Destiny - a novel - 4. Chapter 4: Totems of Caring

Chapter 4: Totems of Caring

Poor Lincoln looks stressed; I hope Jack's idea for an outing suits his mood. Ideally, it can take his mind off his problems for at least a few hours.

"So, Linc, how does the house feel now that Hamish is gone?"

It's the Sunday after Thanksgiving, and Jack's older brother loaded up his old clunker of a car early in the morning to take the long drive back to Virginia.

"It's amazing, Dawn. First thing I noticed coming downstairs this morning was a lighter atmosphere. The coffee and sizzling bacon all seemed brighter and fresher." He partially grins for my amusement, and it looks nice to see him do that.

We're in my dad's car, and I'm taking Mr. Oliver out for a small slice of Cincy color. "Hey," I ask him. "What happened to your vehicle in L.A.?"

"I gave the keys to Dau and asked him to keep up on the taxes and insurance. I…"

"What is it, Linc?"

"Something silly. I just wonder if I'll ever see that car again."

"Ah, don’t worry about it. It's just a set of wheels."

"You're right, Dawn. It's just a car." He chuckles a little self-consciously. "I said it was a silly thought, but you're right, it's not important compared to Jack."

"Speaking of which, is Jack's hair starting to fall out yet?"

"Yeah, somewhat. I think he wants me to shave his head for him."

"Need the clippers?"

"No. Surprise, his mom already has them."

"Lincoln…"

"What, Dawn?"

"You're gonna make me cry already."

"I'm sorry, Dawn. But, hey! Thanks for taking me out. I suppose you and Jack and Mrs. S. all ganging up convinced me that I should see more of Cincinnati than just Jack's house and Jack's hospital."

"Yep. And you walked right into my ulterior motive too."

"Ulterior motive?"

"Yep. Me getting to know you better."

"Oh," he laughs. "That! And what is it you want to know?"

"Jack told me you have a brother."

"I do, he's a couple years younger."

"Is he as handsome as you..?" I try to flaunt my patented 'innocent-girl' look.

"Why, Little Miss Dawn, I thought you were too busy for romantic notions."

"Whatever, dude – you're hot, so is your brother the same?"

"I don’t know…wait."

I glance away from the road for a second and see his left hand yank Hamish's borrowed coat pocket to within reach. Lincoln extracts his phone. "You can judge for yourself."

He searches for half a minute, then holds the screen up towards my face.

"That's Jackson."

The boy on Linc's phone is a sweet-looking kid.

"That was taken when he was thirteen – I'm sure he's grown a lot since then."

He's not like Linc, and yet he's totally like him physically, with the same caramel-blond hair and jewel-like eyes, but not with the same determination, and I guess, not the same pain.

"He's fifteen now. That's the same as you, right?"

"I'm sixteen! DUH – I'm driving."

He gets my sense of humor; he laughs. "Ah, pardon me, madam."

"When's the last time you saw him?"

"Two years ago."

"That sucks."

His voice drips with irony: "I know, tell me about it."

"So, what happened?"

"Our father is an asshole. I hated to leave Jackson behind like I did, but Pops didn't really give me any other choice. Jackson's doing all right, from what he tells me."

I let the topic drop. Knowing what Lincoln has not told me, there's a lot more to tell, but he doesn't seem to want to linger on it.

˚˚˚˚˚

We had to park far away, but at least as we walk the quarter mile to the side entrance now, I have the opportunity to try and engage Lincoln in some chitchat. Quite frankly, he looks a little too far in his head at the moment.

"Do you mind?" I ask him bluntly.

Some rowdy teenyboppers laugh and push past us. One girl, who I know is the younger sister of one of my friends at school, turns back and says "Sorry!"

"Mind what?"

"Mind how pathetic my totally suburban-existence-ass is? I mean, 'show you the town' usually means a normal and considerate host takes visitors from out of town to the downtown area, to the riverfront, or to a museum and such – but here I am dragging you to a mall. Is that okay, Lincoln?"

His beautiful lapis-blue eyes look stunning in our dull Southern Ohio sunlight; even though it's the start of winter he makes it seem like spring. Jack's boyfriend tells me calmly, "More than ok, and I think I know why you're doing it too."

Moms and grand-moms push strollers towards the doors and chatter festively.

"Oh yeah…" Curiosity gets the better of my manners as I slip in a snarky tone. "Tell me why you think that, big guy."

"I bet you imagine it's the best place for me to get a sense of the flavor of your town. You're taking me to where the actual residents congregate."

Oh fuck, he does get it. I have to concede in softer tones: "Yep, you got it, buddy. I guess I'm more transparent than I think."

The crowd spills like sand through an hourglass, all funneled from their car doors towards the mall entrance, just like Linc and me.

"Nah, Dawn. It's just a feeling I had, and it turns out to be right."

"Well, anyway, your instincts are good. Good job!" Even as I say this, I just hope that Lincoln has a good time today, but I'm not sure that's possible.

We finally arrive at the glass doors to the mall, and Lincoln gallantly holds one open for me.

Blam! There is a sudden and total BLAST of holiday glitz. Jack's beau joins me by my side and we pause to take it all in before committing to further entrance.

"It's a bit hard to take, isn't it?" he asks.

"Yep. It's hard to accept the sappy holiday strings blaring out over the loud speakers, and hard to take that those same 10 songs will be repeated ad nauseam from now until next year."

We begin to stroll. Crafty snowflakes the size of turkey platters hang from the white steel rafters in a myriad of suspension lengths on invisible fishing line. All of them are bedecked in mica, cotton, and glitzy silver glitter in sufficient proportions to make Martha Stewart very, very happy.

We enter the center atrium where the 'arms' of the mall meet. In this junction space, kids with parents holding onto their hands bounce joyously in one spot. Their little coats and mufflers play havoc creating new currents of air in their excitement, while their parents try to stay less excited holding their place in line.

They are penned up in a maze of velvet ropes like rowdy sacred cattle being prodded by grown-ass men and women in 'elf' costumes. All of that effort is just for a chance to sit on the mall-Santa's unsanitary lap. 'Oh well Dawn,' I think to myself. 'Even I know that's TOO cynical a thought… but, LOL, it's still true!'

We continue on our way, just soaking up the environment. A few moments later, I ask, "Linc, do you want to visit any of the anchor stores?"

"Nah, nothing I need from a Sears or JC Penney department store. You?"

"Nah, I'm good too. It feels way too early to shop anyway."

"Are you one of those last-minute shoppers too?"

"Absolutely! Christmas usually doesn't feel like Christmas to me until about the 23^rd of December."

"Same with me. Plus, I always like the atmosphere of the crowd on the last day of shopping – it's different than now. Know what I mean?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"I mean it's more 'merry,' if that makes sense. People out and about on the 24^th have a mission, a purpose, and I tap into that energy. It makes me feel connected to them in a way, and makes me feel like Christmas can be all right, if the mood is unified." He laughs. "Listen to me: Hallmark Card moment. Sorry 'bout that!"

Yep, I may be way too jaded, but Lincoln's not, and I should heed his lesson and loosen up a bit. Oh well, I guess I can pull out that cop-out that drives grownups batty to hear, but the truth is 'I'm young.' I still have a lot to teach myself, and a lot of life to live before I look at the world with hopefully non-skeptical eyes, but for right now…

"Yeah," I tell Linc. "I know what you mean. I love it too."

My smile seems to do him good.

˚˚˚˚˚

The notion I had from earlier in the day reasserts itself: I'm not sure Lincoln is having fun. Eastgate Mall is as crowded as one would expect on the first Sunday after Turkey Day, and as we swam through the crowds, Linc only wanted to pop into one bookstore/gift shop. There he bought something unexpected, saying he wanted it to be a surprise for his Jack.

Now I'm leading him to the funky round food court. It has a wide-open area in the center for the seats, and a black ceiling. Lincoln's eyes gaze up and over all the metal sculptures hanging from up there; they are in the shape of primary color dragons and butterflies – red, yellow, and orange in rakish flight patterns. The restaurants are pulled to the perimeter and their curved walls have openings from which light and savory smells of every kind come up to lure in hungry patrons.

I grab the guy's hand and lead him to the end of the line for Gold Star Chili.

"Don't I get to look around at the offerings..?" Linc laughs.

"Nope. No way! This is Cincy, brother. You must have some local chilidogs before you, poor thing, must go back to the gastronomic wasteland of California." I decide to shake my head dourly as punctuation mark to my over-the-top irony.

"Well, if you say so."

"I say so. You need to have some authentic food to at least say you've been here once."

We get our food and find a small table near the center, in fact, it's next to the screeching kids in the fenced-off romper area – a bouncy place with things like yellow fabric 'sails' coming out of it.

We settle in our seats and I pick up my 'Cheese Coney' dog – a smaller size hotdog in a soft-swishy bun, but loaded down with chili and a pile of melting yellow cheese. My mouth begins to water… I dig in, and get lost in the moment. When I realize I've eaten half of it, I glance over to Lincoln's untouched plate. I swallow while dabbing with my napkin. "Aren't you going to join in? It's good, I assure you. Jack told me you guys eat Pink dogs out in L.A., so I know you go for them."

Linc reluctantly picks up a French fry, which sits next to the three Conies I recommend he get, as they are small. He languorously swishes his fry in ketchup. He chuckles briefly, holding it up, and holding my curious gaze. "My brother does not abide ketchup on his fires – or 'cat syrup,' as he refers to it."

I laugh too. "Oh – la-tee-da. No ketchup for His Majesty."

"Nope." He pops it into his mouth and chews.

Some kids make a ruckus, and momentarily distract us. When I refocus, a new thought comes into mind. "You know, the media interest in Jack does not seem to be waning as fast as I thought it would."

"I guess you can't blame them. They are just like sharks following the scent of blood in the water."

"They can't seem to leave Jack alone; just imagine if they find out you are his bf, and worse yet, how you met and made your living out there. I wouldn't want to be you in that kind of shit storm."

"They'll grow tired of Jack's plight soon enough. Sad truth is, all the 'news' needed to distract them is yet another murder-by-cop of yet another kid, subsequent riot, or an earthquake somewhere in the world. Jack will be forgotten – it's only a matter of circumstances providing an excuse to drop him from the news cycle."

"Well, I hope they do, for Jack's sake – Jack's sake, and yours too. Lincoln, I've been wanting to ask your opinion on something."

"Shoot." He nibbles on a few more fries.

"Do you think I should plan on going to summer school and come out with you guys to Palo Alto – to Jack's treatment in Cali?"

"That will be tough on you. Will your school even allow it?"

"I think I can swing it. The principal's a pretty cool guy, and he's on Jack's side."

"How come you want to go, Dawn?"

"If Jack…doesn't make it, I'd never forgive myself for not being there, and I can help out so you and Mrs. S. don’t have to do it all alone."

Lincoln laughs, murmuring: "I can't be seen contributing to the delinquency of another minor, so maybe I shouldn't – "

I cut him off. "So, it's a yes, then?"

The sexy man nods slowly. "Jack would probably say 'no,' but I know he would want you there. So, do what you think is right."

"Ok. It's settled then. I'm coming to Stanford Medicinal Center with you guys on Wednesday."

"Oh, I suddenly remember, I already have a way you can be helpful."

"What's that?" I ask.

"I remembered the DMV thing. Jack needs a California ID card, and you're a wiz at this stuff, so can you set up an appointment for about an hour after we land? It will be quick, just a pop in and picture snap, and then we can go on to the hospital. It's his only chance. Dr. Kimball says Jack'll need proof of California residency for the hospital paperwork."

"Sure, I'll set up the appointment, and coordinate with Mrs. Shaw's travel plans. But what does he have to prove he's a resident of California?"

"He says he has his phone bills with the address of the house in L.A."

"He used his real name?!"

"Evidently."

"Dweeb. He never listens to me – "

Linc shuts me down. "Well, at least this one time, it worked out for the best."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"You'll find the Bay Area chilly, so pack lots of sweaters, sweatshirts, and whatnot. You don’t want to be caught out in the cold, so to speak."

"Well, it will be a lot warmer than Ohio, but I hear you, Lincoln." He's barely touched any of his food. "Linc, are you all right?"

He looks up at me with bald-faced honesty. "Dawn, can we go home now?"

"Sure, Lincoln, but why?"

"I worry about Jack." He starts to cry.

I push back on my chair and go to squat next to his side. I embrace him and we sway for a bit together.

"I don’t want him die – " Linc chokes up getting the words out.

"Shush. Ok…we'll go home right now."

"Thank you, Dawn." He sniffles.

I rise to my feet, putting a reassuring hand in his shoulder. "Of course. You wanna go home, so we'll – "

"No…" He cuts me off, rising to his feet as well. "I mean, thank you. Thank you for this, and for loving Jack so much. You're an amazing person."

"You're an awesome person, too, Lincoln. Just awesome."

As we hug it out, a little brat at the railing of the play area makes rude kissy-face grotesqueries at me. I squint, and behind Linc's back so he cannot see, give the kid the silent raspberry he so deserves.

˚˚˚˚˚

It's about four in the afternoon, and Jack's room is in half-light.

That seems to change when he perceives Lincoln, for his face lights up and his position sitting in bed seems to be the center of a newly rising galaxy.

Lincoln rips off Hamish's borrowed coat and hangs it up on a peg next to the door. He kicks off his sneakers as he walks and climbs into bed with Jack. They embrace and kiss briefly with Jack's hands slipping around Lincoln's strong shoulders.

"How are you feeling, kid?" Lincoln asks right against his boyfriend's lips.

"I've had a good day, and I know Dawn took care of you for me."

"That she did!" Both of them turn their radiant smiles my way. "Dawn fed me some Cincy chili dog – or, carny, whatever they're called around here – and she showed me Eastgate Mall, so we can go back, just the three of us. I don’t want you lingering in bed all day, all by yourself."

"Well…" Jack squeezes Lincoln's chest and abdomen. "I hear they've got a mall at Stanford too. That's where we can hang out."

"Oh, oh!" I'm suddenly excited, remembering I have news. "Lincoln and I decided that a major doofus like you better have all the help you can get, so I've decided to go out with you to Palo Alto. It's all decided."

"Is it true?" Jack asks Lincoln with studied softness.

"Yes. She'll take summer classes and make up for lost time. Maybe the two of you will be enrolled together."

The abrupt introduction of the idea of summer into this winter-bound room sends a shiver all around.

"Maybe so, sexy. But summer seems like a long ways away from here and now." Jack rolls his smile around to face me. "Anyway, the more the merrier, and you'll give Linc and my mom a chance to take breaks. Plus, we can just sit and gossip for hours – so, it's all good."

"Damn right it's all good," I say with my snarkiest attempt at humor yet.

"Oh, Dawn! I almost forgot," Lincoln pants in excitement. "Can you hand me that bag?"

He means the one he set on the dresser before he took off his coat, so I try not to smile too severely and give the existence of a surprise away to Jack. I scoop up the plastic pouch and walk it over to Lincoln's waiting grasp.

He beams at me. "Thanks." Then he turns to his boy with breathtaking tenderness. "Jack, I got you a little something today."

"Why'd you do that, Lincoln?" His fingers come out to make contact with the plastic of the bag in Linc's hands.

"Because… I missed you, kid. Here, take it." Lincoln plants the bag firmly in Jack's hands and helps him sit farther up in bed. "You can open it; it's not much."

"I'll be the judge of that." Jack cracks up like a little boy on Christmas morning. He sits fully upright in bed, and in another moment extracts the tissue-wrapped contents of the sack and feels its hefty weight.

"Phew…Lincoln, what is it?"

"Open it babe, I hope you like it."

Jack pulls back the paper and reveals a snow globe. It's not one of those plastic, souvenir-type snow globes with glitter and a flat Empire State Building stuck in it. No, this one is all glass with a polished wooden base. It also has some realistic snow to populate the interior water atmosphere.

As Jack as shakes it with one or two gentle twists, I am again struck at the unusual scene that Lincoln selected. A woman is standing on a platform, like a pedestal, and she has her arms raised to about the height of her ears – as if she's taking a mighty stretch – and a man is passionately embracing her lower legs. The guy's expression is one of relief, and he looks like he can’t believe what has just happened

Jack watches the 'sno' settle over the figures and seems just as mesmerized as Lincoln had been when he first pulled it out of the 'Shakespeare' series in the mall's bookstore.

"It's beautiful, Lincoln Oliver. It's just beautiful. Thank you."

"My pleasure, babe. I knew you'd like it. Soon our winter will be over, just like theirs."

"Yes, Lincoln. I know it will. Love you."

…All of a sudden, I feel like the third wheel that I am…

"I love you too, Jack Shaw."

They lean in and kiss, the snow globe still precipitating gently where Jack holds it suspended between their hearts.

I start to back away. "Ok, I'll leave you two now, so I can go pack. See you both at the hospital in the bright and cheery AM."

"Thanks, Dawn," Jack chirps.

"Rest up," I call back as I close the door gently behind me.

I inhale a snorted breath – you know – the type you just have to make when you feel it's the only thing that might stop the floodgates from creaking open.

Heading for the steps, I hear a sound. Light from Christie's open door spills across the floor in front of me.

"Dawn..?" she calls from her bedroom.

I go up to the doorway and peep in.

Christie asks, "Is he all right?"

"Jack's all right; he's relieved to be reunited with Lincoln."

"Come in, won't you?"

I step in, but try to make clear by my tone that I don’t want to stay for long. "I'll have to be getting… Wait. Why ask me? You've been at home with him all day; find out for yourself."

The expression clouding Christie's features reminds me of the gray skies outside. Some wafting sorrow there seems to promise precipitation.

She shrugs. "I don't know. I would ask him, but I don’t feel very welcomed around him."

I chuckle softly. "Yeah, I guess after you burst in on them – "

"No, it's more than that… Jack and I, we've just never…clicked, that's all."

'Probably,' I think. 'Because you make no effort with him.'

But I ask, "So, what are you doing anyway?"

She's sitting cross-legged in the middle of the floor. A black plastic garbage bag is to her right, and a stack of warped papers and cards to her left – exactly centered in front of her is a substantial mound of artificial flowers, small stuffed animals, and many, many orange candles.

"Mom asked me to 'clean up' the Jack Memorial from in front of the house. She wanted me to throw everything out, but it doesn't seem fair."

I walk over so she and I can converse comfortably. "What do you mean by fair? Jack's home, that's what matters." I know Jack well enough to know he'd want everything trashed, just like his mother does.

"It's not fair, Dawn, that everybody who bothered to come to Jack's shrine, and to show that they cared, should have their cards and letters just thrown away."

"Ok, I can see some of that. So you are saving the personal messages?"

"Yes. It bothers me, Dawn, that neither Jack nor our mom seems to have sympathy for those who showed concern about him." She stands up and stretches like a feline without an evident care in the world.

"Hey, Christie. Let me ask you a question. It's been bugging me, so I'd like to know straight up – no bullshit, ok?"

She shrugs and purses her lips, like she's never 'bullshitted' anyone in her entire life.

I continue, "I'd like to know why you and Hamish did not squeal to the cops after that day you came to my house and basically had me admit I was in contact with Jack."

She looks a bit puzzled.

"I mean," I explain. "You could have started a chain of events that lead to wiretaps, the FBI, and tracking him down. But, you didn't. Why?"

Christie's tone is calm. "I thought we were pretty clear that day in your living room. Jack had made up his mind to run from us – to leave us holding the bag – and we wanted closure for our mom. So you see, you knowing if or when Jack died would be good enough for us. You'd tell her, of that much we were sure, after he was dead."

"So you never really wanted him to be found. Is that correct?" I ask, scanning the now pitiful-looking totems of Christie's quoted 'caring.'

"Jack is the one who left us. He didn't care what he was doing to us or our mom, so…"

Christie's so lingering in the air says it clearly enough – she and Hamish confirm they do not really give a rat's ass about their youngest sibling's fate. The only question remains, why..?

I suddenly feel sick to my stomach and have to get out of here. "I'm going home. See ya."

I nearly stumble down the stairs to get away from that bad vibe. If Jack doesn't have a sister who loves him full out, then it's the least I can do to be there for him as his best friend forever, and as his true sister: one in bonds of love if not of blood.