his wife whenever he wanted. He didn't want to make that mistake again. Once, he'd imagined that the opportunities in a man's life were endless; now he saw how easy it was to make a wrong turn and lose everything. There wasn't always time to make amends.

For the first time in years, he prayed:
Please, God, don't let it be too late.

TWENTY-EIGHT

Elizabeth sat on her favorite beach rock, staring out at the view that owned such a piece of her heart. She was alone out here today. There were no seals lazing on the rocks along the shoreline, no otters zipping back and forth. No birds diving down into the water. Waves washed forward, a foamy white line that pushed her back, back.

All last night she'd tossed and turned in bed, unable to find the sweet relief of sleep. She'd thought of so many things. Her mother and the terrible price she paid for love. Her daddy, her children, her marriage, her art.

Her whole life had been in bed with her, crowding her with memories of times both good and bad, of choices taken and roads not taken. For the first time, perhaps, she saw the big picture. She loved Jack. True, she'd let weakness in, and loss and regret, and those emotions had tainted her view of herself, but her love had run deep and been honest.

Her biggest failure had been an inability to love herself as well as she'd loved her family.

Then she'd finally taken the wheel and changed her course. She'd put her needs first and left Jack and dared to dream her own dream. She'd worked hard for it, painted until her fingers cramped up and her back ached.

But at the first bump in the road, she'd crumpled, pure and simple.

One little setback and she'd folded into the old Birdie. She'd considered quitting. As if the point of art could be found in supply-and-demand economics.

That pissed her off.

She stood up, walked forward. The tide tried to stop her. Water lapped over her rubber gardening clogs; icy water slid inside, dampened the hem of her pants. But nothing could push her back anymore. She'd
never
quit painting again. Even if no one ever liked her work. It would be enough that she did.

She ran forward suddenly, splashed into the freezing cold surf. It wasn't until the very last moment, when the water hit her full in the face, that she realized she wasn't going to turn around.

She dove headfirst into the next wave—something she'd never had the courage to do before. She came up on the other side, where the water was calm.

Life, she realized suddenly, was like this wave. Sometimes you had to dive into trouble to come out on the other side. That was what she'd learned at her failed art show: perspective. She needed to work harder, study more. Nothing in life came easily; it was time she said okay to that.

A big wave scooped her up and sent her tumbling toward the beach. She landed spread-eagled on the shore and burst out laughing.

When Elizabeth came home, soaking wet and freezing cold, the house smelled heavenly, of vanilla and cinnamon and freshly brewed coffee. It reminded her of her childhood. Anita had always made wonderful Sunday brunches after church.

She kicked her wet clogs into a corner, where they hit with a splat. “Breakfast smells great,” she said, shivering.

Anita was at the stove, cooking. Her face was flushed from the heat. “What happened to you?”

Elizabeth grinned. Water ran in icy squiggles down her forehead. “I started over. Again.”

Anita smiled back. “Well, start for the stairs and change your clothes. I'm starving. And don't give me any of your new calorie crap, either. I've been dying for French toast.”

“I'll eat anything someone else cooks, you know that.”

Elizabeth ran upstairs, dried off, and changed into a pair of fleece sweats, then hurried back downstairs. By the time she got to the kitchen, Anita had already dished up—French toast soaked in Grand Marnier, fresh strawberry slices, and soft-boiled eggs—and was sitting at her place. Half of Anita's toast was missing.

“I waited for you like one pig waits for another.”

Elizabeth laughed and sat down. “Daddy used to say that.”

“I dreamed about him last night.”

Elizabeth looked up. “Really? What was he doing?”

“Sitting in that white wicker rocking chair on the porch—the one he always bitched about bein' too small for a real man's ass. But he wasn't complainin'. He was smokin' one of his cigars and staring out at his fields. I sat down at his feet and he squeezed my neck just like he'd done a million times. ‘Mother,' he said, ‘it's time.' ”

Elizabeth could picture it—picture him—perfectly. “He was probably mad because the corn didn't get planted this year.”

Anita set down her fork. “I don't think that's it, actually. I think he was talkin' about me.”

Elizabeth took a bite of her French toast. “This is sinful it's so good. So, what did he mean?”

“It's time for me to go home,” Anita answered gently, “time for me to get on with my new life. I've been hiding here long enough. I had a long talk with Mina that night at the meeting. She convinced me that I need to start living again. We talked about going on a cruise together.”

Elizabeth set down her fork. She was surprised at how much she wanted Anita to stay. “Are you sure you're ready?”

“I left Sweetwater because I couldn't stand to be so alone. But now I have you.”

“Yes,” Elizabeth answered slowly, “you do.”

“Will you be okay alone?”

“Yes. I guess that's something we both learned. It's okay to be alone. But I'll miss you.”

“Do you love Jack?” Anita asked suddenly.

Elizabeth was surprised by the question, but the answer came easily. “Yes.”

Anita smiled broadly. “Well, honey, I'm not one o' those women who hand out advice as if it were hard candy, but let me say this: True love is a rare thing. We lean on it for years without botherin' to look at what's holdin' us up. It lasts forever, as the poets say, but life doesn't. One minute you're in bed with your husband, and the next second you're alone. You'd best think about that.”

Elizabeth knew her stepmother was right. In her months away from Jack, she'd been waiting for her new life to unfold in a line that was straight and true. No hairpin turns, no sudden drop-offs. She'd wanted
certainty
.

But life wasn't like that.

I love you.

Those were the words that mattered. She'd been six years old when she'd learned that you could wake up one sunny Sunday morning and think that everything was right in your world, and then find out that someone you loved was gone.

She loved Jack. Needed him, though not in the desperate, frightened way of before. She could live without him. She knew that now. Maybe when all was said and done, that was the truth she'd gone in search of.

She could make her way alone in the world, but when she stared out over the rest of her life, she wanted him beside her, holding her hand and whispering to her that she was still beautiful. She wanted to watch his hair turn white and his eyes grow dim and know that none of it mattered, that their love lived in a deeper place. Whatever else she would search for in life, he would always be at the center of it. The place she came home to.

Anita was watching her closely.

“I'll miss you,” Elizabeth said again, feeling her throat tighten.

“The planes fly east, too, you know.” Anita stabbed a piece of French toast and popped it into her mouth. “Now, what about your painting?”

“What do you mean?”

“You won't give up, will you?”

Elizabeth smiled. “Because of one little old failure? No. I won't give up. That's a promise.”

Years ago, when Jack's life had been falling apart the first time, he'd been called on the carpet by his network boss. He'd begged for a second chance, but it hadn't worked.

He'd been young then, still swollen by his own importance. Begging had felt unnatural and vaguely unnecessary; it wasn't surprising that he'd done it poorly.

Now, all these years—and losses—later, he knew better. Some things, once lost, were worth dropping to your knees for. Even if your knees were made of glass and might shatter on impact.

He sat in his rental car, thinking about all the mistakes he'd made in his life. Of this extensive list of wrongs, nothing had been as bad as taking his family for granted.

He got out of the car.

The Washington, D.C., weather was bitingly cold. The promise of spring felt distant today, even though the winter air was thick with tiny pink cherry blossoms.

As he walked up the concrete steps toward the building, he realized that it was the first time he'd been here.

Shameful, Jack.

He pushed through the double glass door and stepped into the chlorine-scented humidity. The familiar scent and heat immediately reminded him of long ago. So many family hours had been spent sitting on wooden bleachers, cheering Jamie on.

At the front desk, a green-haired kid sat in front of a computer screen.

“Are the ECAC Championships here today?” Jack asked.

The kid didn't look up. “They're almost over. Go through the men's locker room. Take the first door on your left.”

“Thanks.” Jack took off his suede coat and slung it over his shoulder as he walked through the busy locker room. He emerged into the hot, damp world of an indoor pool.

The bleachers were full to capacity. Along the back wall, dozens of women in Speedo bathing suits and bright rubber swim caps stood clustered together, talking to one another.

A sound blared. Instantly, a row of swimmers dove into the pool and raced for the other side.

Jack eased his way up the bleachers and sat down. His narrowed gaze studied the Georgetown team.

There she was. His Jamie.

She stood head and shoulders above her teammates. She had her hands at her mouth; she was yelling encouragements to a woman in the pool.

He felt a bittersweet ache at the sight of her, so tall and grown-up. Only yesterday, she'd been seven years old, a water baby who once dove into the pool when it wasn't even her race.

I just wanted to swim, Daddy.

He'd been so proud of her then. Why hadn't he pulled her into his arms and whispered,
Good for you,
instead of telling her to wait her turn?

Suddenly the race was over. A new group of swimmers was walking toward the edge of the pool.

Jamie stepped into place, stretched, then bent into position.

It was the 200 IM. Never her best event.

The horn blared, and the swimmers dove into the water.

Jack couldn't yell. Slowly, feeling as if he were the one in deep water, he got to his feet.

She was in second place at the first turn.

“Come on, Jamie,” he said.

By the second turn, she'd fallen into fourth place. In the old days, he would have gone to the pool's edge, bent down, and encouraged her to try harder.

He'd thought that winning was everything. Now he knew better.

At the final turn, she picked up speed. Her strokes were damned near perfect.

He moved down the bleachers, stepped onto the floor. “Come on, Jamie,” he said, still moving.

The finish was close.

She came in third, with a time of 2:33. If it wasn't her personal best, it was damned close. He'd never been so proud of her.

When she got out of the pool, her teammates clustered around her, hugging and congratulating her.

Jack stood there, waiting for her to notice him.

When she finally looked up, her smile faded. In that moment, across the crowded room, everything blurred and fell away. Only the two of them were left.

He was the first to move. He closed the distance between them, mentally preparing for her anger. God knew, it could hit you like a hammerblow. Sometimes, you had to duck fast. “Hey, Jamie. Good race.”

She crossed her arms and jutted out her chin, but there was a softness in her eyes that gave him hope. “I came in third.”

“You swam your heart out. I was proud of you.”

She immediately looked down. “Why are you here? Business in town?”

“I came to watch you swim.”

Slowly, she looked up. “It's been a long time.” She obviously meant to sound tough, but her voice cracked.

“Too long.”

In her eyes, he saw a flash of the girl who'd once followed him everywhere, afraid he'd get lonely without her. “Well. Thanks for coming. I'll tell Stephie you were here. She's finishing a big paper.” She turned and walked away.

For a minute, he was so shocked he just stood there. Then he called out, “Wait!”

She stopped, but didn't turn around.

He came up behind her. “Forgive me,” he whispered, hearing the desperate harshness in his voice. “I spent too much time looking at my own life.”

“Forgive you?”

His voice fell to an intimate whisper, “Remember when you had that bad start at the state meet when you were a junior in high school? I took you aside and told you you'd had your stance wrong. But you knew that, didn't you?”

“Of course.”

He stared at her back, wondering if he dared touch her. “I should have hugged you and told you it didn't matter. What you do is nothing compared to who you are. It took me too long to figure that out. I'm sorry, Jamie. I let you down.”

Slowly, she turned around. Her eyes were moist.

“Please don't cry.”

“I'm not. What about you and Mom?”

“I don't know.”

“What
happened
? I don't get it.”

“Think about you and your boyfriend, Mark.”

“Michael,” she said.

Damn.
“Sorry. Anyway, imagine marrying him. You live with him for twenty-four years. Day in and day out, you're together. You raise children together and change jobs and move from town to town. Along the years, you bury parents and watch your friends divorce and say good-bye to your daughters. It's easy, in all that time, to forget why you fell in love in the first place.” He took a step toward her. “But you know what I found out?”

“What?”

“You can remember if you want to.”

“Do you still love her?”

“I'll always love her. Just like I'll always love you and Stephanie. We're a
family
.” He said the word gently, with a newfound reverence. “I don't know what's going to happen with me and your mom, but I know this: You're my heart, Jaybird. Always.”