From The Dead

by John Herrick

  Caught off guard, Jesse exhaled and tried to decide where to begin.

  Blake stopped him. “Sorry, man. No need to answer. I didn’t mean to pry; I’d wondered but didn’t want to bring it up with Eden.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” Jesse replied in a matter-of-fact tone. “I was three years old back then. I don’t remember much about Mom—just minor details, like her long hair, same color as Eden’s. I remember her hugging me one day when I was a year old, maybe because there are so few memories to choose from and that one’s branded in me.” Jesse grinned. “I do remember her belly getting huge and my asking why, even though she’d told me several times already—I guess a kid can’t fully comprehend it, so he keeps asking. When she told me a little brother or sister slept inside, it amazed me. I asked what kind of clothes it wore in there.

  “One day, back when we lived in Albuquerque, my grandma picked me up from preschool, which struck me as odd because Mom always picked me up. I asked Grandma why she came to get me. She said Dad had to take Mom to the hospital to have the baby, so I would stay overnight at Grandma’s house. Grandma and I played kid games all evening.” Jesse paused as a shiver crawled up his spine. “Then a phone call came in the middle of the night. Grandma had one of those rotary phones, and its bell ringer pierced the silence in her house. I could hear her answer in her bedroom, but her voice sounded muffled from where I lay. Even as a kid, I thought she sounded excited, then a bit concerned. But I drifted off to sleep and forgot about the call.

  “The next morning, Grandma seemed sad. Dad came by to pick me up—this was long before he was a preacher. I asked him where Mom and the baby were. Dad said the baby was at the hospital and that we were going to see her—‘your baby sister, Eden.’ He didn’t say anything about Mom.

  “When we got outside, I asked about Mom again.” A film of tears glazed the surface of Jesse’s eyes, but he blinked them away. He refused to shed anything in public. “Dad stopped walking. He seemed tired—not impatient with me, just … tired. He took me by the hand, and led me to Grandma’s backyard. He sat me down on the back porch steps and knelt down to face me eye to eye. ‘Mommy’s in heaven.’ Those were his exact words, sort of said them under his breath. ‘Why?’ I asked. Dad told me giving birth had been tough on Mom—and she had died. He tried to explain death to my ‘kid brain.’ I pictured her sitting on a cloud.”

  Embarrassed he’d even asked, Blake said, “I’m sorry. Don’t tell me any more—I shouldn’t have asked.”

  “No, I want to,” Jesse said. “I haven’t talked about it in so long, and it follows me everywhere I go.” Jesse took a deep breath and continued. “Dad explained the situation to me when I got older. During the delivery, Mom experienced complications, so they needed to do an emergency C-section on her. She started to hemorrhage and lose blood fast. It happened in the mid 1980s, when they discovered some of the blood supplies tainted with HIV. Everyone was on high alert, and for a while, they didn’t know which blood supplies were safe. Some doctors were scared to use the blood and made individual judgment calls. So when Mom started to lose her blood, the doctor hesitated to expose her to a transfusion. He believed she would make it through the emergency, but soon the situation got worse. When he finally decided the transfusion was necessary …” Before his next words, Jesse seared his lips shut for a moment. “It was too late,” he said. “They lost her.”

  In a trance, Jesse shook his head. His own nosebleeds had sparked memories of his mother’s blood loss, which, in turn, had introduced a fresh aspect of heartache. Yet Jesse pressed on with his story. His face blushed from emotion. “Dad wasn’t a Christian at the time, so he didn’t know anything about prayer—said he didn’t even think of praying.

  “Dad told me that in the weeks after Mom’s death, he spent a lot of time in solitude, withdrew from everyone except Eden and me. While he was alone, he says, he could sense God’s hand on him, a touch of compassion. He could sense God’s help as he balanced full-time work with single fatherhood. When Dad came through the ordeal, he says, he looked back at how God had protected and cared for him and his kids. He wanted to know that God. That’s when he became a Christian. And not long after that, because he’d felt God’s love and comfort through the storm of loss, he knew he wanted to become a minister. Says he wanted to help others to know that love.”

  To preserve his friend’s dignity, Blake avoided eye contact with Jesse. But it proved unnecessary: Jesse, who absorbed himself in his story, had forgotten where he was and to whom he talked. His cheeks and nose felt hot from the sensation of restrained adrenaline.

  Jesse stared at the floor in downcast concentration. He shook his head in disbelief. “What kind of God would allow such a thing to happen to two little kids? To allow a little girl to never meet her mother? I don’t understand. It’s not disrespect, just frustration. Confusion.” He looked up at Blake again. “I had blind faith as a kid. But when I got older, these questions came to mind. And I don’t have answers for them.”

  Blake shrugged in a resigned manner. “Neither do I. I wish I did, but I don’t know what to say or where to begin.”

  “If I could come to terms with those questions, I think I could move on with my life.”

  Jesse paused.

  “If God could speak,” Jesse murmured.

  * * *

  That evening, after Jesse, Eden and Blake had eaten dinner at Blake’s house, Jesse drove home alone.

  As he reflected on his conversation with Blake a few hours before, his eyes watered. Weary from the emotional cleansing of the last several months, he tried to smother the thoughts and hold back the tears. Successful at first, his mind soon wandered back and those tears welled up once again. Vision blurred, he pulled over to the shoulder of the road, put the car in park, and shut off the engine. Then a dam broke loose inside him.

  Anger. That’s what he felt.

  Anger toward the past. Anger toward God. Anger because he cried like a defeated soul.

  His face crimson, he pounded the dashboard with ball of his palm.

  Pound!

  Anger released.

  And again: Pound!

  Pound, pound, pound!

  Jesse screamed with fury and fire. Hot tears darted down his cheeks; their saline stung as they settled upon his lower lip.

  “I don’t understand this, God!” Jesse screamed. “I just need an answer!” He waited, then screamed again. “Are You listening to me?!”

  Then he sank back in the seat, went limp, his hand at rest on his forehead. He rubbed his eyes dry.

  He looked up but found his view of heaven blocked by the fuzzy beige interior of his car.

  Vulnerable, Jesse settled down. His voice softened to a plea.

  “If You can answer me, I think I’ll be okay.”

  Jesse listened. He heard nothing. With its windows rolled up, the car felt muggy; Jesse’s warm breath enhanced its temperature.

  “Can You hear me?” Jesse whispered in desperation.

  He waited. Then he asked again.

  “Can You hear me?” Jesse craved a reply, a sign—something.

  But nothing came.

  “Where are You, God …”

  CHAPTER 44

  In Jesse’s opinion, Brandywine Falls, a natural waterfall in Cuyahoga Valley National Park, was well worth the short drive required to get there. He craved the ambience of water today.

  The walkway, made of wooden planks and railings, wound beside the Falls in a gradual descent. Though Jesse and Drew could hear the rush of water, its source was not yet within view. Surrounded by the lush foliage of the shallow woods, they strolled down the walkway, side by side, Jesse’s camera in Drew’s grip.

  As they passed a grandmother who tried to control her brood of grandkids, Jesse turned to Drew. “Have you been here before, buddy?”

  “No,” Drew replied. The Falls represented one of those nearby natural attractions that falls victim to taken-for-granted status: If you’re not careful, you might not get aro
und to a visit until your latter years. As a father, Jesse determined to bring value to his son’s life, even if it started with new experiences that other kids might consider ordinary.

  “They have a bed and breakfast here,” Jesse said. “That’s sorta like a hotel, but more like a house.”

  Drew clucked his tongue, appeared content with Jesse’s attention regardless of what they talked about.

  The rush of water amplified, its sound akin to a hundred bathtubs filling with maximum gusto. Its echo bounced among the leaves in nature’s version of a relay race. Unseen birds chirped from camouflaged branches. Jesse picked up the strong scent of foliage around him.

  “So, you told me there’s a girl you kinda like,” Jesse said with a poke to Drew’s ribs. The kid smelled like cookies. “Does she have a name?”

  His face in a blush, Drew tried to hide his laughter. “No.”

  “She doesn’t have a name?”

  “Her name is No.”

  “Clever.”

  “Maggie.”

  “Maggie. Hmm …” Jesse rubbed his chin and feigned contemplation. “Yeah, Maggie. I like the name Maggie.”

  “Good, ‘cause I’d need to beat you up if you didn’t,” Drew joked. “Do you like the name Caitlyn?”

  “Of course.”

  Three observation points, located at different heights, provided views of the Falls from different angles. As they reached the first point—the uppermost, from which you can look down upon the Falls—Drew raced toward the railing and snapped a wide-angle picture of the water as it poured forth in a forceful flow. After that, the kid leaned over the railing, took note of the distance to the bottom of the gorge, then spat down into it and counted the seconds until contact. Regardless of the decade, some aspects of childhood remain the same, Jesse mused.

  Jesse considered this observation point his favorite. From this height, the waterfall’s strength seemed muted, something you could harness. He imagined God hovering over a world where nothing escapes His view, where looming circumstances appear miniscule in the grand scheme of life. Jesse leaned over the railing beside his son, closed his eyes, and listened to the rolling water—much more contained than the Pacific, but more active than Lake Erie.

  When a retired couple approached the railing, Drew held the camera out to the lady. “Excuse me, ma’am. Could you take a picture of us, please?”

  The lady, in her early eighties by Jesse’s estimation, appeared as though a face lift had made a cameo appearance in a past life. Jesse grimaced at the impression that this couple still enjoyed an active sex life. Horrified, he shook the thought from his head and swallowed the bile in his mouth.

  With proud satisfaction, Jesse humored the scene before him, in which Drew explained to Sexy Grandma how to use the camera and mimicked Jesse’s tutorial on shutter speed. She would shoot two people who stood still, Drew pointed out, so he’d go with a low speed if he were her.

  The lady backed up into position. Then Drew bounded over to Jesse and wrapped his arm around his older buddy’s waist, their backs to the railing and the Falls in the background.

  One photo snap and Sexy Grandma returned the camera to Drew. “Are you brothers?” she asked.

  Jesse swallowed. Eighteen years apart—and both young through this lady’s eyes—he could understand how she might have drawn the conclusion.

  Drew told her Jesse was a friend of his mom’s, which elicited an aw-how-nice reply. Jesse and Drew thanked Sexy Grandma again before she and her boyfriend waved and sauntered off, hand in hand, in search of the next observation point and a fountain of youth. The image of the couple’s love life re-emerged in Jesse’s head.

  “Geez, I hate to think of those two in the bedroom,” Jesse muttered to no one in particular.

  Drew glanced up. “Huh?”

  Jesse gritted his teeth. He’d slipped with that comment, accustomed to former days when he joked with Gavin. In an attempt to recover, Jesse replied, “They probably hang posters of black-and-white movies. Can you imagine?” Relieved that Drew bought his explanation, Jesse hoped he hadn’t caused long-term damage for the kid. He made a mental note to guard his future comments.

  Before they headed further down the walkway, Jesse rested his arms against the railing. He took a last glimpse of the waterfall. From the corner of his eye, he noticed Drew lean closer toward him. Drew focused on Jesse’s face as though he searched for clues.

  Jesse chuckled and asked, “What are you doing, bud?”

  “Looking for something,” Drew replied, half absent.

  “Looking for what?”

  “You have eyes like mine.”

  Taken aback, Jesse said, “What? What do you mean?”

  Drew shrugged. “When I was, like, four years old, I asked my mom what my dad looks like, and she said he has eyes like mine. So sometimes I look at people’s eyes. Did you know both of us have green eyes?”

  “Oh. Yeah, that’s cool, huh?”

  “Kinda cool.” And that was all.

  Jesse’s heart started to beat again now that he realized Drew hadn’t put two and two together. Had Drew drawn a conclusion, Caitlyn would have freaked out.

  How do I measure up with this fatherhood thing? Jesse wondered.

  They strolled further down the walkway, further into the gorge. As they walked, the rubber soles of their sneakers clomped on the wooden planks.

  When they reached the second observation point, which unveiled the Falls once again, Drew hopped over to the banister to absorb the beauty at mid level. Much closer to them now, this same waterfall seemed larger, more ominous and intimidating than before. It reminded Jesse of his own finite vulnerability.

  Drew snapped more pictures. “This one’s my favorite so far,” he said. “I want to take a good one for my mom.”

  “Seems more intense from this angle, doesn’t it?”

  Drew developed a glint in his eye, a hint of dominion as he stared at the rush of water. “I’d like to ride down it in a jet ski.”

  The things you can learn from an innocent kid, Jesse thought. What one sees as a formidable foe, another sees as an opportunity to conquer.

  With his eyes still glued to the Falls, Drew’s wistful smile faded. “What’s it like to have a dad?” he asked.

  Jesse bumped his knee against the railing, caught by surprise at the question. “Kind of like having a mom, I suppose. Except your dad is a guy.” While Jesse had taken the concept for granted, how foreign it seemed to Drew. The kid truly wanted to know; Jesse had forgotten Drew’s limited knowledge consisted of an outsider’s observation and the kid’s own imagination.

  “What’s your dad like?” Drew pressed. “Does he remember your birthday?”

  “I’m sure he does. But we didn’t talk to each other on my birthday. Didn’t speak to him often. For a while, I didn’t even visit him.”

  Drew looked up at Jesse. “How long?”

  “Lots of years.”

  Nonchalant, Drew puffed his cheeks. “If I had a dad, I’d make sure I talked to him every day,” he said. Jesse nodded. Maybe his son’s emotions had dried up at some point in the past—when Drew discovered he needed to grow up before his time. “Does your dad love you?” asked Drew.

  “Yes, he does.” The things Jesse deemed commonplace, for which Drew seemed to have radar. “We didn’t always understand each other, though.”

  “Are you interested in different things? He likes football and you like baseball?”

  “I guess you could say we were interested in different things. Better to say we didn’t see eye to eye on much.”

  “But he still wants to be your friend anyway?”

  Jesse chuckled. “Yeah, he does.” He scruffed the top of Drew’s head. “He’ll love me no matter what stupid choices I’ve made.”

  Drew scratched at a splinter on the railing, then said, “If I could pick a dad, I’d want him to be like you.”

  In that instant, Jesse’s heart ached, a soaked towel wrenched by large hands. His joy motiva
ted him to hug his son, but Jesse knew he couldn’t. “What makes you say that?” Jesse asked instead.

  “It’s fun to hang out with you. When you take me places, it makes me feel good. No one else did that for me before,” Drew said. “That’s how I’d want my dad to treat me. And also you listen to me.”

  Of course; you’re my son, Jesse thought. “Of course; you’re my buddy.”

  “Plus you’re nice to my mom. That makes her feel good.”

  “Your mom approves of me?”

  “I think she likes you okay. Lately she’s acted a lot happier than I’ve seen her in, well, I can’t remember how long.” Shoulders loose, Drew grew more relaxed as he spoke. He crossed his arms on the railing and rested his chin on them.

  Jesse felt a bittersweet pang in his gut as he watched his son. “Takes some of the pressure off you when your mom’s happy, huh?”

  “Yeah.” Drew pressed his lips together.

  “Your mom loves you so much.”

  Drew furrowed his brow. He gave Jesse a fleeting glance. “Sometimes if I feel like I need my dad, I pretend you’re my dad and it makes me feel better,” Drew said. He looked up with innocent eyes. “Is that okay?”

  Words couldn’t express how impacted Jesse felt. He leaned down and gave his son a side hug. “That’s fine, buddy,” Jesse said. “You pretend all you want.”

  Jesse nudged Drew and, in unison, they pushed away from the railing.

  Without another word, they continued down the walkway to the final observation point.

  Father and son.

  CHAPTER 45

  On the ride home, Jesse drove out of his way to further stretch his one-on-one time with Drew. They stopped at a gas station along Route 91 in Twinsburg, just north of Hudson, where Jesse pumped gas while Drew waited in the car.

  “Jesse?”