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- 09/23/2015
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Destiny - a novel - 15. Chapter 15: Faith
Chapter 15: Faith
The leafy-green smell of Jack's kale and scrambled eggs lingers uneaten on the air.
I sit on the couch with Jackson this early morning after Lincoln's arrest and consider that the boy looks as tired as I feel.
"Dawn," he inquires listlessly. "Are you going to discard?"
"Oh, yes. Sorry." I pull out a 10 of Clubs and set it down.
After a lackluster moment of study, he picks it up, slides it in about midway through his hand of cards, and sets a winning array on the sofa cushion in front of him. Now I know he's messed up inside, 'cause he's never won anything off of me without an 'in your face' display of bravado.
"Jackson, it's gonna be all right. They can't hold Linc forever."
He lowers his voice, leaning in closer and glancing to Jack in bed. His mom is standing there trying to coax him to eat 'for Linc's sake.' "I know, but his extradition hearing is this afternoon, and if the court hands him over to that Do-Wrong McCluster-fuck, he'll be on a plane back to Ohio tonight. I suspect that if they get him back to Cincinnati, it's all over for him."
A lump instantly forms and gets caught in my throat; that certainly is the worst case scenario.
"And you," I ask wryly. "Where did you disappear to so suddenly yesterday afternoon, Mr. Mysterious?"
He offers up a cunning head motion. "I had to get my P's and Q's straight for Lincoln's sake."
"And, you don’t want to share what those are?"
"No, Dawn. Sorry, because Linc asked me not to spill the beans."
I shrug.
He continues in a slightly more open tone. "All I can tell you is that I had to pop home to take care of some business."
Chuckling, I rap knuckles once on his kneecap. "That wording makes you sound like you're one of those boys who tossed a pair of sneakers onto Berkley's utility wires."
"A drug dealer..?" Jackson appears both thoroughly annoyed and flattered.
"It's possible," I say defensively.
He half chortles, slowly wagging his head from side to side. "Tisk, tisk, Dawn. You would think so low of me?"
Feeling 'guilty,' my hand returns to his leg, only this time to lightly stroke the denim there for comfort. "No, I don’t think ill of you, dweeb." In fact, I might as well start facing the facts of my evolving feelings for Jackson. "You were brave yesterday…and…magnificent telling those reporters to fuck off. You reminded them that they were trampling all over the one who was supposed to matter – Jack! What story existed for them to profit from without his suffering, and they were just like a self-feeding storm of locusts. All they do is make their own news to report."
"Strong opinions, Dawn, but I can't disagree." Jackson's smile comes back. "I was magnificent? Really?" His eyebrows flicker, in case I had just missed the import of his intended snarkiness.
"See, I knew you wouldn't let that one slide by, Mr. Sore Winner."
"Ha-ha! I guess my ego is a hungry, hungry hippo. Feed me, feed me, Dawn." He tries to tickle me.
"Oh, no." My hands go out and clamp onto his wrists. Suddenly his face grows blank, and his tone serious. "But, you are coming with me to the courthouse, aren't you? You can prop me up while I support Lincoln. We can both show our support!"
I turn his hands loose.
"I don’t know… Maybe Jack – "
Mrs. Shaw chimes in. "Yes, Dawn, do! Please be there for Jack and I, and give Lincoln all of our encouragement and love."
"Yes, Dawn, do," Jack cheerily adds.
I restore my attention to Jackson, feeling something like a blush overtake me. "Yes. I'll come with you – it's all settled."
"Good. I told my mom about it last night. My folks may or may not show up."
"…For their own son..? Not show up?"
Jackson blinks a moment like a tear is backing up. "Some of us don’t have the kind of help that you and Jack have with your parents. It's just the way it is."
As I am trying to process the emotional starkness of his situation at home, I hear a phone vibrating. My hand flies to touch the outside of my pocket.
When it rings again, Jackson pulls his out and looks at the screen. "It's my mom – speak of the devil – I better take this."
It rings a third time, and Jackson stands and briskly walks to the door. Just as he exits, I can hear him say into his cell: "Hello..?"
Rising up to stretch, I find myself looped in a replay of Jackson's expression while he sardonically said 'speak of the devil.' I begin to gather the playing cards, stack them, and open the box to slip them in. There was a mirthful glint in his sparkling purple-blue eyes that spoke simultaneously of perseverance and hope, but also of boundless sorrow. It was a beautiful look, one that seemed to effortlessly confirm the old adage that the eyes are the windows to the soul.
I put the boxed deck of cards on the end table near the base of the lamp, and drift over to Jack's bedside. Absentmindedly, I glance down at his discarded meal tray and see he's at least eaten half of his eggs, and I admire how much hard work it must have taken for Mrs. Shaw to even achieve that.
Looking at the boy, it seems he too hardly slept a wink last night. Still, I find my mind awash with thoughts of Jackson: of his smile, but also of his little movements of frowning self-doubt that I bet he thinks no one notices. Those are moments when he prefers to slip behind his camera lens and be 'invisible.'
"Are you all right, Dawn dear?"
Mrs. Shaw's words break me out of it. "I'm fine. I don’t think any of us slept very well last night."
Jack raises his hand to me, and I take it feeling suddenly guilty. Jack is the important one here – and now in addition to having to fight for his life, he's forced to worry about the one he loves so much fighting for his freedom. I'm guilty for allowing myself to think about Jackson's looks, about how I may be falling for him – but that can wait, I guess.
"Jack, this sucks so bad, but I have faith this mess will be cleared up."
He smiles up at me. "I have faith in my Lincoln."
Mrs. S. strokes his forehead, moving his white USA cap slightly out of the way; this action makes him regard her.
"It's horrible, sweetheart," she croons in a soft level of comfort. "That your boyfriend was taken from your side. Let's pray he won't be absent for long."
Jack does something unexpected; he laughs, and it’s a cascade of real happiness. "Linc proposed to me yesterday, and I said 'YES!' So, you will kindly refer to Lincoln Oliver as my fiancé from now on – both of you!" His laughter rotates on me like a giddy siren.
"Ok," I tell him, chuckling. "You're the future Mrs. Oliver – got it!"
Mrs. Shaw's reaction is far more complex and off-putting. She slowly withdraws her hand and stands erect – I half expect she'll fold arms against her son any minute. She draws out a suspicious: "Are you sure?"
Jack's face goes blank. "What do you mean, am I sure?"
"Jack, you are so young."
"What does age matter, Mom? You of all people should know that."
"What does he mean?" I ask, genuinely not knowing.
"Dawn," she sighs. "I did mention my courtship to you when we chatted that day in the motel room."
"Yes, but perhaps you omitted to reveal how old you two were at the time."
"Ok," she admits. "Jack's father was nineteen when he got down on one knee and held up this ring for me to take…" She lifts up and twists her diamond band with the thumb of the same hand it's on. "But, he was young, he was going to college, and although nothing was settled, he had a vision of where he wanted to go in life, and what he'd do."
Jack sounds sad. "Mom, please. Lincoln is uber-smart, just because his life is in a moment of change – both of ours are – don’t think that means he has no vision, no hope."
"Son, I didn't – "
"Because I have faith that Linc will re-start school and be great at whatever he chooses. Did you know he's been taking college-level courses the whole time he was down in L.A.?"
Mrs. S. indicates 'no' with a slow headshake. This info hits her hard; she seems suitably impressed. "Jack, you're so young – "
"Tell Dawn, Mom. Tell her how old you were when you got engaged."
Her eyes come up to hold mine. A smile, which is half-annoyed and half-wistful, plays on one side of her mouth. "I was seventeen, and Jack knows that. And Jack won't let me forget it either."
"So, I'm one year younger than you when – "
His mother laughs. "You just turned sixteen! You might as well still be fifteen."
"But I'm not, am I?"
Mrs. Shaw does not answer.
Instead, that returned wistfulness glazes her eyes as she tells me, "Dawn, Jack's father and I dated straight through high school, and after he went away to college and we were forced to be apart for the first time, he told me he realized he never wanted to be officially away from me again, so he got the ring, proposed, and I said 'yes.'" Her tone slips down to her boy with a bit of sternness. "But Jack, I had to go home, hide my ring and live with the sweet little secret of it for months. I waited until my eighteenth birthday to slip that ring on officially and let my folks know."
"Why?" Jack asks.
"Because, under eighteen, I needed my parents' permission to get married, and afterwards, they couldn't say no even it they had wanted to."
"They didn't want you to marry Dad at that age?"
She sighs and laughs at the same time. "They would say I was too young to get married, and now, all these years later, I know how they feel! You boys are too young, sweetheart."
"You know it’s not true, Mother. Your own happiness and lifelong commitment says it's not true. Young love can be real love too."
Her laughter nearly turns to tears. "Jack, dear – dearest son – I want you to be happy, but I also don’t want you to suffer." Her arms finally come up in a defensive fold over her chest.
Like a light bulb going off, the reality of the situation hits me. Why would Mrs. Shaw be so skeptical about 'young love' if she had such a happy story? – Because that happy story of hers ended abruptly when Jack's dad became ill and died so suddenly. Maybe Mrs. S. is simply trying to save her son from the pain of loss – or maybe she's concerned that an eighteen-year-old Lincoln won't be strong enough to handle Jack's loss.
His mom exhales in a long, deliberate display of partial surrender. Letting her arms fall, she tells her son plainly, "It will be difficult to get a marriage license: your age is a factor; that it's a same-sex union will be a factor; that you cannot apply for it in person is a factor."
Tears fall from Jack's eyes. "Some wise person once told me, everything worth fighting for is difficult."
She tries not to cry herself by chuckling. "Brat – turning my own words against me. Jack, you are so young. I don’t doubt your love for Linc, or his for you – I have no reason to disbelieve it – but marriage is a challenge. It means being able to take the other person's crap day after day and still love them. That kind of daily trial is harder and harder the younger and younger a couple is. I don’t want you to have to go through the hardship of divorce later on."
"Mom – you do have your doubts, so don’t try to fool either me or yourself. Lincoln and I will make it, and even if we don’t, would you rather have your son alive and divorced, or dead and unmarried? What I do, I do for Lincoln, because I love him. Can you see that?"
Mrs. Shaw does not answer.
I decide to try and cut the tension. I gently smack Jack's thigh with the back of my hand. "So, dweeb, where's this ring of yours? No one's official until that engagement jewelry is on the finger."
Major fail. Jack looks totally sad as he tells me, "Don't worry, he'll give me one, just as soon…as soon – "
I cut him off by swooping down to kiss his cheek. "Yes. I don’t doubt it, Jack. You'll get the world's most perfect sign of love just as soon as Lincoln is free to get it for you." My vision is so blurry, I quickly wipe my eyes to keep the tears from landing in Jack's face.
"It's all right, Dawn. I know you didn't – "
A soft knock on the wall near the door disturbs Jack's train of thought. I turn around expecting to see Jackson gallantly letting us know he's reentered the room.
Mrs. Shaw and I gasp as the same moment.
"Am I interrupting?" Christie asks humbly.
She comes forward to stand there, out in front of Jack's bed, looking miserable. She holds her coat in her hands, which are slung low in front of her, just below the beltline of her conservative suit. She appears sorry, I have to say.
"Christie," her mom asks. "When did you get in?"
"'Bout an hour ago. Your phone call, Mom – well, it…" She can't seem to make herself go on.
Mrs. Shaw strides up to her. One reassuring hand placed on the girl's shoulder seems to do it – it frees her.
"Oh, Mom. I feel so ashamed."
Mrs. S. takes her daughter's coat, glances at Jack, and tells her, "It's not me you need to be explaining yourself to."
Christie swallows audibly, and steps up to Jack's left side. "Jack – " she starts, her voice quavering, her eyes only skipping glances off of her brother like a stone across a pond.
"Why is it that you hate me so much?"
"Oh, Jack. I don’t." Her sight finally settles fully on his.
"Neither Hamish or I do, it's just that growing up, he and I, we had each other, above and beyond anyone else. We were children who were hurt when our mom started paying more attention to your illness than us."
She moves around the side of the bed to get closer to him and gently takes Jack's hand; her attention becomes split between her mother and brother. "That Christmas when I was eleven, Hamish and I were loaded down with gifts, but Jack in the hospital got all of your time that day. We were just scared little kids, Mom. And I'm sorry to say, we continued to act that way." Her eyes glaze over with tears as she resettles a committed focus on Jack. "I hope you can forgive me, brother, but the truth is that when I was a little girl, I begged God to make me sick too, so Mom would love me again." Her tears fall freely.
Jack grips her hand tightly. "But Mom never stopped loving you."
"I know that now."
"Then, don’t you see?" Jack tells her. "You are already forgiven, cuz I never stopped loving you either."
Mrs. Shaw extracts a hankie from the cuff of her sweater, and I wish I had a tissue.
Christie slowly bends down to hug Jack where he lies, careful not to tug or get tangled in his IV line. She chokes back the sobs about to erupt from her throat.
Mrs. Shaw lends me her tear rag.
After his sister pulls back and straightens up, he chuckles ironically. "Now, as for Lincoln's forgiveness, you might still have some work to do."
Christie is visibly touched, but does not laugh. "Jack, I've had a chance to look at myself through the mirror of this whole 'statutory…' thing, and I don’t like what I see. Hamish may have pushed me, but what I did, I did out of my own free will, and for that, I am truly sorry." She turns a hopeful gaze on her mom. "I will refuse to testify. They won't be able to put Lincoln on trial."
Mrs. S. reminds her soberly, "This thing has a life of its own now, especially with the media circus surrounding Jack. I'm afraid there's no way the prosecutor will let it drop. Especially not when he can build a celebrity, 'tough on crime' career with this on TV, so there's no way he'll let it drop, not when they have your grand jury testimony to use. No, I'm afraid it's out of your hands already."
Dr. Kimball calls "Hello, hello" from the door and rushes in with a manila medical chart anxiously clutched in his hand.
Jackson follows right behind him, still closing down the screen of his phone. The dweeb looks so out of the loop as he lowers his head and inches past Jack's oncologist. He comes to stand by me with his arm slipping casually – naturally – around my waist.
"I'm sorry," Dr. Kimball mumbles, as he divides his attention between Jack, Christie and Mrs. Shaw. "Is this is a bad time..?"
Mrs. Shaw laughs with what sounds like a triumphant ring to it. "No, Dr. Kimball! This is a great time. This is the best of times!"
"I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"
Jack tells him with chuckle-edged tones, "No, doctor. The more the merrier." He swings Christie's hand. "There's always room for love. Right?"
The oncologist appears a tad confused for a moment, but then seems to remember why he's here. He waves the chart around. "Speaking of love, I have the final test results back. There's one solid match."
The room is awash in stunned jubilance.
"Is it me?" Mrs. Shaw asks.
"Or me?" Christie adds.
Dr. Kimball stills himself and reddens. Perhaps he's just realized that what news he has to deliver may not be as good as this roomful of people is hoping. He finally stammers in a soft voice: "No, it's Hamish."
Christie steels herself with newfound determination. "Let me do it, Mom. It's the least I can do for Jack and Lincoln. I'll go to Virginia today and make him see the light. He'll come back with me."
Jack asks, "Are you sure you can do it?"
Christie pauses for a moment with a flash of false optimism washing over her face. She lets the fakeness drop, and tells her brother honestly, "No, Jack. I can't be sure, but I won't stop begging him until he comes around. Please trust me on that one; I won't give up on him, or you. You've shown me my whole life how to be brave by example, so it's time I begin following my heart and not my stupid pain."
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15
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Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
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