Simply stated, I needed Jak to survive. Now standing at an art show with three hundred idiots wandering around looking at the artwork displayed in the exhibit, I felt as if I was dying. Without Jak, I struggled to breathe. My every thought included Jak in some way. I wondered where he was, if he was in danger, what he was eating, if he was thirsty, why he couldn’t text me, if he was in this country or if he had left. I wondered if he was being shot at or would be required to defend his life.
I never asked, and he never offered, but the scars on his body obviously weren’t from accidents as a child. They were from being shot. If Jak had escaped death as many times as I expected he had, in time the laws of average would catch up to him. The thought of losing Jak consumed me. Without Jak in my life, there would be no life. Without Jak I would die.
“So are you Karter?” A man in his mid-thirties asked.
“Say again?” I snapped.
Fuck, I sound like Jak.
“Karter? The artist? Are you Karter?”
I smiled a shitty grin and nodded. I was far from in the mood to chat.
“I love your tattoos,” he grinned.
You fucking idiot.
I raised my hand in the air and pushed against the edge of my engagement ring with my thumb, rotating the large diamond to the front of my hand, “Are you blind or just fucking stupid? See this?”
He shrugged and looked half embarrassed.
“My Navy SEAL fiancé gave me this. You know why?”
He scoffed, turned, and began to walk away.
“To keep fuck-sticks like you from hitting on me,” I barked.
The emotional cloud I was floating on the night Jak proposed to me was took me to a place higher than I had ever been. To be elevated to that height, to feel the degree of warmth from the love Jak and I shared, only to be dropped into the depth of the pit I was in now caused me to feel ill.
If something’s happened to Jak, I’ll just die
I reached into my back pocket and pulled out my phone. I swiped my finger across the screen. Please. I pressed the text message icon. Please.
Nothing.
“Karter, there’s someone over here who would like to talk to you about your work,” Mr. Weinburg smiled as he finished speaking.
Frustrated, I pushed my phone into my pocket. Wearing a dress and heels made me angry in the first place, but wearing a dress and heels without Jak present made me even more disappointed. I tried to force a smile as I nodded and followed him across the floor.
“You must be Karter,” the man sighed as he extended his hand, “I’m Stephen Greene.”
He was dressed in a suit. It appeared he must have spent as much money having it tailored as he did buying it in the first place. And from the looks of the suit, it was by no means inexpensive. I looked down at his perfectly polished shoes and slowly up to his overly tanned face.
I smiled and reached for his hand, “The one and only.”
“I’ve perused the entire exhibit and everything I see which draws me in close has the same name at the bottom right corner. Would you like to guess who?” he grinned.
I was in no mood to play idiotic games with stupid people. I wanted Jak. I was almost in tears as it was, and I don’t ever cry. Frustrated and desperately needing to feel Jak’s strong arms around me, I opened my mouth and spoke my mind.
“I’m not in a good mood. To be quite honest, I feel like I may puke. If you have something to say, say it. If not, I’m going to go to the bathroom,” I said in a soft yet stern tone.
Mr. Weinburg placed his hand on my shoulder and stepped between Mr. Greene and I, “Do you have any idea who he is?”
“I don’t care,” I whispered.
He cupped his hand to my ear, “Greene Street Studio in New York City, Karter. He owns it. He’s considering buying all of your art. Everything. Not consignment, he wants to purchase it.”
“Well, sell it to him. I feel sick, I’m sorry. And I’m not in the mood to be toyed with. I’m sick and fucking tired of this place and of everyone in it,” I complained.
“Karter, you’re a talented artist, but you’re a poor business woman. He wants to speak to you.”
I pulled my face away from his cupped hand and shook my head, “Tell him to follow me to the bathroom. He can watch me take a shit for the fourth time today while we negotiate.”
I nodded and smiled toward Mr. Greene and turned toward the elevator. The only thing which would even come close to making me happy would be to either see or hear from Jak. The weekend separated from each other was the worst idea to have ever crossed my mind. As I walked down the hallway, I swore I’d never leave Jak again for any reason.
I love you, Jak.
I need you to pick me up.
And let my legs dangle.
JAK. I stopped the rental car at the end of the driveway and waited for the Commander to arrive. I hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours. Regardless of my training and experiences in sleep deprivation, the lack of sleep was wearing on me heavily. I had become even more agitated and short tempered since we had met the previous night. I looked toward the passenger seat at my bag and closed my eyes.
I don’t come to you often, but I’m coming to you now. You started this mess, I didn’t. You put her in my life. I fought wars behind the shield of your name and your grace. I made it out alive, and not by my will. I prayed for you to take my life.
You chose not to.
I’m telling you now, if you take her from me, I’m not going to pray for you to take me. I’ll bow out by my own hand. I’m done with the games. I can’t continue. If she’s my daughter, the world can’t accept me loving her in this way, and I’m incapable of stopping.
It’s not a threat Lord, It’s a promise. I’m not here to negotiate. I’m here to ask forgiveness in advance.
If Karter was my daughter, I couldn’t simply stop loving her. To continue to actively love her would be wrong, and contrary to all things I and everyone of this earth held to be moral. Loving her was not something I had chosen to do, but more a transformation which happened within me. I made no conscious choice to make Karter my lover; I merely allowed her access to my heart. She nestled into place naturally, and there she would always remain.
For me to live and not love Karter would be impossible. Many people on this earth are of the belief they are currently in love. In due time, most will undoubtedly become bored and wander from their existing love to another person and fall in love all over again. Feeling what true love can and does provide allows me to look at those people and their respective relationships with sorrow. I now know true love is not a once in a lifetime blessing, but something only a select few will ever know. Most people on this earth would never experience firsthand the love I felt for Karter.
Therefore, they would not be able to understand why I could not stop loving her.
After tremendous thought and prayer, I decided for me to continue to live on this earth and not have Karter as my lover would be impossible. If I was alive and allowed to wander this earth, I realized I would do so with Karter as my lover or not at all.
I watched in the rearview mirror as his car pull into the driveway. I unzipped my bag and removed the Sig Saur pistol from the holster. As I rested it in my lap, I inhaled a deep breath. I exhaled slowly as his car came to a stop alongside where I was parked. I rolled down my window, and peered in his direction.
He opened the door to his car and began to step out. I gripped the pistol in my hand and placed my finger against the trigger. As he stepped from the car, he began to speak, “I don’t know what you were hoping for Jak, but I have the results.”
“Stay in the car, Commander,” I demanded in a military-esque voice.
He stopped in his tracks, “Kennedy?”
“That’s right, Commander. Jak’s gone. Kennedy needs an answer, and he needs it now,” I demanded.
My hand in my lap and out of view, I gripped the pistol firmly, “Commander?”
“November Oscar, Kennedy. Th
e DNA is not a match,” he responded.
I sighed and closed my eyes. I tossed the pistol in the bag and removed two marked envelopes and zipped the bag closed. I held my arm out the window with the envelopes gripped tightly in my hand.
“Kennedy?”
“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I sighed.
“Kennedy? God damn it…”
I dropped the envelopes onto the concrete drive and shifted the car in reverse, “Same test, same time frame, Commander.”
As I backed the car from the drive, I momentarily closed my eyes.
One more thing.
Provide me strength
KARTER. The fact I was driving the U-Haul van home from Dallas and it was empty of all my art should have made me happy. I was far from it. I had not heard a word from Jak in over two days. Nothing. My wallet filled with a forty thousand dollar check and my heart filled with pain, I merged the raggedy assed van onto I-35 North and pushed the gas pedal to the floor.
Painting and riding my motorcycle had become what I called my escape from reality. After having Jak in my life, I was able to describe them in a more accurate sense. They were an escape from me. In Jak’s presence, I was as close to normal as I suppose I could ever expect to be. In Jak’s absence, I was becoming a complete emotional wreck.
I was becoming myself.
As a child, and not having outlets for my discussing my fears or desires, I expressed myself in fits of rage. I often lashed out with cussing and screaming. The curse words became second nature, and as an adult my mouth was as foul as any man. My mother spent all of her time drinking, and she gave very little consideration to me as a child. When I wanted or needed something, I asked. When she didn’t respond or appear to care, I often cussed and screamed to get her to pay attention to me.
The attention rarely came.
I never quite understood what I may have done to deserve the treatment she gave me. For a mother to all but abandon her daughter mentally and emotionally was one thing. For her to not express any form of love was contrary to what I would have considered to be basic maternal instinct; and something which I found very difficult to accept. When I finally told her I wanted to seek emancipation through the courts, and that I intended to separate myself from her, a small part of me hoped she would oppose the idea.
In my mind, at least at the time, it was a last ditch effort on my part to give her an opportunity to try and make things right between us. She had no interest in doing so, and seemed relieved when I announced my eagerness to leave and begin a life on my own. Even as I explained I had no desire to ever see her or speak to her again, she seemed at peace with my decision.
Almost as if my leaving her was a relief.
I don’t miss her. Not even in the least. I had lived my life prior to leaving her alone, and my time away from her was no different. Since the age of sixteen, I had always believed I needed no one to assist me in my journey through the puzzle of life. Jak happening into my life changed my views entirely. Initially, I tried to be standoffish and rude. It lasted all of about an hour. Everything about him provided me with a level of warmth and comfort I never knew existed. I’m sure most women yearn for such a man. I had no idea such feelings existed, as I had never felt them, therefore the desire was never present for me.
Jak had brought so many new thoughts and feelings into my life. Experiencing them and having felt the love Jak filled me with now caused me to yearn for what I had grown accustomed to being provided.
Jak’s love.
I glanced at my hand as it rested atop the steering wheel. I tilted it toward me and smiled. The diamond glistened in the sun as the van shimmied down the rough Texas highway. I shifted my gaze to the seat beside me.
Empty.
For an instant I closed my eyes.
Without you Jak, I feel empty and alone.
JAK. I sat in the driveway with the window down. Waiting had never been one of my strengths. I stared into the passenger seat at the photo album from my past. Reluctantly, I opened the cover. My last entry, a series of photographs of Graham and I before and after our pre-Navy haircuts was on the page facing me. On the top of the page, long locks of each of our hair taped against the page with twenty year old Scotch tape. We had each saved them as a reminder of our friendship. Who would have guessed then how useful they would become later. I felt my heart rate increase as the Commander’s car slowly entered the drive. As he cautiously inched his vehicle beside me, he rolled his window down and remained in the car.
Resolving the mystery and moving forward with my life was something I felt I desperately needed to allow me to find peace. Attempting to make sense of everything and fully understanding it would certainly be impossible. Proceeding with living life and allowing myself to heal from the wounds of my past would provide me with a comfort twenty years of fighting could not.
“Kennedy, I’m going to remain in the vehicle. I have no idea where your head is right now,” he explained as he leaned out of the window.
“Match?” I asked.
He nodded his head.
“Positive?” I asked.
I knew a DNA match would be positive. I needed to hear it.
“That’s affirmative, Kennedy. It’s a match. Father-daughter, no doubt,” he nodded.
“Toss it in the window, Commander,” I sighed.
I stared down into my lap. As tears welled in my eyes, I realized I was beginning to cry for more than one reason. Filled with emotion and free of sleep for almost seventy-two hours, I was on the verge of a breakdown; but the tears came naturally from two simultaneous feelings. Love and pain. As the envelopes and a plastic packet landed in the seat beside me, I stared at the thighs of my jeans. His stern voice caused me to look his direction.
“We done here, Kennedy?” he asked.
I cleared my throat. A single tear dripped down my cheek, “Jak, Commander. Remember?”
“Glad you’re back, Jak,” he said as he opened his car door.
“I’ve got to hop on a bird and get back to Wichita. This investigation is almost over, but we’re done here,” I said as he leaned in the window of the car.
Another tear worked its way alongside my nose and collected on my upper lip. Yet another followed. Still focused on me, and never having seen emotion from me whatsoever, his eyes widened.
“Jak, you need a cup of coffee? A place to sleep?” he asked.
“No sir,” I responded as I shifted the car in reverse.
“I need to pick a girl up off the floor until her legs dangle,” I smiled as I wiped the tears from my eyes.
“Fair enough,” he grinned.
He had made the statement many times over the years. I’ve always said we mimic those we admire. I pressed my foot firmly on the brake and smiled the best I was able.
“Fair enough,” I repeated.
As he stood from the car window, I backed out of the driveway. Sitting in the street, I shifted the car into drive and held my foot on the brake as I lifted the DNA test and envelopes from the seat and dropped them into the bag. As difficult as it was for me to accept or understand, I now knew the answer to my little mystery. The top envelope was clearly marked by my hand writing. The name I had scribbled onto it before giving it to the Commander, without a doubt, was Karter’s father.
Graham.
JAK. Although it wasn’t necessary, I felt I had one more thing to do for my peace of mind. I pulled my ball cap tight onto my head and lowered my gaze to the floor as I walked past the security camera. I really had nothing to hide, but I didn’t want Karter to know what I was preparing to do. With the bag over my shoulder now filled with a few tools and a flashlight, I pressed the security code on the keypad. As the magnetic lock on the front door buzzed, I pulled it open and walked to the elevator.
As the elevator door opened into the lower floor parking garage, I stepped around the corner and into Karter’s parking stall. Her motorcycle was parked right where she had left it before she went to the art show. As it was two o’clock
in the morning, I had very little doubt Karter was doing anything but sleeping - something I clearly needed to join in on, as I had not slept in days.
I stood beside Karter’s bike and stared. The past I had spent two decades forgetting was all too clear now. Graham had worn a helmet religiously and I never quite came to an understanding of why he wasn’t wearing a helmet on the day of his accident. We had been drinking, but neither of us would have been considered drunk from a legal standpoint. Post mortem toxicology tests on Graham did indicate he had consumed alcohol, but supported the fact he was not drunk. As Graham and I had the same amount to drink, and we were the same size and weight, I always assumed I wasn’t legally drunk either. I never really drank before the accident; and I had not one single drink of alcohol since. As Commander Warrenson always said, men who don’t drink always have a story associated with why.
It seemed I had one too many.
We were not racing, but it was difficult for anyone to believe it. We were riding back to town on a twisting road. Both of us were knowledgeable about where we were riding and the layout of the road. As I came around the second corner, Graham shot passed me at a high rate of speed. I was traveling approximately 60 m.p.h., and I expected Graham’s speed was in excess of 100 m.p.h. When I got to the fourth curve, I saw his bike in the ditch. He was against a tree beside the road, dead at the scene. His head impacted an eighty year old oak tree without a helmet to protect it. To explain the accident scene as grotesque would be an understatement.
It wasn’t the first time Graham had wrecked his bike. A terrible wreck almost a month prior to his death smashed his bike up pretty bad, but his helmet saved his life. We had spent nearly two weeks solid repairing his bike prior to the second wreck, and almost immediately after the repairs, the second wreck took his life.
The damages to his motorcycle from the first accident required a repair to the exhaust port of the motor. A bolt had been pulled from the exhaust flange and out of the cast iron head during the collision, stripping the threads. A permanent heli-coil was added to repair the damaged exhaust bolt hole. At the time, it was much cheaper at ten dollars than a two thousand dollar engine. If my suspicions were correct…
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