We were seated on the patio facing the strip. The front side of the restaurant had large glass doors similar to garage doors which were open, leaving the restaurant open to the outside and the patio open to the restaurant. I sat facing the restaurant, and she faced the strip. The evening was warm, but it was late enough in the season that it wasn’t ridiculously hot. I leaned back in my chair, inhaled a deep breath, and gazed beyond her at the palm trees lining the street.
“Ever been in love?” I asked.
She nodded her head and grinned. Still cupping the top of my hand in hers, she responded.
“Frank. He passed two years ago June. But, to answer your question, yes. And very much so, I might add,” she said.
She was in her mid-sixties, very well-dressed, and an adorable. Dressed in a light blue pants suit, and with perfectly placed short gray sprigs of product-infused hair, she could have easily doubled for a retired movie star.
I closed my eyes and thought of the day Jackson kissed me the first time, at the coffee shop.
“Well, I don’t know if Frank was a kisser, but Jackson is. And the first time he kissed me…well, let’s just say it was one of those kisses that made me go weak in the knees, lose my hearing, and realize without a doubt, all at the same time,” I paused and opened my eyes.
“That he was the one. There would never be another soul to challenge him, take his place, or fill the void he left when he was gone. God graced me with his presence,” I said as I reached for the necklace.
“The date is our anniversary,” I said.
“Oh how sweet,” she said as she released my hand.
“And his name?” she asked.
The sound of a passing motorcycle caused me to pause, but it seemed they always did. My choice for the previous two restaurants was based primarily on the lack of motorcycle traffic alone. It was one thing I certainly wouldn’t be able to change about the Las Vegas strip, and would take some getting used to, but a sacrifice I told myself I was willing to make.
“Jackson,” I said.
“The name of your first restaurant,” she said.
I nodded my head and fought to smile.
After an apology, she scribbled a few notes onto her pad, and sighed lightly as she finally finished. As she shifted her eyes upward, I gazed past her. As I studied the inside of the restaurant from the outdoor patio, focusing on anything proved to be difficult. The interior of the establishment appeared to be much darker when looking in from the outside, but I watched curiously as a man who had entered resembled Jackson so much it caused me to shiver.
After I forced myself to tear my eyes away from him, I turned my head slightly to the side and shifted my gaze to meet hers. She sighed again and smiled. I glanced once again toward the restaurant. He stood staring back at me. I felt guilty for returning the stare; it was almost as if I was cheating on Jackson.
And that was something I would never do.
I tried desperately to force myself to look away, but I wasn’t able to do so. For a moment I simply wanted to admire him, all the while telling myself it was Jackson, and not some stranger. As my eyes went in and out of focus and my mind drifted into a distant past, he began to walk my direction.
I blinked and forced my eyes to focus.
It appeared he was crying.
He walked onto the patio. Dressed in dark jeans, a black button down shirt, and black dress boots, he could have passed for Jackson’s twin. My eyes filled with tears. Embarrassed, I turned away and faced the street.
“Em,” Tina said.
I turned to face her as I wiped the tears from my eyes, fully realizing I was being rude.
“Em…” the man’s voice was filled with emotion, but unmistakable.
I glanced upward and attempted to stand as I responded in an almost inaudible tone. The response took no thought whatsoever, but was something I had not said to a man in almost a decade.
“Yes, Sir?” I squeaked as I stood.
Our eyes met. My legs didn’t go weak, they collapsed. As I fell, it was as if I was caught by an angel, and in looking back on it, I really was. As he lifted me into his arms and held me against him, my heart raced, my eyes filled with tears, and I even questioned my sanity.
But he was real. He was holding me. And he finally came home.
“I love you so much,” he said.
Tears ran down his cheeks
“I love you,” I said, my mouth forming the words, but my voice incapable of making a sound.
He lifted me by my waist and held me in front of him. He looked no differently than the day he left, and as he absorbed me with his eyes, his mouth curled into a smile revealing the dimples I yearned to see.
And, as ridiculous as it sounds saying it now, I knew one day he’d return.
Because he made me a promise that he’d eventually always come home.
And Jackson Shephard never breaks a promise.
EX-CON Page 22