I have dreaded this moment; it is now here. Liz’s eyes are the sea keeping me afloat and wouldn’t allow me to drown. I finally have a sense of control. She helped me reset my brain every day and now I will be forced to do it on my own. I can’t erase away all the terrors I have seen, but Liz was always there, helping me along the way and now she won’t be.
“You’ll go out there, wherever you may be, and you won’t fall; you’ll return stronger than ever,” Liz says with a hand on my shoulder. “Let’s go back to the cabin and burn these fliers in the fire pit.”
Liz gives me hope. When I close my eyes, it doesn’t hurt as much anymore. I can now carry the weight of my life without feeling trapped. She was a gift, but she wasn’t for keeps. I knew that all along.
Chapter 54: Jake
Liz and I spend every minute together, knowing these are our last days. Liz helps me winterize the machines to store in the garage. I help her cook our last meals in the kitchen. We drive to deliver goods stored in the ice cave to neighbors. We keep ourselves busy, locking things and arranging the cabin so it can be left for an indefinite amount of time.
I kiss Liz as often as I can. We make love as much as we can. Liz giggles and smiles over little things, which makes me laugh too. Liz has given me a year of priceless memories. I will never forget my time with Liz. These memories will be with me forever.
I place the last board in the window as Liz walks down the stairs from the loft. She does not have the usual hop in her step. She takes each step slowly. Liz is wearing the clothes she came in, the azure blue T-shirt, cropped black pants, a gray hoodie and ankle socks. Tears sting my eyes as I realize this is the last time I will gaze upon her coming down the stairs.
Liz stands beneath me and pulls me down to her. “It’s not the last time I’m walking down those stairs,” she says as if she can read my mind. “It will only be the last time for a while,” she assures me.
I have an oversized duffle bag packed with the things I will need to report for training lying on the front porch. Liz steps through the front door. I strain to repress my feelings. My whole body aches as I turn the dead bolt on the door.
“It’s not the last time we are going through that door together. It will only be the last time for a while.”
We walk to the truck slower than we ever have before. I toss the duffle bag in the back of the truck. “I want Zeke to go with you, Liz. I should return him from where he came, but it would make me feel better, knowing he was with you keeping you safe from harm, while I go away.”
“I wouldn’t want it any other way,” Liz tells me as she wraps her arms around my shoulders. “I’m not saying goodbye, Jake. I can’t say goodbye. I don’t want to say goodbye. I want to wait for our next hello.” Liz stands on her tiptoes and kisses me.
I will miss the warmth of her lips, the smell of her hair, and the softness of her skin. I embrace her. I can’t release her. I don’t want to let go of her. This hurts too much.
Chapter 55: Liz
Returning to the States through the darkness of night is painful. The border patrol is an acquaintance of Jake. He purposefully drives through his stall in the middle of the night. The patrol officer looks the other way to allow Jake to drive through without passports or proper identification.
At every mile marker we pass, I want to ask Jake to turn around. I know he will if I ask, but this ride has a purpose. I cannot play with his emotions or retract our decision. No more words left to speak or hear. Nothing lessens the pain of each passing mile through Montana, Idaho, and then into Utah. This day is inevitable for both of us.
I insist Jake leave Zeke and me at the bench at the train stop. It is in the early morning hours before the sun begins to rise and commuters start to gather. As Jake pulls to the edge of the train parking lot, I hold his hand tightly. I cannot look him in the eyes or I will weep.
“I love you,” I say softly, but loud enough so he can hear every word.
I try to release his grip from mine, but he holds on forcefully, as if willing me to stay. I want to, but Jake has to report for training. There is no seat next to Jake at his next destination. I slip out of the truck with no belongings. Everything collected over the past year is left behind.
This is the first time Jake wills himself not to help me out of the oversized truck cab. I am wearing the same things I wore the Sunday morning Jake took me. I hadn’t worn the clothes since I peeled them off my body the day I was unchained. I didn’t want to wear a reminder of the days I spent in captivity. Jake didn’t need a reminder, either.
I wait an hour before making the inevitable call to the house. Once, a business commuter parks his car and walks past me, and I ask him if I can use his cell phone. No one picks up the landline since the caller ID is unrecognizable. I leave a message and describe where I am.
Zeke and I sit, watching the sun make its way slowly above the Wasatch Mountains in the east. My husband comes by himself when I call. It takes him less than ten minutes to pull next to the bench where I sit.
"Don’t do that again," Mike says, his voice scornful.
Mike insists he doesn't want an explanation. He claims he doesn’t care, that it doesn’t matter. He lies. He wants to know all about Canada, but he requests we not talk about it. Mike just wants to get me home. I am anxious to see our children. Mike tells me they are anxious to see me too.
As we pull into the cul-de-sac, the kids run out the front door, still in their pajamas. "Mooom!” All three scream as we hug. Their attention flips over to Zeke as he springs from the car.
"Cool, does the dog stay?" my youngest son asks petting Zeke.
"Yeah, if it's okay with your dad."
Actually, it isn’t a matter if it is okay with anyone. Zeke was a gift and yes, he is staying.
"I don't care about the dog, I'm just glad you're home safely." Mike puts his hands in the air as if to surrender.
Mike did not want a dog; he just isn’t going to argue the morning upon my return. The front door is still open as the kids return to their breakfast and Mike leads Zeke through the gate to the backyard.
I start following the kids, but then stop to look over my shoulder. To my surprise, I see an oversized white truck sitting outside the cul-de-sac, Jake’s truck. I want to turn and wave goodbye, but it would not be the brightest idea. I don’t just want to wave goodbye, I want to run to Jake.
Jake stays in his truck, watching every step I take to my front porch. Even though there is a distance between us, I can see Jake is looking at this homecoming with sad eyes. His truck cab is a tub of jealousy that he is allowing himself to stew in. I know he wants to switch places with the man taking Zeke into the backyard, my husband, and I, too, long for that more than I will ever be able to articulate. Jake is making himself miserable with jealousy and pain. I now want him to pull away. Please go, Jake. I wish he had never followed me to my house.
Standing on my front stoop, I’m still not ready to reenter my life. I have been spending time treading water, trying to stay afloat and not drown for so many years. I am slightly rejuvenated knowing I won’t look at my life the same. I will face each day differently after knowing Jake.
It’s strange how I thought Jake was the one who was broken when he burst through that small cabin on that first rainy night, but it was me all along who was the one who needed saving.
Once Jake’s truck disappears out of sight, our life together has ended and the next chapter in my existence is being forced to begin, as did Jake’s life. He has a long drive to southern California. All I can hope for now is he doesn’t bend and break and the only place I will be able to meet him again is on the other side toward the light.
My sisters took good care of the kids in my absence. They took on all my mommy roles and responsibilities. The carpooling, the grocery shopping, anything that needed to be taken care of was done. My sisters are just glad I am home and don't question my whereabouts. They don’t ask who I have been with or what has happened, at least not the day I come
home.
When friends, family, and coworkers ask about what happened or where I had gone when I vanished, I always respond with, "I don't want to talk about it.” They all take my answer as “too traumatic to discuss.” I told police, confidentially, it was my choosing.
In the days following my return, I settle back into my routines quickly, too quickly. Within a week, it is as if I have never been absent. Another school year is well underway. Someone right out of college was hired in my place for the second year. She is cute, young, and the students adore her. I want to return and resume my teaching responsibilities because I think it is best to stay busy, but my heart won’t allow me to have my way.
Within two weeks of being home, my heart stops. My husband makes a 911 Emergency call in the middle of the night. I sat straight up in bed and grabbed my chest as if a ton of bricks dropped onto my side of the bed. A paramedic team transports me to the local hospital. I am given morphine to rid me of the pain as my heart takes its course through the stages of a classic heart attack. The staff at the hospital takes good care of me and makes sure I am comfortable. Once the heart attack is diagnosed, an incision is made in my upper right thigh and a balloon angioplasty is performed to open up the left ventricle in my heart. As soon as blood is flowing, a stent is placed to have continuous blood flow, rather than just settling in my left ventricle, enlarging my heart as it had been with no procedure. I spend three nights in ICU before returning home. I have bruising at the procedure site, which is causing me incredible discomfort. I spend three months afterwards driving to Cardiac Rehabilitation. This turns out to be a great distraction and keeps me out of work for another school year.
The focus quickly shifts from questions about my disappearance to how could something happen to my heart at such a young age. My heart attack turns out to be a blessing because it detours from any information leading to Jake.
The time spent away stays secret between Jake and me. It was my chance to be with Jake. Mine alone. We grew together in a way we could not have done in our own separate worlds. It didn’t happen overnight. It was something that took place over time. I know people would have falsely judged or distorted what happened. Plus, most importantly, I didn't want anything to hinder Jake getting his life back on track the best he knew how. He had already served his penance for his wrong choices. It was time for him to move on, without me.
I told Jake next time he stops by to come to my front door. He laughed when I made the suggestion, as if I was joking. I insisted I was being serious. I don’t want to appear as if I have run away or mysteriously disappeared again. I don’t want any lies and I don’t want to put anyone at risk, as I did Jake.
I watch the nightly news and follow CNN reports fanatically upon my return. I sit on the edge of the couch, watching news reports made about military forces being increased in war torn countries. I also try to find where and when Marines are deploying because I know that is where Jake will be. When I hear war death tolls among U.S. troops, I get anxious, not knowing if Jake is among one of these numbers. When an embassy is attacked, I am adamant about knowing which armed forces are involved. I wonder if I will ever learn if he is wounded, missing, or killed in action; probably not. I act as if I’m a Marine wife and privy to all the information, doubts, fears, and emotions. I’m not Jake’s wife, so I have no right to be a part of the circle among Marine Wives and their support groups. I don’t deserve to be in their sacred networks and I have no place with them.
Jake and I agreed not to make any contact; send any letters, emails, phone calls, nothing. I regret that decision now. I wonder if he does, too. I didn't want any past, present, or future connection for the sake of his anonymity. I hope daily as I go to check the mail that Jake will someday defy our mutual stipulation and send me one untraceable note.
I start to track where Jake has been. I call Doug and Jennifer, but never give them enough time to answer the phone on the other end, so I stop my moot efforts. Contact would not be the best move for either one of us.
Epilogue
Jake's smile is permanently ingrained in my mind. His emerald green eyes and his dimples cannot escape my thoughts, no matter how hard I try. I see him walking along the sidelines at my son’s soccer games. He's in the grocery store, waiting in line. He strolls into my house through the back door. He walks down the church aisle and sits in the pew ahead of me with his arm resting over the back as he grins. I become all giddy at his gaze. I see him driving his truck down the street and I want to wave him down to stop to talk to me, but I shake my head back into reality, knowing he's not here, not physically with me.
His face is what keeps me going now. His piercing eyes get me though routine chores and over scheduled days. When I see his mirage in my suburbia world, I want to run to him. I want to grab his waist and nuzzle my nose in his chest. I want his touch to bring me comfort. I miss his touch. I miss his voice. I miss how I was his everything.
When I join my husband on business in Los Angeles, which is something I rarely do, I locate Heather Howard’s address in San Diego. I drop my husband at his conference and tap Heather’s address into the GPS of the rental car. I drive southbound over an hour. The destination leads me to a charming beachfront property. I park across the street and stare at the home. I wonder how long Jake stayed at the house before he reported for duty.
A woman with long ash blonde hair pulls into the driveway. She has Doug’s eyes and looks as if she could be Ashley’s mother. When she parks her convertible, I force myself to get out of the car to speak to her.
“Heather? Heather Howard?” I call out as I approach.
“Yes.” She turns her warm chocolate eyes on me. “Do I know you?” she asks.
“Um, no, not really. I just used your name a few times while I was in Canada. I just wanted to say thank you,” I say timidly.
Her eyes bulge in understanding. They begin to glisten. “You’re Liz!”
I tilt my head down and blush, “Yes, I’m Elizabeth Parker.”
Heather leans down to hug me. “Jake’s all right, you know.”
My face crumples like a ball of wadded piece of paper. Tears fall from my eyes.
“Thank you for telling me. I have no way of knowing. Please do not tell anyone I have been here.” I throw a thumb over my shoulder to my rental car. “I should be going.”
“No!” she pleads. “Please stay.” Heather takes my hand to urge me to follow. She takes me around to the back of the house. I discover the pool house Jake had spoken of. She takes a key hidden in a nearby flowerpot and opens the door.
“Jake didn’t leave much behind. This is like a hotel for him before he has to report on base.”
Heather walks to a coffee table where an envelope sits. “I had a cleaning lady come through the pool house so I can move in. My youngest is away at college. I don’t need the big house and Jake wants it in the winter from now on. Anyway, the cleaning lady found this.”
Heather picks up a small two by four manila envelope and hands it to me.
It reads, “For Liz” on the outside in Jake’s handwriting.
“Maybe Jake meant to give it to you himself. Maybe he’ll never get a chance. Who knows? Now that you are here, I’m going to seize the opportunity and give it to you myself on Jake’s behalf.”
I hold the envelope in one hand. I wipe away a tear from my eye. I know by the jags piercing through paper what is inside without opening the envelope. It is a pin, his Marine lapel pin. The one kept in his top drawer. The one I always touched and held in my hand when I went fishing through his dresser. The one I put back in place so he would not know I had gone through his personal belongings. I think he knew my fingers trespassed upon it frequently.
“Open it!” Heather urges me.
I open up the envelope and slide the pin into my palm, with it comes a note penned in his handwriting, “Faithful To The End, I’ll Always Love You, Liz”.
I cannot hold back my tears as they flood down my face. I cover my mouth with my free
hand.
Heather gives me a warm, endearing hug before I leave the pool house and make my way back to my rental car left parked across the street. I sob uncontrollably when I close the car door.
I don’t immediately return to the hotel in Los Angeles. Instead, I drive to the beach at La Jolla and park the rental car. I walk along the sand, pin in hand. I grasp the pin tightly in my palm. The pin leaves an impression in my skin, just like the tattoo on Jake’s left shoulder. I couldn’t return from the cabin with anything, especially not this pin. I couldn’t have come home with any trace of Jake. Now I have something. I have a piece of Jake with me.
I sit on the sandy beach, watching the gray waves unfurl upon the sand at my feet. I look over the vast blue ocean and feel nothing but loss without Jake. Every day I spent with Jake was with purpose. I miss him more than ever as I clutch his pin in my hand. I wait on the beach until my feelings abate.
Two years have passed since my Sunday morning walk when Jake snapped. One wonderful year was spent with Jake and one year has passed in misery without him. I take Zeke out for walks in the farmer’s fields. I always stop to show Zeke where it all began, as if I am recalling an old family story.
While I was gone, I gave no care or concern toward Mike. I continued thoughtlessly without him. I knew I put Mike through a lot. It was an inconvenience for him and utterly embarrassing. He lived under constant scrutiny. No one should have to deal with not knowing where someone is; that was wrong of me.
I was surprised Mike wanted to rebuild things between us as we have done so many times before for the sake of the kids. He had a bit of an awakening as a father while I was gone, which was good for the kids. I care for him as the father of my children, but I do not love him as I do Jake. We coexist in the same house as we co-parent our children. He continues to travel as I keep the home fires burning. Mike has not kissed or touched me since I returned from the cabin.
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