The Long Journey to Jake Palmer (14 page)

Jake squinted at the hill of sand rising up ahead of them. It had slowed all three of them down on the way out, and he wasn't going to let it do the same thing to him on the way back. He veered slightly to his right hoping Peter and Andrew wouldn't follow. This race would come down to inches, and riding the flatter ground around the rise would provide the margin of victory Jake needed.

Jake glanced to his left. Yes! Peter and Andrew were heading up the rise. Already he was ahead. By the time they came down the other side, he would be ten or fifteen yards ahead. Jake flattened himself as much as possible and kept his throttle wide open. The thrill of triumph started to rise and lift his spirit to a place it had not been in an age. Then the ground dropped out from under him.

Without warning, the sand under his tires disappeared, and he shot out into the air as a truck-sized stone landed in his stomach. Time seemed to crawl forward like a slug as the front of his ATV tilted forward and Jake rose in his seat. But he wasn't sitting any longer. His hands still gripped the handlebars, but his body was now above the ATV and splayed out behind it, like one of those crazy motocross kids doing Superman stunts on their nitro-powered dirt bikes.

Then the seconds seemed to speed up and the front of the ATV smashed into the sand. Jake flipped over the top of the machine, his feet now straight up in the air. The momentum of his body ripped the handlebars from his hands. He twisted and from the corner of his eye saw the ground racing up to crush him. An instant later, his head and shoulder slammed into sand and he rolled to a stop. Sand filled his mouth, eyes, nose, and he spat onto the ground. His shoulder felt like it was on fire. Broken? Maybe. He rotated onto his back and thanked God for the helmet, closed his eyes, and tried to slow his breathing.

Seconds later the roar of an approaching ATV filled his ears, and he opened his eyes to find Peter jumping off his machine. Peter dropped to his knees as Andrew pulled up next to Peter's ATV. Seconds later, Camille, Susie, and Ari arrived.

“Talk to me!” Peter leaned down till his face was a foot from Jake's. “Are you okay?”

“I think so. Might have broken my shoulder.”

“That was an idiotic idea. My fault. I never should have sugg—”

“Not your fault. I veered from the route. Totally my screwup.”

Two hours later, Jake walked out of the emergency room they'd found in a town ten miles north on Highway 101.

“How's the shoulder?” Peter stood and strode over to him. “You going to live?”

“Painful, but not broken. Just badly bruised.”

Peter dropped his voice. “Was it worth it?”

Jake glanced down the hallway to his right and left. None of the rest of them were there. “Where's everyone else?”

“Went to grab all of us something to eat and get gas.”

“Yeah, it was worth it.” Jake gave Peter a half smile. “You know it was. I've been dying of thirst and was just handed a gallon of water.”

“Enough to quench you for a while?”

Jake didn't have to think about the answer. “No. Not even close.”

“Why? I don't get it.”

“I love the rush of competition, the adventure, pushing myself, but that wasn't me doing the work, it was a machine. All I did was pull down on a throttle and turn some handlebars back and forth.”

“You did more than that. You—”

“You don't have to placate me, Pete. You like the outdoors. Doing a little waterskiing, going on a stroll down a hiking trail. For me it's different. The mountain climbing, the mountain biking, triathlons—that is who I am.” Jake popped his fist into his palm. “Who I was. Losing my legs is about more than just yanking me off the dating circuit. It's taken me away from . . . I don't know who I am anymore.”

A
fter dinner that night, Susie set a drink on the armrest of Jake's deck chair and took a sip of her own as she plunked down next to him. She kicked off her shoes and set her feet on the wooden ottoman in front of her chair. Jake peered at her stony face, but she didn't turn.

“Are you going to say anything?” he asked.

Silence.

“Sooz?”

“Do you find it at all ironic that you teach people how to discover what's on their label, but you have no clue what's on your own?” Susie took another swig of her drink and kept staring straight ahead. “And even if you did, you wouldn't be willing to admit it?”

“I know what's on my label.”

“Yeah, sure you do. That's why you had to be an idiot out on the sand today. Proving you're still a stud. You have no idea what's on there.”

“I wasn't trying to prove anything, and, uh, yeah, I do know what's on my label. I went down that path nine years ago when I started my company. Did it again two years ago. Went through
my own process, with input from close friends. Like you. Or did you forget we did this? I don't teach what I don't know.”

“Has anything happened during the past two years that might have changed the label?”

Jake didn't respond.

“Want to know what I think? I think you have a few typos in your text because of certain life events.” Susie twisted to face him. “In fact, I think you have more than typos. I think you have whole sentences blacked out and lies written over the top of them. But that's only what you're seeing. I'm still reading the old label, all of which is still true.

“But again, you no longer believe what's written there. You've shut yourself inside your bottle and because of that, you're not only not helping yourself, you're not helping anyone else with their labels either.”

“What are you saying? Helping people discover what's on their label is my life.”

“Used to be, yeah, used to be. But not anymore.” Susie thunked her glass up and down on the armrest of her chair in a slow cadence. “Now it's your job. You've stuffed the ‘it's my life' part down deep in a basement you've bolted shut. And as much as I can, I understand why, but if you really want to continue to help people see what's written on their souls, you need to be willing to read what's being written on yours. Not what was written back then, what is being written right now.”

“Oh, so here it is. The moment where my little sister comes and lectures me on what I need to do in my life to have it make sense? To get it fixed?”

“Nope.”

Susie sat back in her chair and took slow sips of her drink as Jake stared at her.

“I get it. You think your mere presence here will cause me to squirm till I finally talk about what I'm feeling toward Ari and what I should or shouldn't do about it.”

“Ari is such a small part of this, but yes, that would be a place to start. Time to risk it.”

“You think I should stop hiding. Tell her what happened to me.”

“Yes, but not for the reason you think you should.”

“Oh really?”

“Yes, really. You believe you need to take the risk of telling her so you can see if she'll reject you. That way you can put yourself out of your misery, one way or another.”

“Sounds like the right reason to me.”

“I disagree.”

“How can I take a bigger risk than that?”

Susie's face was full of hope as she sat up and took Jake's head in her hands and shook it.

“Listen to me, big brother. You're on a journey. No big revelation there. But you think it's to find someone who will look beyond your scars and love you regardless. You think if you do find this mystery woman, her acceptance will restore the place Sienna gouged out of your heart. But that's an external journey, one that ends with a person, whether that's Ari or someone else. I think you have a more complex path you need to follow.”

Susie popped Jake's knee with her fist. “You need to tell her so you can stop fixating on her and move on to the deeper thing that you want most in the world. So deep you don't even know what it is.”

“But you do.”

“No,” Susie said. “I'm not saying that. But I am saying you need to get off the path to Ari and onto—”

“The path that leads back to me.”

“Yes.” Susie patted him on the knee. “Yes, my dear brother, yes. You need to take a journey inside the bottle and forget about what people are seeing on the outside.”

“I know what's on the inside. It greets me every day.”

“Oh really?”

“Yeah, really.” Jake held his breath, then let it out in a slow stream. “You want me to get gut-level honest with you, sis? I mean, really bare-my-soul-to-you-type honest?”

Susie's breathing slowed and she looked at him as intently as she ever had, then gave one slow nod.

“What's inside the bottle is not enough. I'll never be enough. Never.”

Susie's eyes never left him as she waited for him to speak again. She didn't need to ask him why. Everything about her was inviting him to dive in. Maybe it was time to take the plunge.

“My mom didn't die in a car accident, Sooz.” Jake let out a bitter laugh. “Can't believe after all these years I never told you the truth.”

He turned away and stared at the sky as the memory of those days back in the spring of '89 hit him like a hurricane.

“I'm going to the school bus now, Mom.”

“Okay, Jakey. Be good.”

“I'm trying.” He pushed open the screen door and stopped. “Really, I am.”

“Try harder.” His mom crushed out her cigarette in an ashtray full of butts and closed her eyes. “You knocked over your milk again last night. How many times is that this month?”

“Twice.”

“No. Not twice.” His mom opened her eyes and fixed her gaze on him. Cold eyes. Dead eyes. “Not even close to twice. Five times. Five! Too many. You're wearing me out, Jake. You're going to be the death of me, I swear.”

“I'm so sorry. It won't—”

“—happen again. I know. I know you're sorry, Jake. I know, I know, I know. And I know ‘it won't happen again.' But it will. It will.” She closed her eyes again. “You make Mommy so tired sometimes. The mud you tramped in last month, the cuts I have to deal with when you fall off your bike. The mess in the bathroom. And your room. Good golly, Miss Molly! Do you know what that does to me?”

“I stopped riding my bike. And I keep my room clean. All the time. And my side of the bathroom is—”

“Fine!” Jake's mom slapped the table. “But your sister leaves that bathroom a pit.” She put another cigarette to her lips and lit it without opening her eyes. “I'm exhausted, Jakey. Just be good.”

“I'll vacuum again today when I get home from school.”

His mom's head fell back and she opened her eyes and looked at him with a lifeless stare. “If you come home today from school
and I'm gone, then you'll wish you'd been a better kid and not so wild all the time. You understand me?”

Jake shuffled up to his mom, his Captain America backpack now feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds. He took his mom's free hand. “Feel better, okay, Mom? And take your pills, okay? Promise me, Mom. Promise? Take your medicine, okay? Please?”

She pulled away and gave him a sick smile and pulled a long drag from the cigarette. “I'll try to remember, but if I forget, you know whose fault it is.”

Panic rose in Jake, his breath quickened. “No, don't say that, Mommy. I'm going to be better. I promise.”

“I'm kidding.” She waved him off and took another long drag.

“Promise that you're kidding and nothing will happen? Promise.”

“Just be good, all right? And stop exhausting me all the time.”

Now the memories came like flashes of lightning. How every day during the spring of '89 he begged her not to kill herself. How he'd begged his dad to help her. The flowers he plucked for her out in the field behind their home. The times he sat his parents down and tried to get them to talk to each other.

Ten years old and trying to get his dad to stop controlling every second of her life. Trying to get them to have a conversation that was about more than his dad telling his mom exactly what to do, and his mom looking at him with her dead eyes.

“I think if you guys would talk about things together, it would be really, really good. And then you can listen to what each of you is
saying to each other, then maybe . . . I mean, if you'd really listen . . . and then one of you would go first to try to listen and then—”

“Okay, Jaker. That's pretty sweet of you to try.” His dad gave that plastic smile that really meant shut up and lifted Jake off the couch. “But Palmer children don't talk to their parents that way, do you understand? You're not my counselor, young man.”

“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.”