He has never said those three magical words to me before and I have never said them to him.
Is this an inkling of how he really feels?
Stop this.
Stop this immediately, I say to myself.
You have enough to worry about.
Just take the note at face value and that’s it.
Unsure of where Jackson went or when he’ll be back, I decide to venture outside. I’m not a big fan of the cold, but I would be lying if I said that I didn’t miss the cold the way it in in Montana.
In the Rockies, there’s hardly any humidity and the dryness gives the air a crispness that doesn’t exist back east.
Every day feels entirely new, fresh, never touched.
Never marred.
I put on my winter gear and step outside.
I run around to the back of the house toward the beautiful meadow surrounded on all sides by thick forests of towering pines.
The snow makes a loud crinkling sound under my boots.
I sweep my mitten in it and it falls apart like powdered sugar.
There isn’t a wet flake here.
When I close my eyes, I see him again.
He always hated wearing hats and my parents virtually insisted on them, but he would take them off immediately as soon as he was out of sight.
One of our favorite things to do together was to plop down in the snow and make snow angels.
I lean back and let myself go.
My body falls limp into a thick pile of snow, right above a little grove.
Its softness brings me in and cushions my fall.
I lie here for a moment before opening my eyes. He is laughing and smiling and calling my name to do it again and again.
I want to hold onto this feeling as long as I can because once I open my eyes, it will be gone.
But he disappears as quickly as he appeared, before I even have the chance to pull away first.
Slowly, I open my eyes and look at the bright blue sky. Yesterday’s gray has been supplanted by today’s blue.
There isn’t a cloud in the sky and the sun beaming down on me makes me actually feel hot.
I pull my arms through the parting snow from my thighs all the way to the top of my head and down again.
Almost involuntarily, my legs follow.
They separate and spread out evenly over the snow.
Now, comes the hardest part.
If you want your snow angel to be perfect, and you do, you have to get up in such a way as to not disturb it.
Even though my face feels warm, my butt is starting to go numb and I know that it’s time to get up.
Bringing my legs back together, I sit up and carefully try to get up without using my hands for support.
Unfortunately, given everything that I’m wearing, that task is practically impossible.
So, instead, I place my hands behind my back and nudge myself forward.
When I’m on my feet, I jump as far away as possible so as not to leave any shoe prints around the snow angel and reveal its true identity.
I jump pretty far and when I turn around to take a look at my handiwork, my eyes tear up.
This is the kind of snow angel that would make Aspen proud.
I stand here looking at it and waiting.
Waiting for what exactly?
I don’t know.
A sign perhaps.
A sign that he is not gone forever.
That he is still here…with me.
A gust of wind comes and swirls around me.
It’s so strong that it picks my hat off my head and tosses it into snow. It takes me a few gallops to catch up to it.
Was that it?
Was that what I was waiting for?
Or was that just the wind?
I head back inside without a clear answer.
Chapter 9 - Harley
Inside…
Jackson is still not back, so I make myself a cup of tea and open my journal.
I don’t even know where to start now.
So much has happened. I don’t want to write about my mother. That’s too painful, too recent.
So, my thoughts turn to fiction.
It’s always easier to lose yourself in versions of the truth rather than in the truth itself.
I read through what I have already: sketches of a man much like Jackson.
But where is this story going?
What does he want?
What does he need?
A woman.
She will be like me, but not exactly like me.
A version of me.
I begin a new chapter from her perspective.
She’s new to New York and she loves every part of it.
I try to continue, but out here among acres of wilderness, New York seems like something I made up in a feverish dream.
No, I have to write about something more real.
Yes, of course.
The woman will meet the man.
She will beat down his door and beg for his help.
Shivers run down my spine as I relive what happened.
But in my writing, it’s a bit different.
A bit skewed.
Electrified.
But then I stop mid-sentence.
It’s too much.
The memories flood my mind and mix in with the memories of yesterday and of Aspen, and it’s all too much.
I can’t write.
Not about this.
Not yet.
“Hey!” Jackson walks in through the door, holding a box from the Missoula Bakery.
He flips it open, facing me and my mouth immediately starts to water for the yummy goodies inside.
“Aren’t you even going to give me a kiss first?” he asks as my fingers reach for the eclair.
I grab it and give him a passionate kiss on the lips.
“You are…amazing,” I mumble, taking a bite of the treat. He shakes his head.
“Wow, I had no idea you were such a fan of baked goods. I would’ve gotten you some sooner.”
“First of all, who isn’t a fan of baked goods? And secondly, yes, you should have. Totally should have. And the fact that you haven’t is something that I will hold against you forever.”
He grabs a plain croissant and pours himself a cup of coffee from the pot he made earlier.
“You’re not a big fan of coffee, are you?” he asks.
I shake my head.
“I’ll have it once in a while, but I’m a tea kind of girl.”
I don’t know why I’m suddenly in such a good mood.
Maybe it's just seeing him again.
Or maybe it’s because he brought me the most delicious eclair in the world.
“When did you wake up?”
“Not long ago.”
“Seriously?”
I nod. “Why did you let me sleep so late?”
“You were really exhausted last night. And after everything that happened, you needed to rest.”
“Well…I appreciate it. Thank you.”
He nods.
While we eat, it slowly dawns on me that something is different. He isn’t exactly the same.
There’s an eagerness to him that I haven’t seen before.
It’s like he’s trying to influence me in some way or to get me to do something.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yes, of course,” he says a little too fast.
I narrow my eyes.
He’s lying to me.
And he’s not very good at it.
What’s going on here?
“Tell me what’s going on,” I demand to know.
“Nothing…nothing bad,” he stumbles over his words.
The confidence and the self-assuredness that I came to believe he embodied at all times is suddenly gone.
Vanished.
“Please don’t lie to me, Jackson. I can’t handle anymore lies right now.”
He nods and looks away. His eyes won’t meet mine. My stoma
ch begins to rumble. I’m not hungry, but I am anxious. My palms get sweaty. What did he do?
“Okay,” he says, taking a deep breath. “Promise me you won’t get mad.”
“That’s impossible since I have no idea what you are about to say.”
“So, promise anyway.”
I shake my head.
“Don’t play games, Jackson. I don’t like games.”
He takes a deep breath.
“Will you at least promise to hear me out?”
I think about that for a moment and then give him a nod.
“I met with your father this morning.”
I drop my half-eaten eclair onto the floor.
When it collides, it bounces up and the filling explodes out of it, covering my feet and legs in delicious sweet sugary cream.
Chapter 10 - Harley
When I don’t hear him…
“Wait, a second, what do you mean you met with my father this morning?” I say the words, but they don’t make anymore sense coming out of my mouth than they do from his.
Jackson takes a few steps away from me.
I come forward.
“Listen, I don’t want you to get upset—“ he starts to say, but I cut him off.
“Why the hell were you meeting with my father behind my back?”
“He called me.”
“How did he even get your number?”
We are getting off track, I don’t really care.
What I care about is why he went there.
I mean, of course, I know why.
My father is trying to make nice on my mother’s behalf, like he always does.
That has been his job ever since I was a little girl.
My mom makes a mess, and my father cleans it up.
Kind of ironic, since she’s a cop and all.
“I’m not sure, but he mentioned Julie.”
I shake my head. “Of course. I gave her your number just in case. Not for her to give out to just anybody.”
“Your father isn’t just anybody.”
My body is fuming.
I feel so betrayed.
How could he meet with him?
It’s like what they did to me last night doesn’t matter.
Whatever means possible to justify the ends, right?
I walk away from Jackson and pace around the room.
I am torn between never wanting to speak to him again and needing him to tell me what they talked about.
“I’m sorry that I met with him, Harley. What else can I say?”
“Are you sorry because it was the wrong thing to do?”
He takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry because I shouldn’t have snuck out of the house. I just knew that…you wouldn’t want me to go.”
Our conversation is going in loops and getting us nowhere in particular.
“What did he want?” I finally ask after taking a deep breath.
But before he can answer, I cut him off.
“Oh, wait, I know! He told you how much he and my mom miss me. He told you how mean I was to not answer Mom’s calls, right? How inconsiderate. And if I just had, then they wouldn’t have made up this ridiculous unforgivable thing?”
“Your mom and your dad are…seeing each other again.”
“What?” I gasp.
“She cheated on him with some guy she used to date in high school.”
“Apparently, they’re working through their problems.”
I walk around the room, my head thick with confusion.
“I don’t understand why they did this,” I whisper. “I really don’t.”
Jackson walks over to me and puts his arms around me.
I am still angry, but it feels good to have his body close to mine.
Suddenly, I crave him again.
The feeling comes out of nowhere and takes me by surprise.
I bite my lower lip to keep it at bay without much success.
Then I cave. I reach over to him and press my lips onto his.
Hard.
I kiss him like I want to hurt him, which I do. I’m angry with him, yet I yearn for him.
He kisses me back, his lips devouring mine.
But the more we kiss, the harder it is to pull away.
The craving for him is so strong, it’s as if he’s a drug.
When his hands leave my neck and trail down my body, I suddenly push him away.
“No, no, no.” I jump away from him and walk toward the window.
I wrap my arms around my body and stare out at the meadow, my perfect snow angel, now crossed by rabbit’s footsteps.
Jackson begins to talk.
I don’t turn around to face him, just listen, looking away.
His voice is soft with an even keel, without an ounce of emotion.
He’s not his advocate; he is just relaying what my father told him.
“He said that he misses you very much. He said that these years after Aspen’s death have been the hardest in his life. But what made losing the ranch and Aspen even worse is that he lost his whole family after that as well. His wife left, and you moved away never to return.”
I want to rebut, state my case.
Explain myself.
But I’d be talking to a ghost.
My father isn’t here.
This is a one way conversation where I am only on the receiving end.
“A few months ago, he ran into your mom and they went out for a drink. And they’ve been inseparable ever since.”
I shrug, shaking my head.
“He told me that they’ve been together their whole lives, Harley. And that they both made mistakes, but they also learned to forgive each other and move on. They didn’t want to lose anymore time.”
I clench my jaw.
It would be a lie to say that a part of me was relieved that they were back together.
As difficult as my mom is, the only person who ever tempered her tendencies is my dad.
He was always the one who was kind.
He was always the one who softened her up and made her a human being.
And in return, she supported him and his crazy ideas, though through clenched teeth.
“So…so, what about now?” I ask, finally turning around.
He looks me straight in the eye and gives me a shrug.
“He didn’t say.”
I furrow my brow. What does he mean he didn’t say?
“He didn’t go into it.”
“So, what, you just talked to him about the past?”
“And the future.”
I don’t understand.
“He wanted to know what my intentions are with you.”
I take a step back, completely surprised.
“Trust me, I was as shocked as you are. But he came right out and asked me. He said his little girl doesn’t need anyone wasting her time.”
“That doesn’t sound like my dad,” I say, shaking my head. “What did you say to him?”
Jackson takes a step closer to me. He lifts my chin up and looks directly into my eyes.
“I told him that I love you.”
I blink.
“I love you, Harley.”
Chapter 11 - Jackson
When I see her…
The words just came out.
They weren’t planned.
I hadn’t given it much thought.
But when I was sitting there in that cozy coffee shop with the man who was responsible for bringing Harley into the world, and he asked me how I felt about her, I told him the truth.
Harold Burke is a talkative man with wispy, out of control hair, and patches on the elbows of his jacket.
When he comes in, he stomps his feet to get the snow off his boots, takes off his long puffy coat, and comes right over to me.
I extend my hand, but he embraces me with a big bear hug, even though he’s not a very big man.
After ordering his coffee and a muffin the size of Wisconsin, he takes a seat across from me and apologizes.
“I’m so sorry that we had to meet under these terrible circumstances, and I want to thank you for taking the time to meet with me today.”
“Thank you, Mr. Burke.”
“Oh, please, call me Harold. Only my students call me Mr. Burke.”
I nod. “What do you teach?”
“American History. Tenth grade. Government. Eleventh grade.”
“That must be…a handful.”
Given that I’ve never had the patience for kids, let alone teenagers, I have great admiration for those who make teaching their life.
“They are, but they’re also incredibly fun. It’s nice to be there to see them grow and learn and become the people that they are going to be.”
“Where did you go to school?”
“University of North Carolina.”
“Impressive. Are you from the south?”
“No, I’m actually from Pennsylvania. But I liked the campus when I took a tour so that’s why I went there.”
“What did you major in?”
“History. I actually wrote my senior thesis on how the Civil War became the Indian Wars and the devastation of the Native American nations in the Reconstruction Era and the colonization of the West.”
“That’s something that I’m quite familiar with,” he says with a smile. “So, what is it that you do now? History majors tend to pursue careers in the law.”
“Mine took me in a little different direction.”
He is pleasantly surprised when I mention Minetta Media.
Apparently, he’s an avid consumer of our content and is a big fan of a number of our podcasts.
We talk about that until it starts to feel like we are just buying time, dancing around the real reason I’m here.
But I don’t push him.
Relationships between adult children and their parents are very complicated and the fact that he had reached out to me, a total stranger, is reason enough to let him bring it up in his own time.
“Did Harley tell you about the Burke Ranch?” he asks after we order another round of coffees.
I nod.
“It was our dream. Leslie’s and mine. We didn’t come from much, spent most of our time in foster homes, actually that’s where we met. When we were both seventeen. It wasn’t a good place, so we decided to run away together and get married. We were so young.”
I nod, amazed at how open he is being with a total stranger.
Tangled up in Pain Page 4