Jack Who? Perfect Storms

by Lisa Gillis

  “You should’ve answered it.” Tiny feet renewed the slow rotation of the bike peddles.

  “Why?” Again, she was curious, sensing some urgency in his reproof.

  Her mother viewed these types of conversations as her son’s lack of respect toward Marissa as the parent, deeming that things should be told, not explained, to a child. She didn’t get that Tristan was extremely mature for his age, thus could reason things out.

  “To see who it is.” The pronouncement was heaved as if she were dense. Okay, so maybe she was sometimes too lax in asserting authority...

  “Why did you want to know who it was?”

  “Because I liked the music.”

  Her muscles relaxed some at that answer, and she revolved to the stair-master. “You did, huh?” Maybe it was because she had rocked the house non-stop with it during pregnancy. “Well maybe I can find some music like that for you to listen to.” Concentrating, Marissa tried to remember if the lyrics to all of Jackal’s songs were risqué, or if maybe there was just one song tame enough for ears of the lead vocalist’s son.

  The week passed far too quickly. Olivia decided to kennel Bally in her own home instead of driving back and forth to care for the dog. Marissa bought a few new pajamas for Tristan since those he normally wore were faded or outgrown, then packed for both of them in luggage acquired, years ago, as a high school graduation present. A chic, yet comfortable, pantsuit hung on her closet door to wear the day of his surgery.

  On the day before they were to arrive at the hospital, her car idled in the bank parking lot for a full ten minutes before she resolutely switched the ignition off. The walk from the car to the door seemed strenuous enough to be uphill, and the door seemed heavy to pull open. Veering to a teller window, she cashed the check from Jack, sealing her fate, and Tristan’s, in some way that would soon be determined.

  Olivia drove them to the hospital the next morning and hovered with Marissa around the bed that was far too big for the tiny boy in it. They both winced as blood was drawn, but Tristan only frowned, and after the initial ouch, attentively watched the vial turn red. Her thoughts went to the paternity test, yet to be scheduled, and she wondered if he would have to endure needles again after his release from the hospital.

  “Hi Gammy!” Tristan sang out, looking beyond the phlebotomist who was packing up the blood vials.

  Whirling around, Marissa found her mother and moved to give her a hug after she finished embracing her grandson. Her parents had been divorced since her childhood, and it was normally a strain to have both of them in the same area. However, they were supportive. Her father showed up just minutes after Tristan was wheeled into the surgical area.

  Coffee and the comfort of couches down the hall beckoned the rest of them, but Marissa remained in the room unpacking a stuffed tiger from Tristan’s gear. “Tiggy” was Tristan’s favorite plush toy, ranking sleeping privileges in his bed along with Bally. Tiggy was still in her hand when Olivia returned less than a minute later.

  “Want something to eat with your coffee, Rissa?” When Marissa shook her head and moved to the window, her friend persisted, “You coming down to the waiting area?”

  “How is a paternity test done?” Ignoring the question, Marissa asked her own.

  Concern darkened Olivia’s normally bright blue eyes. “Don’t think about that right now, okay? You have enough to deal with–”

  “Is it a blood test?” Clutching the stuffed beast, Marissa persisted.

  “No, I’m sure it’s a swab test.” Softly, Olivia recited the assurance and studied the tiger in her arms.

  “Oh.” Relieved, Marissa precisely placed the king of the jungle in the window, and answered the original question, “No, I can’t eat right now.”

  Reluctantly, Marissa followed Olivia to the family lounge area and sank into a chair, submissively allowing her friend to mix her coffee.

  Conversations between her best friend and her family commenced while Marissa alternated between staring glumly into her cold coffee and at the wall clock with a specific time on her mind. The surgeon had estimated that Tristan would be out of surgery and in recovery within ninety minutes.

  The realization that the chatter had dwindling to a stop was meaningless until she noticed all three heads pointed one direction; six eyes fixated on one common focus.

  “I’ll be damned!” The swear was just under her father’s breath.

  Her mother’s lips formed a silent ‘O’.

  Olivia hissed, mimeishly without moving her lips, “Russ is not who you think he is!”

  This entire scene played out in less than a few seconds, and sending her own gaze along that same geometric plane resulted in a debilitating case of deja vu.

  Shocked, yet obsessed, she watched Jack as he sauntered closer and closer.

  A jacket with the hood down hung loosely open over his shirt and covered the ponytail that held his dark hair slicked back. A cap jammed onto his head covered most of any remaining hair and shaded his face. Like the day they had met, his long legs were clad in jeans and prestigious sneakers encased his feet. The stuffed animal drooping in one arm was enormous.

  Jack had yet to notice his stunned audience. Just before reaching the connecting hall that the large waiting lounge opened into, he paused, resting a hand on the ledge of the nurses’ station.

  The young woman’s flush was obvious even from a distance, and as she pointed, Jack’s head twisted.

  A nanosecond later, his dark gaze locked with hers.

  CHAPTER 10

  “You came...” Rising, Marissa crossed to meet Jack just as he hit the large open entry.

  Her parents and Olivia were still gob smacked, and Jack dipped his head their way in a courteous, yet uneasy, nod.

  Indicating with a slight tip of her own head her wish for him to follow, she slowly started down the hall, ignoring her mother who lunged from the chair obviously wanting an introduction.

  Written on her parents’ faces was recognition, not of who he was, but of who he was. The resemblance to Tristan was strong, especially with his hair pulled back. Factoring in the toy he carried, they had done the math, figuring out he was the missing father of their grandson. Olivia, groupie that she had once been, most probably knew his face from the rock media sources she had once fed on.

  One foot in front of the other, buffed linoleum tile after tile, the clunk of her ankle boots was matched by the soft soled squish of his sneakers. They continued this way, only stopping once they were closed inside the hospital room. Earlier, the room seemed vast and empty once Tristan, along with the bed, was rolled out. Now, with Jack’s presence the walls seemed to close in.

  Ambling over, he set the ginormous plush toy next to the tiger.

  “I called you.” His firm words were spoken as he turned, and his eyes met hers gauging her reaction.

  Cowardly, she could not hold his gaze and instead studiously studied the floor. “You didn’t leave a message.”

  “I didn’t have a message.”

  Now she looked up needing his expression as an aid in this combative exchange. “So why did you call if you had nothing to say?”

  “I have a lot to say. I said I didn’t have a message. I wanted to talk to you...”

  “Really? What could we have to talk about? We only fucked once, or was it twice?” Just as he had mocked her in their recent phone call, she now pulled from that chilly phone conversation a rebound of the hurtful barb.

  “Je–” The sight of innocent plush animals in the window seemed to cut his curse. Possibly, he was counting to ten because in roughly that many seconds later, he brought his eyes back to her face. “I’m sorry about that. About being an ass when you called. But you just dropped something like that on me out of nowhere! What did you expect?”

  “I kinda expected most of it! I just didn’t expect to get hung up on like a bill collector!”

  The words flew from her lips without any thought. When they reverberated in her head, it embarrassed her to
the extreme to have used that analogy. He would never understand collectors calling after a stressful workday or the degrading calls interrupting Tristan’s sweet chatter during dinner.

  “I sure as hell didn’t expect to get re-routed to your lawyer like some stranger!”

  “You kinda are a stranger...”

  Always, until now, she had thought the term ‘seeing red’ was just that. But at this moment, the room seemed to shade with her fury.

  “Get out!”

  “Were, I mean. Not are, were–” Jack hastily attempted to correct the obnoxious answer but epically failed.

  “Get out!” The scream ringing from the depths of her soul sounded exorcist like.

  Always, she had been a strong person, though everything thrown at her. Through her less than ideal childhood; through losing her college scholarship; through catching a cheating fiancé in the act; through a pregnancy with a rock star’s child; through the physical problems that child was born with; through cheapening herself by repeatedly looking for some sort of nirvana that she never knew existed until experiencing it with a man who she could never be with– the same man who had just pushed her to this breaking point.

  As the mother of his child, she had never felt like a stranger even while living separate lives. Yet, apparently, she was. Any connection between them beyond a small child was all in her fantasizing mind.

  “No.” Arms folded over his chest, he stood daring her to say those two words again.

  “Please go...” It wasn’t her intention, but the plea was dangerously close to a grovel.

  “I gave you a chance to be more than a stranger and–”

  “You gave me a chance?” Derisively, she parroted the self-inflated words.

  “I wanted you to come to LA and you wouldn’t...” His hands fell to his side, but his gaze remained strong and slightly challenging.

  Truly she must have cracked, because the hysteria faded, and a quiet calm pervaded her emotions. Imitating his stance of a minute or so ago, she crossed her arms and sent him a smug smile. “Did you? How badly did you want me there?”

  “Pretty bad.” His admission was hushed and humble, and his eyes held hers.

  Movement registered in her corner vision, and unwillingly she dragged from that hypnotic brown gaze to the door that eased open. Not surprising, her mother’s head slipped through just before the rest of her. “Marissa darling, is everything okay?”

  “Yes, thanks mom.” It was possible that her parent had lingered outside the door long enough to hear their raised voices, but more likely her mother actually silently sought an explanation, and still an introduction. Marissa wanted to pointedly turn away until she left. But, after the initial shock and condemnation of the wild ways that made her an unwed mother, her parents had both stepped up. So, she remained patient with her mother’s nosy nature. “Could you give us a few minutes more?”

  The door fell shut, and in unspoken agreement, neither of them immediately picked up the conversation until a safe half-minute passed.

  “Think about it. How badly would you have wanted me there?” Softly, she repeated the question to make the point.

  “I thought about it a lot before inviting you, and a lot after you said no...” Comprehension caused his jaw to go slack, and his astonished gaze rested on her face before dropping to her stomach. “You were pregnant then.”

  “Very.”

  Intently, she studied his expression. The path had forked at this point five years ago, and she had taken the path of least resistance. Had her fears to reveal the pregnancy been justified? Would he have flipped? Or was she wrong; would he have actually wanted to share in the experience?

  Fingers went up as if to fork through his hair, and a twinge of familiarity registered. On that fateful day, that forever tied them together, his hair had been long and loose, and he had pushed it from his face many times while hovering over her. Encountering no stray strands, the hand fell away, and he turned to the window. This time, he lifted Tiggy, staring into stitched eyes.

  “Does he like dogs?”

  Unable to wrap her mind around the subject change, especially since her feelings were turbulent, the word resounded in her head. Dogs? Realization dawned that he was speaking of the stuffed toy he had carried in, and she attempted a smile. “Yes, he likes dogs. Especially that dog.”

  Now he was the one who was uncomprehending, and he curiously looked the tiger over as if she were referring to it as a canine.

  “The dog you brought.” Rolling with the conversation change, she explained, “It’s a cartoon character, ‘Bandit.’ One of his favorite cartoons. You did good.”

  “Bandit huh?” Returning Tiggy next to Bandit, he fixed his attention to her. Visibly, his features had relaxed some. “What are we going to tell your family?”

  “We?”

  Dark eyes assessed her face, moving so slowly and so intensely that they felt like a physical caress. At last, they stopped on hers. “They seem to have already guessed...”

  Her breathing slowed under his intimate appraisal, yet at the same time expelled and inhaled in short breaths. “Are you staying?” Then feeling her own hopeful heart and realizing how she must be looking at him, she hurriedly clarified, wanting to make sure he knew her words related to the hospital, and not staying in general, “If you don’t want to wait around–”

  Three short raps on the door interrupted mid-sentence, and this time she turned ready to snap at her mother. Instead of her parent, a tall woman dressed in full scrubs, even to the booties and cap, and the mask hanging around her neck, entered. “Mr. and Mrs. Duplei?”

  “Uh, I’m Marissa. Duplei. Tristan’s mother.” For some reason, even though the surname was incorrect, the pairing of Mr. and Mrs. flustered her to stutter.

  “I have an update on Tristan’s condition. Are you his father?” In the silence that ensued, the CRNA, like all medical staff, seemed rushed and reworded her initial speculation. “As I’ve come straight from surgery and don’t have the patient’s signed confidentiality record, I have to ask that anyone who is not a parent or guardian of the patient step out for a moment please.”

  Jack shifted his eyes from the nurse to hers, and a few tense seconds ticked by. Muted by conflict and confusion, she could only stare back. She wanted to tell him to stay. Yet another part of her was curious to see what he would do–whether he would choose to, and insist on being the parent that he was.

  A lump of disappointment lodged in her throat when he quietly exited the room, and yet a weight of relief lifted. Surely, he had no interest in custody.

  “Ms. Duplei, the surgery went well. However, Tristan experienced an allergic reaction to the anesthesia.”

  The weight crashed back down with a crushing force, and without pause the woman gently continued, “He is having some breathing problems. The prognosis is good, but he gave us a scare in OR. Instead of bringing him here, we have moved him into a critical care unit so he can be closely monitored. We would like to move you to the waiting area there.” Darkness dimmed her vision, swiftly bleeding from the outer edges, moving to meet in the middle. Shaking it off, before she blacked out, she felt the woman’s hand on her shoulder and heard her saying, “I can escort you, and one other person. If his father is here, it should be him.”

  Still unable to speak, Marissa bobbed an understanding nod. Automatically, her gaze swept the room for her shoulder bag, but it was still down the hall forgotten with the shock of seeing Jack.

  The nurse held the door open, and when they passed through, Jack, who was slouched against the wall with his fists in his jacket pockets, straightened to attention. Politely, the woman slowed her steps, and wordlessly, Marissa grabbed at Jack’s jacket and quickly followed, dragging him along.

  CHAPTER 11

  JACK’S HEAD TIPPED inquiringly down, but he wordlessly matched their strides, and she let the fabric drop.

  They were traversing the hallway away from the seating area, and she wondered if her parent’s and Oli
via’s eyes were on them, but she didn’t dare turn to look. Sure enough, her phone buzzed from her pocket, quietly announcing a text. They stepped into the elevator as a trio, and ignoring the text for now, she looked up at Jack as the doors met and the floor began to lift.

  There was one other occupant, and that man was intent on the newspaper in his hand. Clearing her throat, she croaked out an explanation to Jack. “Tristan had a reaction to the anesthesia. He’s in critical care, and that’s where we are headed.”

  Keeping her gaze pinned on the lit and unlit buttons to the various floors, she refused to watch his reaction. As he had chosen not to be a part of that news in the first place, she was afraid of seeing indifference. Grabbing him upon exiting the room had been instinctual, something that, if she had given even a second of thought, she would not have done.

  “There is a comfortable area where you will be closer until he wakes.” Extending the explanation, the nurse filled the silent gap.

  “Can I see him right away?” Marissa begged, stepping aside enough for the man with the rolled up Herald in his hand to exit onto his selected floor.

  “For just a few minutes.” Gently and concisely, the ICU rules were explained, and when Jack asked a question, the CRNA repeated the full brief on the allergic reaction.

  Jack seemed like he wanted to say something more, but he looked at Marissa and remained quiet. The tone announced their level, and they stepped out into the hall of the new floor. Once again, when her phone buzzed in her pocket, she ignored it, and in less than a minute, she was standing at the foot of Tristan’s bed.

  Hyperventilation threatened her own breathing as she beheld the ventilation tubes, the IV tubes, and various machine paraphernalia around her boy’s bed. Dark hair strands were a contrast against the crisp, white pillow– a pillow that was half his size or more.

  In a flash, Marissa edged around the bed, and her fingers softly settled on his hot forehead then brushed at his soft hair. His breathing was slow and even as if he was napping, but the hiss of the oxygen flowing into the tube attachment beneath his nose wheezed over the sound of his breath.