Justifying Jack (The Wounded Warriors Book 2)

by Beaudelaire, Simone

  “Yeah, the microwave is right there,” he teased, knowing that wasn't what she meant. Turning serious eyes toward her, he reaffirmed himself. “Really, Marithé. You know you're always welcome. Mi casa es su casa.”

  Marithé giggled. “Impressive.”

  Jack shrugged. “It's one of the only things I know how to say in Spanish. Well, that and curse words, of course.”

  “No way!” she almost shouted, confusing Jack until he realized a new find had drawn her attention. “There's a dishwasher… and the fridge… it has an ice maker?”

  Their housing adventures were interrupted when Elena's voice carried through the house. “No, Andres! Stop it!” The pair raced to where the children were, greeted by an indignant Elena and an ornery Andres.

  “What's going on? What happened?” Marithé inquired. “Why are you tugging on your brother like that?” She immediately peeled the irritated girl off the fussy boy.

  “I told him not to go in there,” Elena pointed towards the master bedroom, which sat across the hall from two smaller bedrooms with a bathroom not only joining the rooms, but opening to the hallway as well. “But he's not listening to me. Mama, tell him he needs to listen to me.”

  “Elena, this isn't your house and you aren't the grownup here,” Marithé chastened the little darling, releasing Andres in order to prop her hands on her hips.

  Andres took advantage of his freedom and his mother's distraction to try to shimmy past Elena, darting towards the large bedroom. Much to his chagrin, Elena had an eagle eye on him and moved into the way, effectively blocking him from making it past her. “I want in!”

  “No!” Elena hollered back with a growl. “You can't go in there.”

  Marithé started to look distraught, obviously disturbed by her daughter's behavior. “Elena, what did I just say?”

  “Mama,” Elena complained, on the verge of tears, Andres squawking as he continued shoving against her angrily, not giving up on his pursuits.

  “Hey!” Jack boomed, bringing silence to the trio. Then, more gently, he asked, “What's this all about?” Lowering his self to face the unhappy children eye to eye, he began his inquiry. “Andres, why do you want to go in there so badly?”

  “Because Elena went in there,” he pouted. “I want to see too, but she said I have to go to that room.” He stabbed a pudgy finger in the air, indicating the smaller bedroom which sat directly across the hall from the master bedroom.

  “Okay, okay,” Jack acknowledged. “I can understand why you're upset. How about you give me a minute to talk to your sister and then I'll take you in there myself. Does that work for you, little man?”

  Andres nodded and then he stuck his tongue out at Elena before he ran into the safety of his mother's arms.

  “Hey!” Elena protested her brother's insubordination, but quickly turned her attention to Jack when he spoke to her.

  “Elena, honey,” Jack began. “I've never seen you act this way. Why are you being so bossy and disrespecting your mother by talking back to her? Why can't Andres go in there?”

  The little girl's eyes dropped to the floor and she moved her foot about, scuffing it against the tiles lining the hallway. “That's not his room,” she whined quietly. “That's his room.”

  “Elena,” Marithé dropped down beside Jack to address her daughter. “Neither room belongs to either of you.”

  “Uh-huh,” Elena sniffled, her eyes ready to spill over with tears. “That's Andres' room and that's mine.”

  “But we don't live here, honey,” Marithé tried to understand her youthful thoughts.

  “Not yet, but Jack is buying this house so we can live here,” Elena insisted, determined.

  “What?” Marithé was completely puzzled, but Jack thought he finally understood.

  “Elena, if that's Andres' room and this room here belongs to you,” he pondered, trying to see if he was on the right track. “Whose bedroom is that one over there?”

  Tears no longer contained, Elena pleaded for Jack to understand. “That's your room.”

  “My room? Doesn't your mom get a room if you're planning to live here?”

  “Yeah,” Elena replied, looking at the man as though he should have known the answer to his question already. “Mom will share the big room with you, like she did with Papa.”

  Jack heard Marithé gasp beside him and when he chanced a glance at her, he saw her shocked expression. She looks the way I feel, he thought. What do I say now?

  Thankfully, he didn't have to say anything because Marithé regained her faculties and, taking her daughter into her arms, she explained things to her. “Honey, Daddy and I were married, that's why we lived together. This is going to be Jack's house and not ours. Jack was just excited about it and wanted to show it to us to see if we liked it or not. Do you understand?”

  Elena let out a little sob. “Yes, mama, I do.” Then she regarded Jack with sad eyes, saying, “Jack, I love this house.”

  “Thank you, honey,” he told her, taking her small hand into his own. “I love it too. Say, why don't we go to McDonald's? All this excitement has made me hungry. What about you? Are you hungry too?”

  Elena nodded bravely, winning a kiss on the head from Marithé, as Andres, bedrooms forgotten, ran into the kitchen and chanted, “McDonald's! McDonald's!”

  * * *

  “I'm glad Marithé liked the house,” Mike tucked a juicy chunk of his thick rib-eye steak into his mouth. “I wasn't looking forward to driving down to San Antonio for another round of house hunting.”

  “I wasn't that bad, was I?” Jack asked, taking a long sip from his sweet tea.

  “Well…” Mike exaggerated the word in a teasing manner. When Jack scowled, he added, “I'm just messing with you, man. It was fine.”

  Jack leaned back in his chair for a moment, taking in the view laid out in front of him. The friends were sitting on the outside balcony of the Saltgrass Steakhouse, overlooking a section of the Edwards Aquifer, the weather temperate and sunny. It's just about a perfect day, not too hot and not too cold. “I see why you like San Marcos so much. It's beautiful here.”

  Smiling appreciatively as he watched the two giggling college students walk past in tight yoga pants, he replied, “It sure is.” The two chuckled as they resumed their meal.

  “You should bring Marithé and the kids up sometime this spring,” Mike suggested casually, the young women already forgotten. “We can rent some inner tubes for cheap and float down the river over there.” He gestured towards the south, in the direction of Bikini Hill.

  “Yeah, I bet they'd like that,” Jack agreed thoughtfully, slicing into his baked sweet potato drenched in honey butter. “We'd have to eat somewhere a little more kid-friendly though.”

  “Works for me,” Mike shrugged nonchalantly. “Dude, I could eat Taco Bell any day of the week.”

  Jack shook his head. “You and your Taco Bell. Dude, that's not real Mexican food.”

  Mike looked at him askance as he reached for his soda. “What? I like it.”

  Dipping a bite of steak in A-1 sauce and sliding it into his mouth, he asked, “So, how's life at Texas State University treating you?”

  “It's good,” Mike smiled. “I won't start classes until next semester, but I really like the job, no one shooting at me or anything.”

  Jack snorted. “Right?”

  Watching another group of young women rise from their table and head into building, he remarked, “and you can't beat the view.”

  “Ah, to be young and single in a college town,” Jack smiled.

  “You're young and single,” Mike noted. “You just don't want to be anymore.”

  Lifting a piece of broccoli to his lips, Jack said, “That's true. I don't even notice other women anymore. I look at something and the first thing I think is 'Marithé should be here right now' or 'the kids would love this.' The funny thing is I don't know what changed to make it happen.”

  Mike answered easily, “You fell in love, man.”

 
; Jack gave his friend a considering look. “It's really just that simple for you, isn't it?”

  “Yeah, dude,” Mike confirmed. “Why wouldn't be?”

  “Love's more complicated than that, Mike,” Jack protested, trying to explain the messy nature of the human heart.

  “Nah,” Mike objected gently. “Love is simple. It's just the rules and beliefs mess it up. The superficial shit we impose on ourselves.”

  Jack gave Mike a pensive expression, “hmmm?”

  “No, Jack, think about it,” Mike challenged. “You and Marithé… you're like perfect for each other. You love her and the kids, you want to take care of them and shit, but instead of doing what feels natural to you, you sit around sulking, worried what other people might say or think.”

  “Well, yeah,” Jack agreed. “There are protocols and…”

  As Jack spoke, Mike laced his fingers together and set his hands on the table before him, eyeing Jack skeptically. “Bullshit.”

  “Bullshit? What?” Jack felt a little stunned. “Dude, there are rules and expectations.”

  “That's just bullshit, man. It's all stupid,” he explained. “It shouldn't matter what anyone thinks except for you and Marithé.”

  Jack let that sink in for a minute as he watched Mike pick his fork back up and stab another chuck of steak. “I guess.”

  “I know!” Mike swallowed, taking a sip of his soda before he added, “And honestly, so do you. All your worry is more about your insecurities than anything else.”

  “Perhaps,” Jack considered.

  “You know what I say?” Mike asked, cutting another piece of steak to chew.

  “Does it matter? I have a feeling you plan to tell me even if I don't,” Jack joked, smiling at his friend, appreciating the unconditional support and simple acceptance he offered freely.

  “I say you should suck it up, grow a pair,” Mike informed him. “Fuck everyone else, man. Talk to Marithé and if she loves you the way I think she does then you should just go for it.”

  “I should just go for it, huh?”

  “Yeah,” Mike confirmed. “The only thing you have to lose is a chance for you and her to be happy together.”

  “I guess, but what about Jorge or -” Jack started to list concerns, but stopped when Mike gave him a level stare.

  “Do you love her?” Mike asked, direct and to the point.

  Jack couldn't help smiling at the thought of the beautiful, intelligent woman. “Yeah, man. I do.”

  “What about the kids, do you love them?” Mike inquired, already knowing the answer. “Are you willing to raise them as though they were your own?”

  “Hell yeah,” Jack confirmed. “I couldn't love them more even if they were my own flesh and blood.”

  “Okay, so what are you waiting for?”

  Chapter 9

  Malcolm entered the modest one-story home through the side door, off the two-car driveway. Huffing, he made his way over to the kitchen counter where he placed the heavy box of dishes down. Looking around the bright yellow space with honey oak cabinetry and white appliances, he was surprised to note his sense of loss. I can't believe he's really moving out. I hadn't realized how much I actually enjoyed having him home again.

  “Aarrggghhh!” The unmistakable cry of his son, followed by a crash, had Malcolm running through the rambler.

  “Jack!” he called, worry sharp in his voice as he raced down the hallway towards the back bedroom. “Jack, are you okay?”

  “Son of a bitch!” Jack cursed, throwing his cane across the room. It smacked loudly against the wall before clattering atop a mess of fallen boxes.

  “What happened?” Malcolm inquired, his eyes washing over his son, ensuring his safety, and then towards the discarded cane.

  “I caught that damn thing on the bedframe,” Jack growled angrily. “Then I tripped into that stack of boxes, knocking them over.”

  Malcolm felt confused by the level of response Jack was displaying. “But you're okay, right?” Surely, he can't be this upset over something so irrelevant.

  “Sure, sure,” Jack snapped, shuffling over to retrieve his cane. Malcolm watched him as he yanked the cane from its resting place, gripping it tightly. Every muscle in Jack's body seemed to be screaming with tension and even though he had his back to his father, Malcolm could tell by the slight shudder in his frame that he was struggling to contain himself.

  “Son,” Malcolm took a cautious step towards Jack. “I know knocking a few boxes over isn't enough to rattle your cage. What is it? What's wrong?” Please God… I've failed him in so many ways. Please don't let me fail to help him now.

  “It's…” Jack started strongly and then just deflated. He finished tightly, saying, “Nothing.”

  “Look, Jack, I know… I know I haven't…” Malcolm struggled. Why do I find it so easy to talk to a mass of people and yet I can't have a simple conversation with my only son? He began again. “I know we haven't always seen eye to eye, but I'm here. Please… don't shut me out. I know you're… struggling. Please, let me help.”

  The slump in Jack's body alerted Malcolm of his grief even before he saw the anguished expression of his face. It was almost more than Malcolm could take. I've never seen him look so haggard or distressed. He's always had a… dignity about him, a gentle strength that made people trust him… confide in him. Now… he just looks… broken. Malcolm prayed Jack would finally turn to him for guidance.

  “I can't talk to you about this,” Jack groaned and tried to hurry past his father, hoping to exit the room. When Malcolm reached out to stop him, he exploded. “Let go of me!”

  Jack shoved Malcolm carelessly, causing the older man to slam into the foot board of the bed, toppling him onto the large mattress. The effect of his actions seemed to sober Jack, calming him down enough to replace his aggressive expression with one of shame. “Dad, are you -”

  Malcolm raised his hand to hush him. “I'm fine,” he said. In all his life, no matter how angry he's gotten, he's never lashed out like that before. His eyes are so filled with pain; it's difficult to look at him. What could have happened to him? What would make him behave in such a manner?

  Malcolm groaned as he moved to a seated position. He tried to mask his discomfort, but it was obvious he failed to do so when Jack turned swiftly, landing a fist against the wall. The cry that escaped his son was heart wrenching in its primal and rawness.

  Malcolm moved as fast as he could to reach Jack as he crumpled, leaning into the wall for support. “Talk to me, damn it!”

  “I'm sorry,” Jack sobbed. “I didn't mean to hurt you. I… I didn't mean to…”

  “Shhh,” Malcolm tried to sooth him. I've haven't seen him cry like this, not since he was a young boy. “It's okay. I'm all right, but it's clear you aren't. Please… come sit on the bed and tell me what's wrong.”

  There was no resistance left in Jack as he allowed his dad to help him to the side of the queen sized bed. Pulling his handkerchief from his back pocket, handing it to Jack, Malcolm sat down beside him. They sat in silence a moment as Jack tried to regain his composure.

  “Dad,” he began groggily, his voice raspy and low. “All I want is to rush over and grab Marithé… and the kids.”

  “What? Why?” What does he mean 'grab' her?

  “Because… they should be here,” he replied lamely.

  Though Jack said nothing more, the look in his eyes told the whole story. It was a story of inappropriate, yet undeniable feelings. Of two struggling, conflicted hearts who could neither take hold nor let go. In that moment, Malcom understood his son's dilemma. Jack has taken another step towards manhood.

  “Son,” Malcolm shook his head gently in uncertainty. Could he really have bought this place thinking he might have a chance to share it with Marithé and her children? “Have you told her? Does she even know you love her, that you want to… marry her?”

  Jack grimaced and it pulled at Malcolm's heart. “No.”

  “Why not?”

  �
�It's… complicated,” Jack looked down, unable to meet his father's eyes. “I'm… not enough for her.”

  “Bullshit!” Malcolm exclaimed, causing Jack to jolt in surprise. “I don't like to swear, but I'm sorry. There's no other word for it.”

  “You don't understand,” Jack shook his head, closing his eyes, anguish gripping him again now that his shock had passed.

  “Then make me understand.”

  “I'm not man enough for her. I'll never be man enough for her.”

  What the hell does that mean? Malcom stared at his son with a puzzled expression, so Jack continued. “Dad, when I… When I was overseas in the hospital, the infection from the dirt and debris that had entered my wound… it caused me to have a… fever.”

  “I know,” Malcolm nodded in agreement. “The doctor called your mother and me daily. When things sounded like they were getting… bad, when I was about to jump on a plane, that was when our prayers were answered and you called to tell us you were better.” We were so relieved. We thought… I thought I'd lose you for good.

  “Things were bad and the fever… it made me sterile,” Jack bowed his head sadly. “So, you see, if I really love Marithé, then I have to let her go. If I don't, I'll just hold her back.”

  Oh no! Sorrow for his son threatened Malcom's ability to speak, so his answer emerged in a rasp. “Is that what you think?”

  “That's what I know,” Jack replied with a pained expression.

  Jack's anguish touched his father deeply. I have to tell him. I should've told him a long time ago. “Do you think I hold your mother back?” Malcolm challenged him.

  “What? No! Why would you even think that?” Jack was obviously offended by the question.

  “Jack, did you ever wonder why we didn't have any other children? Why you had no siblings?” He watched as Jack's face moved from indignation to comprehension. “The reason your mother dotes on you the way she does, the reason I'm so… tough on you is because you were our miracle.”

  “Are you saying…?” Jack looked stunned, unable to finish his thought.

  “I have a low sperm count. It's my fault your mother never saw her dreams of a big family come to fruition. She's never complained, God bless her, but I always felt like I disappointed her in the biggest way I could.” I loved her and I wanted her to have everything her heart desired, but I wasn't able to give her the one thing she really wanted.