I parked the Jeep in the winding pebble driveway. This time I wasn’t visiting as Jenny’s new college boyfriend but as a forty-year-old ghost from the past.
I rang the doorbell and waited on the country porch, breathing in the crisp, cool winter air. Tessa opened the door.
“Well, well, well. Look who’s here. Hi, Jack, come on in!”
I walked through the door, and Tessa gave me a kiss on the cheek and a welcoming embrace.
“It’s good to see you after all these years.”
“Yes, it’s good to see you, too.”
She hadn’t changed much. Angela, Mike, and Howard came into the room when they heard the door, followed by three young children.
“Merry Christmas, Jack!” Howard patted me on the shoulder.
“Long time no see,” Mike said, gripping my hand and shaking it. He was still strong, slightly heavier in the middle.
A young boy stood politely in front of Tessa. “We have some new additions since the last time you were here. This is Tom. He’s twelve. Over here is our oldest, Virginia, and over there is our youngest, Ming Chao, who turned seven this month.”
“Nice to meet you all. I hope I’m not interrupting Christmas.”
“Of course not. Don’t be silly.” Angela put her arm through mine and escorted me into the den. A real wood fire burned in the fieldstone fireplace.
“Jack, Mom and I just put on a pot of coffee. Can I interest you in a cup?”
“Thanks, Tessa. That would be nice.”
The kids were excited about having a stranger in the house. Curiosity brought Ming Chao as close to me as she dared, hiding safely behind her grandpa’s leg.
“Still drinking it black?”
“Cream, if you’ve got it.”
After we’d spent a little time catching up, Howard made an announcement to the family. “Everyone, I know Jack appreciates this attention. After all, it’s been a whole week since he’s been on the cover of Time magazine.” Everybody laughed. “But I’m going to steal him away now for some one-on-one conversation.”
Angela turned to the kids, “Why don’t we go downstairs and get our skates on? This is a perfect day for skating!”
“Skating?” I asked.
Mike was refilling his coffee mug in the kitchen. “We have a pond out back that freezes up rather nicely. I cleared off the center this morning with a blade shovel. It should be smooth enough to skate on.”
While everyone else scrambled downstairs to bundle up and pull on their skates, Howard and I sat at the kitchen table.
“Jack, I’m glad you called. What’s going on?”
“Thanks for making time to see me, Howard. I’ve had something on my mind for a while, and I’d like to talk to you about it.”
“You’ve got my ear. Go ahead.”
“My publisher’s asked me to write a memoir, and I’ve been working on it this month. Working on it has brought up a lot of memories, many I’m not proud of.”
“Jack, if you’re here to seek forgiveness for something twenty years in the past, don’t worry. You’ve already got it.” Howard chuckled, swatting at my knee.
“Actually, there are some things I wish I had your forgiveness for—”
“Jack,” Howard interrupted. “I don’t know if anyone’s told you this or not, but the past is over. Whatever happened long ago, we dealt with then, and it’s finished. I don’t think about it anymore.”
“I know. I just regret how I treated Jenny.”
“I don’t think she has an ounce of ill will for you, Jack. Murphy gave her the marriage and the family she always wanted.”
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out another way. Being single all my life, perhaps you can understand that I’ve wondered what might have been …”
“I do understand, but there’s something you need to realize: You weren’t ready. That’s what made a commitment impossible. Don’t play the what-if game. It’s pointless. Given who you were at the time, there was no way you could have given Jenny something you didn’t have.”
I started to speak, then stopped. I sensed Howard had more wisdom yet to offer.
“It’s not like you overslept a ringing alarm clock, and if only given a second chance, you’d wake up on time. It’s more like you were a caterpillar, and Jenny was a butterfly. Now that you’re older and wiser, you wish you could go back and be a butterfly too. But you weren’t a butterfly then, Jack.”
“You’re right, of course. When I think about the past, I think of myself going back as I am now, not as who I was then.”
“If we had a time machine, and I sent you back as you are now, things would likely be very different between the two of you. But if we sent you back exactly like the person you were then, do you think the outcome would be different?”
“No.”
“I don’t think so either.” Howard’s eyes showed infinite compassion and love. “There are many opportunities to do good, Jack, but the truth is, you’re going to miss a few along the way. Want my advice?”
“I do, actually.”
“Do something about today. It’s the only day we truly have. And if you’ll make this day matter for the things Christ taught us, you’ll be doing what He wants you to do and living with purpose. You won’t have regrets, especially when you learn to love others more than anything else … except for the love you have for God. Here, you can write this down for your next book: Pour out everything you can to others.”
I smiled and Howard continued.
“Here’s another way of looking at it. When you were twenty, you thought with your own mind, mostly about yourself and what you wanted, and look where it got you. But now you think with His mind, focusing on what He’s interested in. And look at the result: God’s blessed you, and others through your work.”
Howard had a great gift of settling things. What he was saying wasn’t completely new to me, but hearing it from him in his calm, confident voice, it finally made sense. He spoke to me with more than words.
“I could use a guy like you around, Howard. I don’t know when someone has spoken so clearly to me.”
“I’m a minister, Jack. That’s a verb, not a noun.”
Angela came in to check on us. “Are the two of you doing all right?”
“Jack seems to be doing just fine.”
“You two want to see something adorable? Look outside.” Angela pointed past us, and we turned to see three heavily wrapped bundles on ice skates displaying three radically different levels of skating ability. Mike was there with the shovel and the dogs.
“Looks like they’re having fun.” Howard pulled back the sheer drapes to get a better look.
“Makes me wish the boys were here too,” Angela said.
“Yes,” I said, getting up from the table. “I think I’m going to let you all get on with the rest of your Christmas.”
“We’re so glad you came. Everyone has enjoyed seeing you again, Jack. You know, now that we’re all going to be back in Indiana, please don’t be a stranger.”
“I won’t. I promise,” I said. I grabbed my coat from the back of the couch and slid my arms through the sleeves.
“I don’t know how you keep warm in that Jeep, Jack. I would freeze to death in that thing.” Angela rubbed her arms.
“It’s easier staying cool in the summer. Just pop the top.” I smiled and made my way toward the front door. “Well, Merry Christmas. Thanks again for seeing me, Howard. And for your wise words.”
Angela stepped closer and gave me a hug like one I remembered seeing her give Jenny. “Merry Christmas, Jack. God be with you.” Her eyes beamed genuine warmth. I was finally at peace with my past.
“God be with you, too. And when you talk to Jenny again, please tell her I said hello and Merry Christmas.”
“You can tell her yourself,” Howard said.
“Come again?”
“She’ll be here in six weeks.”
“She’ll be … Six weeks?” I stammered.
“
We’re all moving on from our work in London. Jenny stayed on to help bridge the transition to a new director, but she’ll be here by mid-February.”
“I … I can’t believe it. You were all so far away a few weeks ago. I would never have imagined you’d all pick up and return to Indiana.”
“Jack,” Howard said slowly and clearly to help me grasp it once and for all. “We’d been there twenty years.”
“What about Murphy? Will he be able to transfer to Indianapolis?” They both looked at me with blank expressions.
“Oh, Jack.” Angela’s face took on a pained, embarrassed look. “I’m sorry; you made it sound as if you knew. Murphy died two years ago.”
“What?” I said, shock registering off the charts.
“I’m so sorry. When I asked if you knew about Murphy and you said yes, it just sounded like you knew.”
“Heart attack,” Howard said. “He was only forty-two.”
~ TWENTY-NINE ~
I hear the secrets that you keep
When you’re talking in your sleep.
—The Romantics
“Talking in Your Sleep”
I left Mike and Tessa’s dumbfounded. Jenny was coming back to live in Indiana, a familiar two-hour drive from Providence. England was a faraway storybook place, unreachable; the Atlantic Ocean an uncrossable moat surrounding Jenny’s castle.
There had been another barrier of course, Jenny’s heart. We’d been out of contact all these many years because of mistakes, hurts that had closed the door to her heart. Of course, when I discovered that God gave Jenny the desires of her heart in a good man—in Murphy—I stopped trying to figure out how to repair the rift, how to win her back.
Angela’s revelation spun my heart in a thousand directions. To hear of Murphy’s death grieved me deeply. I felt a profound sadness for Jenny, as if he’d died just the day before. And then, layered on top of that sadness, or beneath it, or perhaps beside it, I felt a hint of hope, a hope that almost felt wrong to feel. But it wasn’t wrong. This was a God-directed hope that I might see Jenny again, if only to say I was sorry and make amends.
I hadn’t spoken to Jenny in almost twenty years, but I’d been in a one-way communication with her through words printed in a book. But she didn’t read it; she’d listened to it on tape—she’d heard my voice. She’d heard me talk about Norwood, the place where I’d learned to practice love when there was no more Jenny to train with.
I used my cell phone to call Peter and ask if he planned on going to the Christmas Eve service. It was short notice, but with my nose stuck in a book, Christmas had snuck up on me. Peter was out. I left a message and continued on to Providence.
Mrs. Hernandez was making her rounds, having already rendered the place spotless and filled the refrigerator. The answering machine blinked. I lingered for a moment in a question: Would there ever be a message from Jenny on my machine?
I pushed the playback button. The first communiqué was from Peter wanting to know where I was. The second was from Bud. He’d read the pages on Mitchell. He offered what sounded like words of condolence. He also wanted to know if my faxes meant we were finished working in the same office. The last message was from Marianne. She’d called CMO and had the impression I wasn’t working there anymore.
I shut off the machine and called her right away. She asked if there was any chance I might come home to Iowa over the Christmas holiday.
“Would today be soon enough?”
I tossed fresh clothes in an overnight bag, retrieved my minicassette recorder from the supply closet, and grabbed one of Mrs. H’s burritos from the fridge.
In the past few days, I’d made trips from Chicago to Providence, then Providence to Indianapolis, and now Providence to Overton. Constant traveling, just like after Mitchell’s death. But there was a difference: These trips each had purpose, known destinations. I remember little of those months on Mitchell’s bike, the last stop before the bottom fell out. Before the world grinded to a halt.
Born again. A man must be born again.
As I chased the setting sun, it was time to put on tape another memory. There were only a few left, but they were significant. The sun painted red streaks over the clouds, a gateway to the western world. The Jeep ran noisily in the winter wind, but it was quiet in comparison to, say, a Harley-Davidson.
~ THIRTY ~
And I can tell you my love for you will still be strong
After the boys of summer have gone.
—Don Henley
“The Boys of Summer”
I’d asked Mitch’s parents for forgiveness. They’d given me Mitch’s bike. They offered their forgiveness, too. I’m sure they meant it, but it came across like something they knew they were supposed to do but didn’t particularly feel like doing.
I rode the bike home and rolled it into the garage for a tune-up like I’d done with Mitch so many times.
“Your mom told me you’re leaving.” Jenny stood in the open doorway of our greasy fix-it-shop garage, waiting for my response.
“I gotta get away for a while,” I said, my focus remaining on the disassembled bike.
Jenny stepped over the oily work rags and the open toolbox. Wrenches and other tools lay on the floor between us like a minefield.
“Jack, what are you running from?”
“Can’t explain.”
I took a socket wrench from the toolbox and yanked at a spark plug. What damage a year of neglect could do.
“Jack, you can’t keep running.”
“I’m messed up right now. Just go back to Providence.”
She crossed the minefield and crouched down near me. She touched me with her hand, guiding my face to look at hers.
“Jack, listen to me. You don’t have to do this. If you’re not ready to come back to school, if you don’t want to stay here with your mom, you don’t have to. Come back to Providence with me. You aren’t in any condition to get lost. You need time to mend. Time with people who care about you.”
Like a corridor of heavy metal doors in a sci-fi movie, my mind was closing down, systematically shutting off reason and rationality. I was locking myself away from Jenny.
“Why can’t I get through to you?” She raised her voice. “Nothing you do is going to bring Mitchell back, but if you leave here like this, you might not come back.”
I rose to my feet. “You’d better go, Jenny.”
“I don’t want to go, Jack. I want you to come with me,” she said, fighting for me when I didn’t want to be fought for.
“Why don’t you stay out of my life?” I said, turning my back.
“Why are you trying so hard to hurt me? I care about you.”
“Maybe you’re getting the picture of who I really am. I don’t want you. I don’t want to marry you. I don’t want to live with you. What I want is for you to get out of here!”
“You may think you’re proving something here, but you’re …” Jenny gasped, sobbing uncontrollably. Something inside her clicked. “You don’t care about me. Why can’t I get that? You don’t want me, and you don’t care what happens to us.” She said this epiphany to herself, not to me. “Why do I keep trying to make you love me when it’s clear that’s not what you want?”
Jenny wiped hot tears from her cheeks. It was my turn to say something if I wanted any chance of fixing things. But I stood there, stoic, a hardened soldier waging a battle on another front.
Jenny squeezed her eyes shut, as if trying to force the reality away, wringing down more tears. For all my lostness, I still didn’t want to see her this low. I tried to hug her.
“Don’t touch me!” she cried. “You had a chance to do something good with your life, with school, and with me. But instead, you’re throwing it all away.”
She wanted to make another point, then shook it off, going back into the house. A few minutes later, I looked up to see her walking away, suitcases in hand. She gave no last glance. She was done with me. Not over me—that would come later, but she was finished
investing herself in me. Leaving would be one of the most difficult things Jenny would do, but she would do it because she was nobody’s fool. She climbed into her car.
“Jenny, I’m sorry,” I yelled to her.
She shifted the car into reverse and began backing down the driveway. I ran beside the car.
“Jenny!” I shouted, knocking on the window, “Jenny …”
She stopped the car.
“You may not know who I am to you, Jack. You may not know the tears I’ve cried over you, or the prayers I’ve prayed. But you are going to know the loss, because no one will ever love you as deeply as I’ve loved you.” Sadness returned to her face, her eyes bleeding tears, her mouth quivering. “I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
I opened my mouth to say something, but the wind stole my words. She turned the car around in the grass and was gone.
In the blink of an eye (or was it months later?), I was somewhere in New Mexico, lying under the stars, trying to sort out my life. Somewhere in Indiana slept a woman who had figured it all out in our first kiss. I wrote her a letter by the light of the campfire.
Dear Jenny,
I’m deeply sorry for how I’ve hurt you. You’re precious to me, and the thought of life without you is unfathomable. You deserve to be loved and cared for. I have been so stupid. So selfish.
Jenny, I’m lost here where I am. I need you.
Jack
What would it mean if I had truly lost Jenny? I lost more of myself in each mile that passed. I was tired of riding, tired of being. I closed my eyes.
Lord, I wish you’d show me what’s real.
I prayed for a moment of clarity, a vision in the desert. My burning bush would arrive in the person of Carlos Hernandez, a local I’d met in the Desert Rose Cantina. I made the mistake of telling him where I was camped. While I lay in the dark praying that God would change my life, Carlos Hernandez was drinking shots of tequila in town. As he sat there drinking, a plan was forming in his mind.
The next morning I awoke to the sound of a pistol’s hammer clicking in my right ear. I opened my eyes to see Carlos Hernandez and another man standing over me with guns drawn. There wasn’t a lot of talk like you see in the movies. The shadowy figure standing in front of the rising sun pointed his pistol into my chest and pulled the trigger. I felt like I’d been hit with a sledgehammer. My breath left me as adrenaline flooded panic into my brain.
Providence: Once Upon a Second Chance Page 20