Leaping (7 page)

Chapter
11

Holding
her during the night he was awakened by the haunting voice of memory shouting
in to his sleep.

At
first he was disoriented, wide-eyed. Had someone screamed?

He
listened and let his heart-rate slow. No. There was him. There was her.

He'd
been dreaming. He'd remembered. His brain wanted to take him there, had taken
him there…met him in this deep filmy place, Cori in his arms.

They
could come if they wanted to, the assembly of players, the pop, pop of the
weapon, the emotions that lingered like barking dogs that couldn't bite…ghost
fangs bared…ghosts.

He allowed them, the
sad sticky shadows, he didn't fight…the memories…his brain a projector
flickering images and sounds.

He
was done with this story…done with it…but it wasn't done with him. It never
would be.

That
day…that bookmark in his life, that crater hole, that nuclear explosion, that
place where it went down, the sanctuary. It still smelled like flowers from a
funeral the day before, a mother, a teacher, texting, crossing the line and
meeting Tom Birdy's dump truck on that curve, that bad curve on the bottom
road, and the tires clawing thick black on the pavement as she tried to right
the wrong, tried to get back on the straight and narrow, too late, too late,
she'd driven into Tom like a future that wouldn't budge and she'd taken off,
jettisoned…into eternity.

The
flower scent was still strong. He'd thought that all-day, how weird it was to
work in a place where on his walk through the sanctuary to the back of the
complex of buildings connected by hallways, on his way to fetch a bottle of
water, or to shoot some hoops, there was often, before the altar, a body in a
casket. He'd usually know the person, and he'd say, "Morning," he
would say that.

But
that day he'd wanted to finish work early, not that they were ever finished,
they never were. He'd been up all-night, called to a sickbed at the county
hospital two towns over, an older woman, someone's mother, the family crowded
in the room there, and him crowded with them, mourning with the mourners,
smiling at the stories, taking his turn leaning over the bed, fishing his
spirit for comfort, reassuring her God was waiting now, take off the body like
a worn suit of clothes, His arms, His arms will be your new home.

So
Jordan hadn't had much sleep on that day…thee day…but the day was going fast
and the last thing he did, before the Boy Scouts showed up, he met with Jackson
in his office.

And
he remembered he hadn't been able to stop yawning while Jackson did his best to
railroad the conversation, to keep it on how fucked his teachers were to be
flunking him in two of his classes.

Jordan
finished another yawn, a jaw clicker. "C'mon, man," he said to the
boy sitting other side of his desk. "And stop the f-bombs."

Jackson
was sixteen and large as a man…but a ten year old's brain in the driver's seat.
Jordan had been meeting with him every Monday after school for the past two
months. Jackson had been in trouble for fighting. He hadn't initiated, but had
responded so the school called Jordan, as the principal knew Jordan would work
with a kid to keep him out of trouble.

Jackson
could bench press three hundred pounds. Damage potential was staggering. There
was no dad and a mom who was afraid of him. Jackson had one go-to emotional
response to most things—anger.

And
here's the irony, "Violence," Jordan said for the twentieth time,
patient, hoping one of these times it would get in there, "is never the
answer."

He said that, 'never,’
rolling off his naive, arrogant lips. But he added, "Someone breaks in to
your house tonight wearing a black ski mask and holding a knife to your little
brother's throat…."

"I'd
jack him up
good
," Jackson interjected.

"Go
for it. It's extreme, see? It's for being a hero. Violence is for heroic
measure in extreme circumstance. Anything else…
find
another way. Use that strength God gave you to protect people. Don't be the
scary guy. Don't be him."

That's
when the office coordinator asked Jordan if he'd oversee the Boy Scouts.

They
were practicing for Sunday and Terry, their leader, was running late.

Jordan
was glad to be able to cut it short with Jackson so he could move around and
wake himself up.

He
bumped fists with Jackson, and that one nearly came with him, wanting to cut
through the sanctuary to shoot some hoops, but his cell phone went off and after
answering, Jackson went left…and Jordan went right.

Everything
mattered. People wondered why they weren't spared…but with everything hinging
on every small decision…how many times had he been spared…they been spared with
no idea…it was all in a turn…left…right.

It
wasn't chance. He knew that. It was choice. You walked a path, there was
design,
there
was purpose. He knew that. There was
choice.
Left.
Right.
He'd
been called into that room. Maybe that's the whole reason he'd been born.
That's what he knew suddenly. In this incident, in this event, he'd been the
divine intervention.
Him.
It was that way, that time.
He wasn't a hero. He was just a man…who'd been
called,
no different from what he did any other day…he served.

But
the task…the task that day…the guy with the ski mask had shown…up.

And
he, Jordan, got scary.

Cori
stirred, and he said, "Babe."

She
leaned up and kissed him soft and sweet, her eyes heavy with sleep…and love.

"Can
you hug me?" she asked, and he laughed some, she was in his arms already,
but he pulled her closer yet and she scooted half on top of him and he
tightened his grip and she did hers and they floated there.

He
didn't say it…but another piece of the empty was filled. Another bit of
understanding…acceptance for what was.

They
had spent three days, and him barely aware, three slow days that went by like
precious water leaking from a bucket, time he couldn't stop or get back, three
days of together, and barring Mrs. Palm coming in to clean, there was no one.

The
other…interruption was her phone. Her son was with a family, a friend's family.
He called a couple of times a day. She would always step away from Jordan, and
he'd pretend to give her privacy. He'd try not to fixate on her like a human
GPS,
her his
destination. In those times he would ask
himself what right he had to be with her like this, to want her so desperately
he could barely give her space.

He
wouldn't judge it. He wouldn't hold it to some article in “O Magazine.”

Or
some theological strain of idolatry either, he just was. He was with her and he
wanted to be.
Needed to be.
She was his gift.

They weren't wasting
time. She'd said that at the first, the backwards thing. Not wasting time. No
sooner had he thought all this than her phone rang and she rolled off him to
answer. He didn't allow his eyes to follow, but he was with her and it was
intense, this bond to her, this blend.

Like
usual, she stepped away, went in to the bathroom. He tried not to feel…so much.
Did he love her?

If
he wasn't already on his back, he might be knocked on it now. Did he love her?

"I
haven't been away from Seth…since…," she said coming back to the bed to
crawl in beside Jordan.

He
cleared his throat. He hadn't moved since she left and she crawled back where
she'd been, her breath warm on his chest, and she fit there…she fit perfectly.

"How's
he doing with it?" His voice sounded weird.

"Pretty
well.
He misses me, and…I miss him. He sounded…I don't know. I've got a sixth sense
for him, and it comes from more than being his mother."

Of
course it did, but it worried Jordan, and he stupidly hoped he could be enough,
but of course this was her son, and all they'd been through, but still he had a
flash of jealousy.

"Are
you glad you're here?" he said, knowing he was an asshole.

"Yes,"
she answered quickly and that helped some.

He'd
become so self-centered, he realized. But he only wanted to borrow her…for this
short time…this sliver of her existence. He knew he couldn't keep her…or he'd
known
that
five minutes ago. Now he didn't know
anything. But he wanted this last week and some change…please.

But
now.
She stretched. She rearranged herself and leaned her back on the padded
headboard, grabbed the remote off her nightstand and clicked on the television.

He
slowly, reluctantly aped her posture. Well, the damn phone had broken them
apart.

He
tried to focus on their surroundings. It was raining outside, the clear slashes
marking the big windows, the ocean boiling beyond. Across from the bed the
mounted flat-screen showed the morning news. She had the volume all the way
down and the words typed across the bottom.

She'd
told him how she'd fallen into the habit of television without sound. At first
it was her control, trying to set a healthy atmosphere for Seth, one where the
voices from the flat screen didn't get to permeate her home while Seth did
homework or played in his room or tried to sleep. But now it was her
preference.

Jordan
liked it, the quiet that allowed the ocean's voice coming from beyond the
windows. He had not been able to tolerate much television since the
incident,
he had not wanted to fill his mind with all the
brokenness this world held.

"Seth
and I," Cori said, "we've been stuck together so long. I knew it was
time to at least…stretch the cord. It's hard to trust, being apart. But…it was
time."

She
always knew what to say. He wanted to know about this…her son…her relationship
with him. He wondered if the boy would ever be open to his mother having
someone else. "There was his step dad and…?"

"Just
him," she said quietly. "I figured…that was enough. Justin…he called
Seth at first, after the…."

"Incident,"
Jordan said.

"Yeah.
He's…overseas. Traveling was always a
complication…one I didn't sign up for. I was alone two-thirds of our two years.
I married a settled man…a professor…who expanded his career to include overseas
travel as soon as our marriage proved difficult. He wasn't ready to be a
husband…much less a father. He wasn't ready to learn how to be with us.

"They
say it's what men do…cling to what they are good at when their relationships
tank. They work."

"Yeah,"
he said. "We do." Work had always been his life raft. He wondered now
why Laura had put up with it.
With him.
He was telling
himself to be quiet and listen, but inside himself, there was dread over what
Cori would reveal.

"Justin
had never been married. He was a good boyfriend, good at beginnings…sweeping me
off my feet, and it took something…I wasn't looking for a relationship. I had
Seth and Dad, and our lives worked, and maybe...I didn't trust myself to pick
well."

Jordan
felt a bit of a sting at that omission. Would she have approached him if she
was more cautious? In truth, he didn't think so.

"But…I
don't know…Justin found this lonely place in me I didn't even know I had and…turned
out it was bigger than I knew.

"So
after almost a year I let him meet Seth and initially they got along great. But
I kept exposure to a minimum so the problems didn't show until well in to the
second year. They didn't seem drastic enough. Seth adored him. He was fun. He
was…kind.

"Then
right before our wedding…I surprised him at the university where he worked. He
wasn't where he was supposed to be, but he came from somewhere else,
disheveled…and I looked at him…and I just knew.

"He
denied. We broke up. He admitted it, he reformed. He launched a grand campaign
to win me back…and I caved. I took him back. My dad was ready to disown me. But
we married and it was…okay. I didn't realize…he was only good at beginnings.