The Long Journey to Jake Palmer (10 page)

“Set me up on blind dates?” Ari shook her head and her hair swished back and forth like water. “Not till this weekend.” A look of dread spilled onto her face. “I'm not saying this is a date. You and me. I'm just saying, Peter . . . I mean, it seems like he's trying to . . .”

“I get it. I know what you mean.” Jake smiled. “We could do something cruel and mean and embarrassing to Peter to get back at him.”

“Really, really cruel.”

They both laughed and the awkward tension between them seeped into the ground.

Jake glanced at her, then back to the lake. “Do you mind me asking, are you divorced?”

“Yes, I mind.”

They both smiled.

“Widowed.” Ari's voice grew soft. “Three years now.”

“I'm sorry.”

“I knew it when I married him.” Ari stood and ambled to the edge of the bank and faced the lake.

“Knew what?”

“Tony had a heart condition. He told me after our fourth date that he had a sixty-forty chance of living past his midthirties. But I was already falling in like with him, and love soon followed. I ignored the odds and believed and prayed he'd be one of the sixty percent. But it turned out he was destined to join those in the forty-percent club.”

“No kids?”

Ari shook her head. “We wanted to play for a few years first. A few turned into four, turned into six, and by the time we were ready for children his heart problems flared up.”

“I'm sorry.”

“What about you? Any kids?”

“We had . . .” Here it was. The perfect chance to tell her what had happened to him and let the rain fall where it may. But the words turned to sand in his mouth, and instead Jake couched the truth in an explanation that told her nothing. “We, uh, were just about to start trying when we had a turn of events that stopped the process. A year later my ex-wife filed for divorce.”

“I see.” She turned and focused on him.

Of course she would be too kind to press him on the lame answer, but her eyes didn't follow protocol. They seemed to bore into him as if a light had been switched on inside and was searching for the truth. She finally turned away and changed the subject. But the new topic wasn't much easier to discuss.

“Why does Peter call you Clark?”

Jake sighed and shook his head.

“You don't like it?”

“I used to.”

Jake spun the base of his glass slowly and watched it give little bumps as it moved over the rough wood. At one time the bottle had moved so smoothly, but these days every turn was a struggle.

He sighed again and said, “Peter gave me the name years ago. We were doing an exercise from one of my workshops. Reading each other's labels. I told him he was Aragorn from Lord of the Rings and he told me I was Superman. After that he started calling me Clark, for Clark Kent.”

“Are you Superman?”

“Was Superman. Past tense. I'm not him anymore. Never will be again.”

In his peripheral vision he saw Ari lean in slightly, her gaze fixed on his face. He finally turned to her and she didn't have to voice the question in her eyes. He knew what it was. Might as well answer the question.

“Peter called me Superman because I was in good shape back then. Because it seemed like I could do anything. Because I'm a few notches smarter than most people. Because a few gals said I was handsome and kind of looked like him if you squint from a mile away and it's dark.”

“And you're not any of those things anymore.”

“No, not these days.”

“I don't know about all of those things, but on one point I
don't believe it's a matter of debate. You are handsome. And you do look like him.”

A jolt of desire shot through him—to be considered handsome again, to be desired by a woman. But he couldn't go there. Wouldn't.

Ari leaned closer and the scent of her perfume caught him. “What happened to Superman?”

“That's a conversation for another day.” Jake stood and gave a smile he hoped hid the pain. “But thanks for making the effort to come down. Good chatting with you, Ari.”

As he walked away, she said she'd look forward to that conversation, but he knew another day would never come. He'd already said too much and chided himself for letting his heart open to her even the sliver that it had. Dangerous. And stupid.

T
hat night, Jake lay in bed replaying his conversation with Ari, and then the one with Susie, and then the scenes from their failed search at the end of the lake. The truth? He didn't believe. The idea that there was a magical corridor at the end of the lake that would lead you to what you wanted most was a nice setup for a kid's story, not adult reality.

Sure, C. S. Lewis could send people through a wardrobe or through a wall at the top of a school, but this was real life. He should let it go, enjoy another day or two as much as he could with Ari hanging around, then head home and try to convince himself to get back to helping people who still had lives worth living.

Sleep came easy that night, but two hours later, Jake bolted upright gasping for air, his chest heaving, the dream of being on fire still as vivid in his mind as when he'd been asleep. His pillow was drenched with sweat, as were the sheets under his back and arms. But the sheets were dry from his midsection down. Always dry from his midsection down. His skin grafts would never sweat.

There was no point in trying to go back to sleep. A few hours from now? Yes. Once the adrenaline coursing through his veins
subsided, he'd be able to sleep again. But not now. He rose from the bed, pulled clean sheets and a pillowcase from the hall closet, and replaced the damp ones. As he did, a thought flashed through his mind like lightning. He knew what he had to do when dawn arrived.

Jake woke three hours later with the same sensation he'd had in the middle of the night. The idea hadn't faded, only grown stronger, and was impossible to shake. He had to return to the end of the waters. Search for the corridor. Find it. Press on through to the other side. He tried to convince himself the flash of light he'd seen with Susie was a trick of his imagination. His mind was in full agreement with that assessment. But that irritating voice deep in his soul continued to implore him to believe.

He eased out of bed and dressed in minutes. Swimsuit, black compression top. He took his linen pants to leave on the dock for when he returned. He'd be back long before Ari would be up, but just in case, he'd be ready. The sun hadn't yet kissed the top of the mountains to his right as he moved onto the deck overlooking the lake, but by the time he reached the water with his kayak, the lake would be sprinkled with a dazzling display of diamonds from the early morning rays.

As he paddled toward the end of the lake, a peace fell on him. He didn't rush and didn't hold back. The rhythm of his strokes stayed in concert with the beating of his heart, and the anxiety he'd awakened with disappeared into the dark waters under
his kayak. He'd be to the west end of the lake in less than forty minutes at this pace. Plenty of time to find the corridor, see what was on the other side, and get back before the rest of the world woke up.

Find a magical corridor. Right. Jake laughed at himself. Stellar plan. Might as well cure cancer and figure out world hunger while he was at it.

When he reached the end, he stopped forty yards from the cattails and closed his eyes. Had to see it in his mind. Jake pulled up the memory of where he'd seen the shimmer yesterday, locked in on it, and opened his eyes. There. To his right. That was the area. No doubt. He paddled toward it slowly, eyes fixed on the spot where the light had flashed, but now there was nothing.

After forty-five minutes of staring at the spot, pushing his kayak into every inch right and left of the area, searching twenty yards in each direction, there was still nothing. Jake smacked his paddle on the water and shouted at himself. “Idiot.”

He'd let himself start to believe, let hope slither through that crack in his soul, and now he'd pay for it, because it wasn't a crack any longer. He'd ripped his heart wide open and let himself imagine what it'd be like to be whole again, to be with a woman again, to be with Ari.

As the echo of his cry vanished into the early morning air, a sound to his right caught his attention. Fifty yards away to the northeast sat a small battered rowboat. A man sat like a statue with his back to Jake, a fishing pole draped over the side of the boat. No one else was on the lake, and yet here, at the spot where Jake was searching, sat a man in a rowboat.

Jake paddled toward the boat with soft strokes and when he was twenty yards away called out, “Good morning.”

The man turned and something seemed familiar about him. But the baseball cap shoved down over his head and sunglasses kept Jake from making any kind of connection about who the man might be.

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

Same thing with the voice. Vaguely familiar. Then the man smiled. His two front teeth were missing.

“Leonard? You've got to be kidding me.”

“Good to see you, Jake Palmer.” Leonard glanced at the sun now fully above the ridgeline of the mountains to the east. “Early to be up.”

“Getting up early gives me time to be alone.”

Leonard nodded and bobbed his forefinger at Jake as if he knew exactly what Jake meant.

“What are you doing on this lake, Leonard?”

“It's home.” A sly grin appeared on his face.

“You live here?”

“Forty years come November.”

Realization hit Jake like an ice bucket shower and he almost laughed. Of course. “Let me take a wild guess about your life. You have a grandson who works at the grocery store in town.”

Leonard nodded, winked, and jerked his thumb toward the north side of the lake. “My place sits about midlake on that side. Right across from where you're staying. Before that, I lived on fifteen acres four miles north of here next to the stream that fills this lake. A lot easier to take care of half an acre than fifteen.”

“The house directly across from the one we rented. That's how you knew so much about the rental.”

“Yep.”

“Why didn't you tell me you lived here?”

“Did you ask?”

“No, but when you suggested we rent here, I'm kind of surprised you didn't let me know you live on the lake.”

“A lot of surprises around here, you'll probably be finding. I suppose part of me hopes you do.”

“Like?”

Leonard reeled in his line and set his pole in the bottom of his rowboat before speaking again. “Any luck finding the corridor?”

Jake's heart rate spiked. He wasn't ready to tell Leonard what he was doing. Susie and Peter knowing was bad enough. “Corridor?”

“Really, Jake? You're here at the end of the lake just hanging out while every sane person is still asleep? It doesn't look like you're fishing. I might be old, but I'm not stupid.” Leonard didn't smile. “Do I look stupid to you?”

“No, but—”

“Then don't ask me stupid questions. We'll get along better.”

Jake studied the man in front of him. Leonard wasn't kidding. The old man gave two quick pulls with his oars and a heron shrieked, gave two hard flaps of its wings, and streaked off over the water. Leonard let his rowboat drift up next to Jake's kayak, and he took hold of the kayak's curved edge with a gnarled hand.

“You gonna answer my question or sit there like a water-soaked log taking up valuable lake space?”

Jake repressed a smile. “No. Haven't had any luck.”

“How'd you get suckered in?”

“To believing the corridor is real enough to waste my time coming out here?”

Leonard responded with an almost imperceptible nod and a look that said the question was mildly stupid.

“I don't believe. But that doesn't mean I can't do some exploring in case I'm wrong.”

“That's your problem.”

“What's my problem?”

“There you go, asking stupid questions again.”

Jake studied the man's eyes, now fixed on his, narrowed, a challenge in them.

“If I believe there's a corridor, there's a much greater chance there will be one. If I don't believe, I'll never find it.”

“I kinda suspected you weren't as stupid as you've been sounding.” Leonard nodded as if confirming his assessment. “Who was the gal you came out here with yesterday morning?”

“You were spying on us?”

“Spying? Nah. Not at all. I was here. You came by.”

“Why didn't you reveal—?”

“You ask a lot of questions, you know that?”

“Are you going to answer them?”

Leonard pushed off of Jake's kayak, dipped his oars in the water, and pulled away.

“Do you believe, Leonard?”

“On this day, the story is about you, not me.” Another strong pull and Leonard's boat moved farther away. “But be careful, Jake,
if you ever do overcome your lack of faith, you might not like what it brings you.”

“I thought the corridor is supposed to give you what you want, what you need. It's supposed to fix things.”

“That's what the legend says. But when legends become reality, they don't always end up being what you expected them to be.” Leonard pointed at Jake. “What you want and what you need are often two different items, young Jake.”

“I met an elderly lady at the grocery store. She said to stay away. That the corridor makes people go crazy. Or makes them disappear.”

Leonard stared at Jake for more than ten seconds before saying, “Sounds like you should give that serious consideration before continuing your pursuit.”

With that, Leonard rowed off, his face like stone. Jake wanted to paddle after the old man, pepper him with more questions, but something told him this wasn't the time, and even if he did get a few more bits of information, it wouldn't help. Whatever was real or not real about the corridor, Jake was starting to believe the truth was less about the head and more about the heart.