Journey (10 page)

“Something about who I am is that I don’t really care for being called 'Doctor.'"

“Why is that?  You earned it, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I went to school and earned the title, but I feel like it separates me from others and gives me some sort of automatic and undue superiority over people.  I hate it.  I’m not different from anyone else.  In some ways, I’m less deserving of respect than most.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“Nothing, it doesn’t matter.  Just…  I prefer not to be called ‘Doctor,’ especially by those I’m close to.”

“I will respect your wishes.”  Jack’s gaze catches mine, intensifying, forcing the heat pooling in my stomach to radiate outward.  “Doctor."  He nudges me with his elbow.

              I lightly slap his hand in jest.  “Must you always break the rules?”

“Not always, but breaking the rules can be very fun.”

“Yes it can, until it comes back to haunt you.”

We continue to stare at one another intently, causing me to be thankful that I manicured all of me, until Jack breaks it when his eyes sweep across the room.  

Salads and the main course seem to go by very quickly.

Jack stands and asks, “Do you like crème brulee?”

“You made crème brulee?”

“No, I was just curious if you like it,” he says dryly.

I roll my eyes in response, feeling embarrassed.

“Of course I made it.  I work from home and oversee the house renovations, doing as much as I can myself, so I have a lot of free time to perfect the craft.”

A gorgeous man who is successful, intelligent, cooks, and is handy?  Sounds too good to be true…

“Is there anything you don’t do?”

“Nope.  I’m pretty much a superhero.”

“I suspected as much.”

“You did?  I’m going to have to change my disguise then.”

We pause for a moment and a spark in his eye catches my eye.  I can’t be sure, but something tells me we’ve reconnected just as we have before.

“Where do you tend to spend your summers, Jack?”

“Here or in the Hamptons.  My parents liked to stay in New England for the summer, I suppose.”  

I’ve spent some time in the Hamptons, but everyone knows everyone there and I’m certain I would have run into him at some point.  

Before I can ask another question, he leans in and says, “I sometimes spend my summers in Costa Rica.”

Like a sledgehammer to my ribs, the memory of our reunification hits me.  I gasp and suddenly feel about two inches tall.  

“I’m so embarrassed that I didn’t recognize you right away the other day.  I feel terrible about it.  I remember everything about those trips.”

“So, you do remember.”

“How could I forget?  You left me with your creepy friend George that last year.”

“You thought he was creepy before you were stuck alone with him?”

“Very.”

“I’m sorry for leaving you with him, then.”  He looks down.  “Did your magazine spread ever get published?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“I hope this doesn’t sound creepy, but I kind of already knew that.”

“Not creepy at all.  Actually, I’m a little flattered.”

Uncomfortable chuckles from each of us, combine to make one fairly awkward moment.  As they die down, we make no eye contact, Jack looking down at his wine and I staring at the exposed beams in the ceiling.

“Shall we tour the house?”

I jump to my feet.  “I’ve been dying to see it.”

We walk slowly and deliberately through the massive house.  Jack tells me tidbits of information as we travel throughout.

“I’ve remodeled and renovated the entire interior.  There was some wallpaper that put up quite a fight, but I eventually slayed it.”

“You made it your bitch?”

“I guess you could say that.”

I lost count of how many bedrooms there are, but there has to be at least six, not including the master.  Each room has its own distinct decor, yet manages to remain true to the house’s New England, Cape Cod style.  Beyond the massive foyer with a large, sweeping staircase, there’s a sitting room, living room, sun room, library, and music room.  Again, each room is stately, in its own way.  In the library, antique family photos line the walls, paying homage to Jack’s family both past and present.  There are some other family heirlooms on display in various places.  They’re like little Easter eggs, to be sought out.  The old and new decor are blended so well, that you would never know on the same shelf sits an antique ship’s bell worth thousands alongside a replica ship’s wheel he bought last month from a retail chain.

Jack would never indicate his pride in his handiwork and heritage aloud, but his face and tone of his voice say it for him.  Along with him, I light up from the inside hearing him speak so fondly of the work he’s done.

After we walk through the upper floors, basement, and lawn near the house, my tour ends where it began, in the kitchen with my glass of wine.  I feel relaxed and completely at peace.  I don’t think I allowed myself to admit before now what a positive influence Jack has on my entire being.

“Would you like another glass of wine?”

“No thank you, I have to drive home, and if I had another, I would have to call a cab.”

“Are you serious?  It’s not like you to turn down alcohol.”

“There are several behaviors I’ve picked up that are unlike the person you knew.”  I clear my throat.  “So tell me, what were your intentions in having me over tonight?”

“I was extremely ashamed and upset with myself for the manner in which I treated you when you appeared last time.”

“You don’t get many visitors?”

“Actually, I get more than you would think, but most of them are uninvited and unwanted.”  Confused, I urge him to go on with my eyes.  “You’re not from around here, but my parents and family have a long legacy in this area and were very well known by everyone.  My family’s wealth and association with certain others in this area causes people to take an extreme interest in my activities.”

“Boy...  You made that about as clear as mud, but what I hear you saying with your roundabout statement is that you thought I might be a reporter nosing around when you saw me.”

“Bingo.”

“That makes sense now.  I knew you had to be more than what everyone else said about you.”

“You talked to other people about me?”

“No, but they were talking about you.  They said you’re rude and stuck up and abandoned your parents and this house.”

Jack’s face grows pale, letting me know I struck a nerve.  “It’s late and I have a lot going on tomorrow.  Perhaps we should call it a night.”

“Jack, I apologize if I said something I shouldn’t have.  Soon after I ran into you here, I went to a diner where they were talking about this house and your family.  And when George Foster came into my office to interview me, everyone was fawning all over him and talking him up like he’s some sort of saint.  Your family, on the other hand, has the opposite reputation.  I don’t know why.  I didn’t really ask...”

“No, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry that you already know so much about me, making me the opposite of the person you knew before.”

I want to say more, but what more can I say?  As I’ve lamented many times, he’s a person who hasn’t exactly let me in on his innermost feelings, and a person that I clearly just upset.  I’ve asked him to open up.  I’ve tried to pry and pretty much force myself into his private world, but I’ve been rebuffed at every turn.

“Okay then.”

Jack walks with me toward the front door, where I retrieve my purse and keys.  I look up to him warily, feeling terrible.  

“Everything was very lovely, honestly.  Again, I deeply apologize if I said anything that upset you.  I had a good time.”

Jack continues to stare into the distance with a pained look on his face, but says nothing.  I take my silent cue and walk to my car, feeling worse than ever.

Driving home, my remorse turns to anger.  I’m embarrassed that I’ve made him uncomfortable and probably madder at myself for causing it.  But, instead of placing the blame on myself, I mentally lash out at him.  
Who does he think he is?
 I was only recounting what I heard about him; I never said I believed it.  Plus,
he
invited me to his house as an apology for being so rude the first time I saw him.  
Some freaking apology…
 I was a fool to begin to believe that somehow all of this was normal and things were as they should be between the two of us.  Or that somehow we belonged together.  

Since both of our encounters to attempt to reunite have concluded with Jack being cold and distant, maybe we weren’t meant to be...anything.  I resolve put Jack out of my head and return back to my life as normal just like before I ever met him.

July

Journey

Life continues on as normal for a few weeks.  I distract myself from thoughts of Jack with work and coaching the squad.  Who needs a guy around who is moody and pushes you away the second you accidentally mention something unhappy?  Not this lady.  Nope.  No way.  So, why can’t I stop thinking about him?

              “Everyone batten down the hatches and prepare to stay indoors this weekend because this storm is big one…” the radio drones in the background as I drive to my cottage.

              What started as a very sunny and calm Friday morning has turned into a dark, windy, and grey evening.  It’s only six o’clock, yet the sky appears as though the sun has nearly set.  Rain is beating against my car, and I’m fighting the wind to stay on the narrow, winding roadway.  Fortunately, my house is just a few miles away from my office, nestled in a patch of trees off of a small highway.  My nearest neighbors are a short walk away, which is how I like it: private.

              Driving up the thin, dirt path to my house, tree branches and leaves litter the ground around my tiny home.  Today was a bit of a slow day, and I could hear the rain hitting the roof of the office, but I didn’t think much of it.  I’ve been through many storms, especially after living in several different areas of the nation.  After parking my car in the garage, I notice a power line of some sort on the ground in the back yard.  I’m definitely either without power, cable, or both.  If there is a downside to living on your own in semi-seclusion, it’s being in a dark house with nothing to do.

              I enter the door from the garage into the kitchen just as the rain picks back up and a torrential downpour begins again.  The noise is very loud, even after I shut the door behind me.  I know the walls of this house are thin, but I didn’t realize that they were this thin.  Using my cell as a flashlight, I kick off my shoes and drop my purse on the counter.  My umbrella shielded me from some of the rain, but my clothes are still wet.  As I walk toward my bedroom to change into warm pajamas and find my stash of flashlights and emergency candles, the sound of the rain increases in volume as I make my way to the back of the house.  Not only is it getting louder, but it sounds as though it’s actually raining in here.  Literally inside.

              I shine my phone/flashlight into the hall bath, but there’s no evidence of a leaking roof or interloping rain.  I turn to the door behind me and shine the light into the guest bedroom.  Still nothing.  Following the sound, I step into the doorway of my office and hear distinct sounds of rain drops hitting the wooden floor.  The light from my phone reflects off of the water droplets as they fall from the sky and straight into my home.  I halt for a moment as the reality of it sinks in.  It’s legit raining inside of my house.

              A thought that may seem completely out of the blue to anyone else flashes in my mind-
My Barbies!  
To others, my collection of Barbies seems childish and infantile, and perhaps it is, but they’re mine.  They’re from my childhood and everything that made me happy then.  I remember each one- from the Bride Barbie to the Christmas Barbies to my special Happy Birthday Barbies.  They are the only lasting reminder of the child I once was- a child who had no worries, no expectations, and no crazy mistakes to haunt them.  

              I rush into the room to find the floor soaked.  Everything is soaked, including my prized possessions.  I gather a few dolls in my arms, finding that the boxes fold and disintegrate in my hands, drenched.  Extreme anxiety that has been sitting dormant in my core is now unleashing itself in a very ugly way.  I panic.  Grabbing my Barbies, hugging them to my body, I collapse onto the floor in a perfectly dramatic fashion, but I don’t care.  It’s pouring inside of my house.  My computer is ruined.  My furniture is ruined.  I don’t care about any of that.  All that bothers me is that my Barbies are destroyed.  

              I begin wailing: mourning the loss of my beloved toys, mourning the loss of my childhood, and mourning the loss of my life as it once was.  On some level I think, prior to now, I never fully accepted the fact that I am an adult with adult responsibilities and adult problems.  I tended to live outside of the real world and float above reality, interjecting one of my own.  Since everything in my life came easily, I always knew that if I fell, someone would be there to catch me, so I never really took really big chances aside from a few bouts of rebelliousness.  Leaving my internship, moving to Maine, and starting my own practice were the first steps I made in the direction of independence, but I still managed to stay inside of my own Journey bubble-of-happiness, shielding myself from the harsh realities of life.  My dad was there to fix everything for me and make sure that my life’s path was as free of bumps as much as possible.  I miss that life.  I miss that world.  I’m a girl who is attached to Barbie dolls, for god’s sake.  How am I supposed to ever grow up and be on my own?

Tears are pouring out of my eyes, but the rain showering into the room keeps me from measuring exactly how heavily they fall.  My clothes are clinging to me, sagging from the rain, and my hair strings into my face.  

I don’t know how long I’ve been fanatically embracing my dolls, but even hearing a faint, “Hello?” doesn’t disturb me.  I continue crying, almost screaming, but feeling muffled by the rain, wind, and thunder all around me.

Out of nowhere, Jack appears in front of me, panting.  Until he drops to the floor beside me, I don’t take notice that he’s not just an apparition.

“Journey!  Oh my!  What’s wrong?”

Why is Jack here?  
I look up at him through my wet hair, plastic dolls in hand, and freeze.  
What’s wrong?  Where do I even start?

“Everything...everything is wrong,” I spit out.

“What do you mean?  I mean, aside from your new open-air shower?”  He looks up to the ceiling that was once there, but is now an unplanned sky light.

I lift my gaze to meet Jack’s, then focus it on the open roof, allowing droplets to fall directly into my face.  I halfway grin at the very nature of this situation and how I must look to him.  Jack looks back to me, chestnut eyes sparkling, and curls one side of his mouth upward.  I sheepishly look down into my arms at the soggy boxes and the children’s toys they attempt to encase.

“Come on, let’s get you some place warm and dry.”

“Where’s that?” I ask.

“I will take you to my house.”  I look at him with reservation.  “Obviously, this is not the place to be right now.”

“My Barbies,” I whimper.

“What about them?”

“They’re ruined.  My Barbies are ruined, Jack.”  I begin crying all over again.

In response, Jack puts him arm around me.  He’s as wet as I am, but he’s still incredibly warm and comforting.

“Do you have them insured?  I’m sure you can get the replacement value.”

“They’re not worth money; they’re just...I don’t know how to explain it.”  I wrap my fingers around a doll, dressed in a lacy, white wedding dress, lifting it into his view.  “This one I got for my eighth birthday.”  I pick up another, this time a doll in a pink dress.  “And this one I got on a family trip to Colorado.”

“I see what you mean.  How about this?  How about we dry off, go to my place, get you warm, arrange for someone to fix your roof, turn on your power, and we assess the doll damage tomorrow?”

I remain quiet for some time, not really wanting to leave my belongings to whimsy of the elements.  

“I tell you what, let’s get all of your dolls and move them into the living room where they will be able to dry, then we can move on to my house.  The weather has let up a little, but it’s only going to get worse and persist this way.”

“I can stay here, Jack.  Really.”

“No you can’t.  I’m not going to let you stay here with a leaking and unstable roof, no power, and the potential for even worse weather.  Now, help me move these, so we can get going.”

“Okay.”

Jack is commanding, but in a gentle and concerned way.  I find it remarkably endearing.  I spent the last few weeks trying to get him out of my head, and now he’s back and more memorable than ever.  

We gather my toys and carefully move them into the living room.  Jack handles them with care, but I’m sure he’s thinking I’m a loon.  

He pauses, lifting the doll in his hand, “What about this one?”

“Pardon?”

“What’s the story behind this one?”

“Oh, I got this one on a shopping trip with my grandfather.  He saw how much I loved it and bought it for me.  It always reminds me of him.”

Jack smiles warmly and takes extra caution when he places the plastic form on my couch.

After all of the precious cargo is moved and stowed for safe keeping, Jack pulls the dry blanket off of my couch, wraps it around me, and leads me out to his black Range Rover.  The feeling of cold sweeps over my body, and I attempt to shiver it away.  I was not fully aware of how soaked and freezing I am until I stepped outside of my cottage.  Jack turns on my seat heater, cranks up the forced air heat so we can both warm up, and turns up the music volume.  “Man on Fire” by Edward Sharpe and the Magnetic Zeros plays through the automobile speakers.  

“I love this band,” I say through my chattering teeth.

“Me too.  Have you ever seen them in concert?”

“No, I just know their music.”

“Ah, well, we will have to go see them sometime.”

“Sounds awesome.”  I smile and warm over.  “Jack?”

“Hmm?”

“Why did you show up at my house?”

“Would you believe that I just had a feeling that something happened to your roof?”

“Nope.”

“What about that I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since you left my house, and I realized that the way I’ve treated you, in the now two encounters I’ve had with you in so long, is exactly the opposite of how I always thought I would react if I ever saw you again?”

“That sounds more likely.”

“How about if I said that I’ve missed you like crazy and finally ended my pity party, so I wanted to surprise you with a big elaborate personal apology and promise to do nothing but worship the ground you walk on from here until the rest of my days?”

“I believe that.  Jack, it’s been several years, but I know, at your core, you’re a wonderfully loving human being.  You just can’t take that away from a person.  You can mask it and bury it, but you can’t be someone you’re not.  Sure, you’ve been a little hard to read, but I can see it in your eyes- you’re still you, the Jack I refused to admit I was falling for years ago.”

“Can I just say that I’m incredibly lucky that you have chosen to see beyond my inexcusable rudeness?”

“And can I just say that I know you’re not perfect?  I’m not perfect either.  But together, we’re about as close to perfection as it gets.”

Jack places his hand over mine, which is under a blanket, and squeezes it.  I don’t know how or why, but with this one tiny gesture, I know it is the start of good things to come in my life- a life that I plan to command for myself.