Officer Jones (11 page)

“That’s not fair.”

“You want to talk about fair? Dad gave his heart and soul to this town, and when it came time to dedicate a field, who does the school board vote to name it after?”

I knew where this was headed, but I let him continue venting, “That’s right, they named it after JP Warner, a man whose main contribution was getting the hell out as fast as he could and never looking back. You didn’t even show up for the ceremony.”

“Stop playing this off on Dad,” I shot back, angrily. “This is about you and your fragile ego. You chose a life, just like I chose a life, but the only difference is I don’t need an award for it.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

We were now face-to-face, a crowd had gathered around us like when a fight was about to break out in junior high. We had become the most popular exhibit.

“Maybe you can get a Mr. Perfect award. The perfect life with the perfect wife. The perfect family man who always does the perfect thing with his perfect kids. When you receive that honor, I promise I’ll show up!”

I was getting close to adding missing teeth to my medical résumé.

“Why don’t you go do your usual leaving act, JP? It’s going to happen sooner or later, anyway. There will never be enough attention and spotlight here for you.”

“You better get used to me, big brother, because I’m going to be here for a long, long time.”

As if she sensed a calamity about to happen, Pam returned with the children. She was a lot like a UN peacekeeping force—good intentions, but not enough firepower to stop anything significant from happening. She hugged me—I was unable to determine if it was a warm greeting, or she was trying to protect me—and then after we traded a couple pleasantries, she invited me to a barbecue at their house on Labor Day.

Ethan turned and began walking away in a huff.

I stood awkwardly with Pam and the children. We made small talk about the weather, and I discussed the impending return to school with my nieces and nephew. Acting as if what just happened didn’t happen, seemed like the best way to proceed.

Finally, Pam broke the delusion, “JP, you just have to understand that Ethan puts in all the blood and guts around here. He’s done all the dirty work with your mom and dad, and Noah is no picnic, either. Then you walk in like the prodigal son and he gets shoved to the side like yesterday’s news. Can you blame him for being a little hurt? He’s only human.”

I nodded.

“He really is glad to see you. Just give him some time, okay?” she asked with an encouraging smile.

“I will.”

“Are you really planning on sticking around?”

Our shouting must have been heard all the way to the ice cream stand. Which meant everybody within shouting distance heard my claim to drop anchor in Rockfield. I doubt anyone believed it.

“Why is that so hard for people to believe?”

Pam shrugged, while simultaneously pulling a cloth from her purse and wiping spilled ice cream off the shirt of her youngest son, Eli. “I guess it’s hard to believe someone would want to drive a minivan after driving a Jaguar.”

“Problem with Jaguars is that they’re always in the shop.”

Pam smiled, but talk of my physical condition made me think of Byron, so I changed the subject, “That was a great game last night, huh?”

Pam looked off into the distance. “There’s one of the coaches—why don’t you ask him about it?”

Chapter 26

I stared at Noah, who was in many ways a spitting image of myself. He just dressed a lot different with his ever-present denim jacket, black boots, and cigarette hanging from his lips. He reminded me of the young Serbs partying on the river.

We made eye contact at long distance, and then he began heading right toward me in a slow jog.

“Dad tells me he’s been working two jobs, besides volunteering as a coach, and he’s even going back to school,” I said to Pam.

“He’s made great strides. I worry about him though, especially on
this day
.”

“This day?”

“Today is the anniversary of Lisa’s … well, you know…”

I stared out at my brother as he approached. “Ethan was right … I should have been here.”

Noah arrived with a bear hug for me that sent pain through my broken body. He had a cheek kiss for Pam, and smiles for the children, who declared their love for Uncle Noah, but took issue with the cigarette smell.

Pam excused herself to find Ethan, but first invited Noah to their Labor Day barbecue on Monday.

“I wouldn’t miss it, sis,” he said with a smile.

It was good to see him smile, especially now knowing what today signified.

“You look a mess,” he addressed me.

“You should see the other guy.”

“I did … every night on the news, claiming he was gonna kill my big brother if their demands weren’t met.”

“And he would have, but then he found out how happy everyone would be if he got rid of me.”

Noah laughed, before embracing again. This was a much more affectionate Noah than the one I remembered from before the accident.

Our reunion wasn’t like old times. Old times, frankly, weren’t that memorable in our relationship. We didn’t fight like he and Ethan did—we always got along—the problem was that we rarely spent time together. I went off to college when Noah was just in first grade. Maybe because of the wide age gap, he always seemed to be trying to find his identity. I had regrets about not being there for him in the way that Ethan was there to steer me in the right direction, or at least attempt to. Maybe that’s why he gripped so tightly to Lisa.

So it was like new times. Times I looked forward to.

We remained standing in the middle of the fairgrounds, rehashing last night’s game, and getting me caught up on all the hot-button topics in Rockfield. He also received the first, in what I figured would be many “smoking is bad for you” lectures.

The most interesting part of the conversation was Noah’s career plans. As far as I knew, he never had any before. Lisa was his career. He had returned to school to become a guidance counselor. He wanted to help kids so that they, to use his words, “Don’t mess up their lives the way I did.”

What we didn’t talk about was the accident.

Nobody was closer than Noah and Lisa. They had enough passion to fill up ten rooms, and even though their relationship often played out in an endless cycle of drama, fights, and making up—their love was too strong for anything to keep them apart.

There was an outcry in Rockfield that Noah got off with just a slap on the wrist. There couldn’t be anything further from the truth—he received a life sentence. And if it were left up to him, he would have pleaded to anything that got him the death penalty, in order to rejoin Lisa quicker.

Noah looked at his watch. “I gotta take off, JP,” he said, before surprising me with another embrace. “But we’ll definitely hook up at Ethan’s on Monday.”

“Hot date?” I asked.

Noah’s look intensified. “No, I’m just going to meet an old friend. We haven’t talked in a while.”

“Are you going to be alright?” I instinctively asked, the big brother in me showing through.

Noah looked back as he walked away. “I’m going to be fine,” he said, and smiled mischievously. “And speaking of old friends who haven’t talked in awhile, JP—I saw Gwen Delaney walking around here earlier.”

I watched him fade into the distance. He turned back momentarily and gave me one more smile and wave. He seemed better, especially compared to the vision of him on that bridge that was now etched in my mind. I looked forward to spending time with him, vowing to do my best to make up for lost years.

Then my mind wandered to Gwen.

Chapter 27

I stood as inconspicuously as possible amongst a crowd cheering two fat guys participating in the annual pie-eating contest. It was enough to make me never want to eat again.

After Ethan’s stinging words, I had a sudden urge to find my mother so she could work her magic to ease my guilt. I pulled my baseball cap down as far as I could and slipped out of the crowd. I hobbled down a grass corridor between the exhibit tents. And then time froze.

I couldn’t help but stare at the raven-haired beauty in the distance. I was paralyzed by a tornado of swirling emotions. History would record our relationship as a complex mix of pure greatness at the highest level and the relentless cloud of what might have been. It was similar to the way my father used to describe Mickey Mantle.

Gwen didn’t seem to be afflicted with the same inner turmoil, and began casually strolling toward me. I didn’t notice a twitch of hesitation, nor did I sense that this was a life-altering moment for her.

I never wanted to see someone as much and as little at the same time. Her long legs were covered by a knee-length plaid skirt and high black boots, which were more fairground-appropriate than Lauren’s heels. Physically, she looked similar to the last time I saw her, but this Gwen carried an aura of sophistication.

A camera hung around her neck, and bounced up and down as she approached—like my heart palpitations. My knees weakened, forcing me to lean on my cane for support.

“JP, I heard you were in town. It’s good to see you in one piece after what you went though,” she greeted me affably, and offered me a handshake like we were business colleagues.

I just stared at her. I had thought about this moment for a long time, but never really prepared what I’d actually say. In the daydreams the conversation depended upon my mood. Sometimes I would call her every name in the book for moving on without me. Other times we would rush into each other’s arms and declare that true love really is forever.

I knew touching her hand would be a mistake, so I didn’t. “It’s been a long time,” was all I could manage to say.

“Yeah, it’s been a while. It must be a few years now.”

Must be a few years?
The words ripped at me. Her casualness in the wake of such a historic event—our last meeting, well over a decade ago now—was like a knife to my lungs. Could she possibly not have our last meeting burned in her mind, as I had?

We started making chitchat about mundane subjects. This didn’t add up, as in no reunion fantasy of mine was it ever blasé. And as the shock of our sudden meeting began to wear off, I started to grow irritated. I searched for any clue that she carried the same devastating scar from our relationship, but found none.

As we continued beating the humdrum, she caught me staring at her ring finger.

“Stephen and I got divorced two years ago, to answer your question,” she said.

Just the mention of his name brought out my inner J-News. “I never know whether to give condolences or congratulations when people get divorced.”

“It was a tough time for both of us. Everyone goes into marriage thinking it will last forever,” she replied, matter of fact.

It shouldn’t have been that tough. In fact, it should have been the easiest decision she ever made … since she was supposed to still be in love with me. I never let myself think that she actually loved the guy, or dreamt of spending her life with him. I’d convinced myself that she’d married him out of spite or youthful naiveté, and she eventually realized where her heart stood on the issue. Maybe it would have been best to never see her again and maintain my delusions. But it was too late for that, and I could no longer hold back.

“I’m relieved it was just divorce. I thought he might have died of old age. What was he like, a hundred when you married him?”

Her face turned beet-red—I had hit a nerve.

“The guy I dated before Stephen was an immature child, so it was nice to be with a grownup, no matter how it ended,” she said, her eyes wandering to my cane. “By the looks of it, the more things change the more they stay the same.”

The small dash of anger provided me the hope I needed to continue on. I knew, or at least hoped, that there was no way our epic tale could end with handshakes and bland discussion of the weather. I needed there to be an emotional connection, even if it came in the form of hatred or regret.

I followed Gwen’s eyes—still a radiant green—to my cane. My stare appeared to make her uncomfortable. She looked away as she spoke, an edge in her voice, “It was good to see you again, JP. I assume you’re just on a stopover between exotic countries. So have a safe trip.”

I continued staring at her. I couldn’t stop.

“What?” she finally asked with irritation.

I said nothing. I couldn’t.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to that news model who has set journalism back a couple of centuries? I think she’s still trolling around somewhere in her supermodel heels.”

My smile came to life. “How did you know Lauren was here today?”

Gwen was suddenly flustered, but recovered nicely. “I’m a journalist, remember? You know, like you used to be.”

“Used to be?”

“Yeah, back in college before you became a bad example of reality TV.”

Reality TV was a low blow. Our relationship had officially hit rock bottom.
“You mean that same ‘back in college’ time right before you kicked me to the curb, and ran off and married Grandpa Warbucks.”

She crossed her arms around her chest like the temperature had suddenly dropped fifty degrees. I remembered it as her trademark move when we fought. “Oh
please
, you were the one who needed to go off and
see the world
. You can try to write history all you want, JP, but it’ll never change the outcome.”

The cards were now on the table. I ran off to parts unknown and shut her out of my life. Gwen married someone else. But as much as I might want to rewrite a better ending, she was correct about one thing—it wouldn’t change anything.

“Just tell me something, Gwen.”

“And that is?”

“When those terrorists took me hostage, were you rooting for me or them?”

“Knowing you, JP, you probably staged the whole thing for a publicity stunt. Are you sure you even need that cane?”

She kicked the cane away with her boot, causing me to helplessly fall to the ground. The cane scattered to my right and my baseball cap flew off. A new rock bottom had been established.