I drive to West Virginia over that night. Halfway there, I lower the window and let the chill air keep me awake. By the time I get to my destination, a tiny town at the base of a rolling green mountain, I check the time—5:30 AM. Too early to arrive, I turn the car and follow an access road up to the crest of the foothill. A dirt lot waits and I park in front of no less than three signs pertaining to hunting licenses.
I meander into the dark woods. Up ahead, I see a slice of deep purple sky through the towering trunks. After a few hundred yards, the view in front of me opens up. I can see the rolling mountain range to the east. Light peeks over the lower heights, painting the sky in the many shades of nature. I sit down on the leafy forest floor and watch the sun rise, alone.
I must have dozed, because when I check my watch, it reads 9:43. I pop up and head back the way I came. I find the car, no problem, and roll down the mountain. Once back on a main road, the GPS guides me to a farm. Classic post-and-rail fencing outlines sloping fields on both sides of a long and winding drive. I follow it to a modest two-story colonial with a wraparound porch and perfectly painted shutters. When I open the door to get out, I hear barking.
The woman I spoke to on the phone answers the door.
“Mr. Connolly, I’m glad you got here. I have three people interested but I held on to the boy for you.”
“Thank you so much.”
She leads me into the house. Off the kitchen, she built an extension, not for a breakfast nook, but for a puppy room. A half wall closes the area off. As I near, a perfect little yellow face pops up and disappears.
“He’s a jumper, that one.”
I don’t even care. I stop and watch this puppy’s head spring up and disappear, spring up and disappear, and there is no question.
“I want to take him home,” I say.
She laughs. “That’s why you’re here.”
She does not really know why I am here. Nor do I. I just act, not for the past, not for the future, just for the now. I reach out for the banal and pray I won’t lose my grip.
CHAPTER 34
MY LAST CHAPTER
A week passes before I pull up outside the beach house. I see Rachel’s mom sweeping the front porch. A second later, awakened by the lack of motion, someone else sees her, too. A tiny yellow tail frantically wags.
“It’s okay, Bub. You did great.”
The puppy, standing up now on the passenger seat, front paws on the windowsill, black nose leaving a streak on the window, whines. I have only had him for a few days, but already I can see the amazing dog he will become. There is something in his eyes that hints at the human soul trapped inside.
Rachel’s mom looks stunned. Although the weather remains unseasonably warm for early December, she wears a lined windbreaker and a knit cap. Her hair, white now but still hinting at her blond days, dances in the salty breeze. The sun shines on her face, one full of guarded uncertainty.
“Hi, G-Ma,” I say.
The puppy, my new puppy, tugs at the leash. An AKC certified yellow Lab.
G-Ma states the obvious. “You have a puppy.”
I nod. “Are Rachel and Laney home?”
She puts down the broom and steps toward me. I expect a sense of trepidation, as if I might be unpredictable, if not dangerous. I figure the puppy adds to this profile. Instead, she gives me a hug as the dog jumps against her leg.
“They’re down at the beach. Taking a walk.”
“Thanks,” I say. “Come on, buddy.”
I turn and walk down the driveway toward the road.
“Simon,” she calls after me. “Be careful with them.”
Her words cause me sadness. But I know what she means. I need to be careful with them, now and forever. As they do with me. It is our lot now.
The puppy has a nose for the ocean. He pulls, leading the way. Through the silence, I hear the soft pound of the surf. My stomach flutters.
As I crest the dune and get my first glimpse of the ocean, I see them—Laney and Rachel. They stand above the foaming tide, daughter leaning on mother. I feel their longing from that distance, as if they wait for some miracle to appear on the horizon.
I do not walk to them right away. Instead, I let this sight settle into me. Finally, I move. It is not my doing but the dog’s. He needs to greet these two strangers. He lets out a whine and a yelplike bark. Even over the crashing waves, Laney hears. She turns, eyes only for this poster-perfect puppy. She takes a few steps toward me before she realizes who I am. When she looks up and sees me, her pace does not stop, it quickens. She runs to me and I scoop her up, dropping the dog’s leash. He dances at our feet as I embrace my daughter, holding her so close that not even air can separate us.
“I love you, sweetie.”
“Oh, Daddy, don’t leave.”
I choke up. “I won’t. I’m so sorry.”
“Shhhh.”
Laney’s attention turns to the pup. I give her the leash and she promptly unhooks it from his little collar. The dog races free, Laney by his side. They dig in the sand and startle to the sound of gulls arguing over a ghost crab. I watch them and smile.
Rachel does not come to me. When I look at her, her eyebrows rise, as if asking what brought me here. I walk to her. We speak, not facing each other, but watching our daughter play with her new dog.
“A puppy?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. I was on my phone, about to call . . . make a call, and I started searching for breeders. Then it just kinda happened.”
She laughs. “That’s not very Simon.”
“I know.”
She looks worried when she asks, “What’s his name?”
I shake my head, as if to assure her that the thought, her worry, never crossed my mind. “Bubba.”
She laughs.
We do not talk for a moment. When I continue, I find it hard to stop.
“I’m sorry, Rachel.” I continue through her protest. “Let me say it. I’m sorry for not being able to turn my mind off. I think I missed so much with the kids because I couldn’t just let it be fun. Everything had to mean something; everything became some kind of pivotal moment shaping them for the . . . forever. I forgot to make every minute special, with them . . . and with you.”
Her hand takes mine. “You’re okay, Simon. You’ve always been okay. Sure, you think too much but there’s nothing wrong with that. You do it because it’s you and because you love with everything you have inside you. We all know that. You don’t have to apologize.”
“But I feel like I worried so much about him that I never just enjoyed our time.”
Although I wish I could say we did not cry anymore, we did, together.
“You’re forgetting the good,” she whispers. “Disney and all those summers here. That game you and the kids used to play in the surf, where you let the waves crash on you.” She laughs and cries at the same time. “And you all yelled.”
“Oh No,” I say, filling in the name.
“Yeah. Oh No! Remember that stuff, okay?”
“I’ll try. I want to remember everything.”
We both read into that statement. The one thing we don’t want to remember is the one thing we will never be allowed to forget. I struggle to get past that thought, but Rachel helps.
“You know, I like the beard.”
I laugh. “Makes me feel manly. I bet Laney’ll hate it, though.”
Rachel looks me in the eyes. “She loves you so much.”
“I didn’t pay enough attention to her. It was easier with Jake. I understand boy stuff. I feel like I never spent enough time with her.”
“You’re fine,” she says. “More than fine. What you gave her is better than all that. You showed her the kind of man she’ll marry. A man who will love her with all his heart. A man who will do anything to keep her safe. A man who will help raise their children. A man who will treat her like she’s the most special girl on this planet.”
“How’d I do that?”
She squeezed my hand. �
�By being you.”
I know she’s leaving something important out. She knows, as well as I do, that we’ve lost something, she and I. This moment, I think, isn’t about that. It’s not about us. It’s about survival and strength. It is about living, not without fear but despite it.
“You know that no matter how quickly we found him, it wouldn’t have mattered. The coroner told us that.”
“I know,” I say, though I doubt I’ll ever truly accept that. I will continue to blame myself, but I will live with that, too. “I’m sorry about how I acted. I talked to Mary Moore, Kandice’s mom. I apologized to her. There was no excuse, but I am sorry about that.”
I hear my daughter laugh for the first time in a long while. When I turn, Laney looks at us. Her eyes are hopeful. Ignoring the puppy, she rises and sprints to us. Her arms widen and I know what she wants. So does Rachel. We hug, the three of us becoming one as the ocean roars behind us. The sun shines on Laney’s cheek and a sparkling tear rolls down her perfect young skin. It might as well be the first tear of joy to grace this world.
We hold each other. The tears dry up and the moment stretches toward normalcy. The puppy nudges Laney’s calf. She turns with a squeal of excitement and runs, the dog playfully nipping at her ankles.
We watch our daughter go and it is some time before I realize Rachel and I remain holding each other. It feels right.
When Rachel speaks, it reminds me of a time long past, a time before Jake and Laney. A bitter memory now, but I can, at the least, conceive of the fact that it was once sweet, too.
“You just have Jake in your thoughts. You have always been so hard on yourself. Let it go. You didn’t mess Jake up. You made him such a beautiful person that he gave up his life to protect others. He saved those kids.”
“He did,” I say, looking out at the ocean, listening to my daughter laugh. “And more.”
She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”
I think of Jake. My son kept his dark hair on the long side. He loved to play football with his friends. As a big brother, he neared perfection, never treating his sister like a lesser life form. Jake loved his family with every part of his being. Smart and funny, maybe my son was a little shy. Most of all he cared about people the way we all should. Like Jaimie’s letter reminded me, Jake can be a lesson to us all.
I’m not crying when I answer Rachel. Nor am I smiling. I look at Laney.
“He saved us.”
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Michelle . . . my best friend, life with me may be heavy but you have a way of pushing me when I need to be pushed and understanding when I can’t be pushed another inch. I love you.
Mom and Dad . . . you endured your own worries, so different than my generation’s yet stemming from the same source. It couldn’t have been easy watching me change majors five times. Looks like psychology was a good fit.
The University of Notre Dame . . . a place of history, culture, social dynamics and awe. My experience under your massive wing led me to an amazing, albeit bizarre, life.
Mrs. Long . . . my high school English teacher. I’m sure you’ll never see this but if you do, you’ll be as shocked as I am grateful.
Tracy Garozzo . . . just because I know how happy you’ll be seeing this. You helped me survive one of the most daunting experiences of my life to date—my kids’ preschool—by talking to me like an average person, not a stay-at-home dad.
Kari Reardon . . . the first person that read this story, thanks for making me feel like a better writer than I am.
Captain’s Catch . . . you showed me that cleaning dumpsters at a fish store might not be my first choice for a profession.
Stephanie Kip Rostan . . . a better closer than Papelbon, that’s for sure. Thanks for seeing potential and pushing me to realize it. And thanks for getting me.
Lyssa Keusch . . . for making me a better writer. I’ve learned so much in such a short time and it feels great knowing that it’s changed how I work.
Rebecca Lucash . . . thanks for all the help in making me a better writer. Your thoughtful perspective gave me the confidence to think this story may speak to more than simply parents.
HarperCollins . . . I owe you one.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo by Kerry Harrison Photography
BRYAN REARDON is a freelance writer specializing in medical communications. He co-wrote Ready, Set, Play! with retired NFL player and ESPN analyst Mark Schlereth, and Cruel Harvest with Fran Elizabeth Grubb. Prior to becoming a full-time writer, Bryan worked for the state of Delaware for more than a decade, starting in the office of the governor. He holds a BA in psychology from the University of Notre Dame and lives in West Chester, Pennsylvania, with his wife, kids, and rescue dog, Simon.
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CREDITS
Cover design by Amanda Kain
Cover photograph © by plainpicture/Metin Fejzula
COPYRIGHT
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
FINDING JAKE. Copyright © 2015 by Bryan Reardon. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
FIRST EDITION
ISBN 978-0-06-233948-5
EPub Edition February 2015 ISBN 9780062339539
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Finding Jake Page 22