by Meg Lelvis
The guy gently pried the child from Jack’s arms when he tried to search for Karen, still holding his daughter tight. Time stood still as he called Karen’s name. Finally, there it was: wavy auburn hair, he clamored toward it. She lay face down. The guy, carrying Elizabeth, helped Jack through the rubble to the woman’s side. Jack’s heart leaped with hope. He knelt down, blithering senselessly, gently turned her over, unfazed by the blood shrouding her body. He smoothed her hair from her forehead, cradling her head in his arms. He put his ear to her chest, heard nothing, but then she opened her almond-shaped blue eyes and looked at him. Later, the guy told Jack he had screamed, “You’re alive! Don’t leave! Don’t leave!” Then her eyes closed for the last time.
The rest of that day and following week remained hazy to Jack, various images piercing his brain, other details blank. The kind stranger named Stefan stayed by his side until evening, helped Jack contact his relatives, talk with police, was like a friend. Jack never saw him again.
He remembered calling Tommy in Chicago, mad with grief, begging his brother to come over and help him find the bastards who did this, track ‘em down if it took the rest of his life. Karen’s parents flew over and paid for Tommy’s ticket so he could be with Jack. He will forever be grateful to his brother for becoming the voice of reason in not taking on the IRA and later talking Jack out of eating his own gun.
. . . . .
He took another gulp of water. “You know, Karen loved poetry and tried to teach me some. I remember being in the hour of lead when Emily Dickinson wrote about living after the death of a loved one. My hour of lead lasted ten years.” Jack felt exhausted.
The doc smiled. “I know that hour visits you from time to time. I’m sure Dr. Nathan in Chicago told you that your tragedy is more than most men suffer in a life time, even in the military. Your experience is textbook PTSD, and you deserve credit for progressing as far as you have, Jack.”
“Thanks, doc. Learned later that a splinter group of the IRA set the bomb, they were against the cease fire.”
Jack told Clemons the bombing killed twenty-nine people, including nine children. The police heard warnings by phone that were inaccurate: the bomb would go off at the courthouse, so people were evacuated out of there to the downtown area. Talk about the height of irony...leading them like lambs to slaughter. Five hundred pounds of explosives in a Vauxhall Astra, just an ordinary hatchback you wouldn’t notice. People remembered an eeriness and darkness over the area later in the afternoon.
Jack drained his water glass. “The worst thing is living with the ‘what ifs’ and ‘if only.’ People would say, ‘you’re lucky Jack, if you hadn’t gone to the john you could’ve been killed too.’ I thought it was a dumb ass thing to say. Didn’t they understand I wanted to die with them? I’ve cursed myself for taking that leak, I should’ve gone with them. And a million times I’ve said if only Elizabeth had to go potty, they’d be alive.”
Clemons shook his head. “I can’t imagine, Jack. No one can. The only thing to say is you’re not alone, we’re on your side and by your side.”
Jack nodded. He’d run out of words. Time to leave. Felt worn down, but lighter in spirit. “Like to call it a day, doc.”
“That’s fine. You’ve accomplished the most important part of the therapy. Keep on with the meds, and allow yourself to look at family pictures again. See you Thursday.” Clemons stood and walked with Jack to the door.
“Thanks, doc. Feel like I’ve been through the mill, but like a weight has been lifted off.”
The men shook hands, and Jack was on his way.
Driving home, he willed himself out of the heaviness of his past and thought of lighter subjects.
Like the weekend. He needed to order swim trunks online; he loathed malls and shopping. Wonder where he’d look. Amazon? Nah. He’d try Academy, and if all else failed, good ol’ Walmart. A long weekend at the beach with Terri. At least Clemons hadn’t objected. Not out loud anyway.
Chapter 33
The next morning Jack awakened with a dry, scratchy throat and sneezed several times. Great.
He never got sick, not even allergies. Told himself to ignore it, maybe stop at Walgreen’s for some pills or cough syrup after work. He couldn’t afford to feel lousy with his big weekend coming up. Last night he spent too much time deciding which swim trunks wouldn’t look like an old codger’s. Ended up ordering two pair of Speedo trunks, both navy with similar stripes down the side. Hoped they fit well.
Usually not a vain person, Jack wondered if Terri found him as appealing as Karen had. Oh, Jack, you’re so sexy with those brooding blue eyes and dark hair. He smiled at the memory.
. . . . .
By the end of the day, he felt like crap. Murphy had descended on him earlier, repeating the Kaplan case information for the umpteenth time. Finally resigned himself to the fact there was not probable cause to bring in Doug Warner or Al Vega, Kelly’s dad, for further questioning. The captain wanted to hear Hatfield, the psych consultant’s theory again about Todd Kaplan’s lousy childhood and disdain for women due to his druggie slut of a mother.
Murphy’s parting words were, “Let it rest, Jack. Keep it in the background, something may come up. Check in with the roommate every week or so.”
Jack didn’t have much hope for an arrest. Cops want to close cases, but if there’s no evidence, ya can’t invent it, although some have. His suspicions leaned toward Warner, but lately seeds of doubt concerning Bryan entered his head. He steeled himself not to think about the case. Didn’t want to spoil his time with Terri.
. . . . .
The next three days inched their way toward the long weekend. In spite of gulping cough syrup and popping antihistamines, Jack’s symptoms refused to abate until he canceled his appointment with Clemons and spent the afternoon at home. He managed to avoid Baumgartner, who would’ve swooped on him like Florence Nightingale, armed with vapor rub, lozenges, and chicken soup, her voice shrill with instructions to ensure Jack’s speedy recovery.
Friday morning dawned brightly. He felt almost back to normal. Ready to step into the shower, he heard his phone buzz. Terri.
He clicked on. “Good morning.”
“Did I wake you?” He was sure she smiled.
“I wish.”
She giggled. “Wearing anything?”
“Just my watch and Old Spice.”
More laughter. “Oh Jack. My grandpa wore Old Spice.”
“I’m old and wise.”
“No comment. You sound a little hoarse.”
“Allergies I think. Better now.”
“Okay, just wanted to firm up our plans for tomorrow. I’m gonna leave about 8:00, so I’ll get to the beach around 9:30-10:00 depending on traffic. You have the address, like I said, easy to find. I’ll bring stuff for breakfast, snacks, wine. You’re the beer guy.” She paused. “There’ll be beach towels there. Can’t think of anything else.”
“Sounds good. See you before noon.”
“I’ll be waiting.” She clicked off.
Jack felt upbeat and optimistic, a strange state of mind for him. He wondered if it would last.
. . . . .
The following morning Jack sped along I-90 toward Galveston. Planned to hit Highway 6, then the Gulf Freeway south to the island. He thought of the Glen Campbell song Karen was fond of. He’d never been a beach person, but she and Elizabeth loved it when they vacationed in California. This weekend he’d make an effort to put up with the sand and stickiness. Try not to complain.
A couple days ago Jack arranged for Baumgartner to care for Boone while he was gone.
Concocted a story about a weekend conference at some Galveston hotel;
didn’t give her a name. He knew the dog was in good hands.
The sun danced off the bay waters as he approached the causeway, and he felt a calmness envelop him. Traffic was dense on 65th Street, but after he turned west on the seawall, fewer vehicles crawled along. Jack liked the sight of the sea, the wind creating whitecaps near the shore, a lone surfer silhouetted against the horizon. He rolled his window down to hear the seawinds blowing... Had to admit, the ocean was mesmerizing, surf pounding, sea gulls screeching.
Ten minutes later he drove a mile past Jamaica Beach and turned into a small neighborhood of a dozen typical well-maintained homes elevated on pilings. The houses were situated on a turn-around, enabling each home a beach view from front or side balconies. Jack spotted Terri’s black Lexus in the driveway at the end of the dirt road. The two-story house was painted a medium blue with white trim. Looked like a three or four bedroom. He parked behind her car and climbed out.
“Glad to see you,” Terri called, dancing down the white wood stairs from the front door. She held out her arms and gave him a quick hug and kiss. Her yellow sleeveless top and white shorts showcased long tan arms and legs, her auburn hair in a ponytail. She wore pale pink lip gloss and her signature lilac perfume. Intoxicating as always.
Jack held her shoulders. “Lookin’ hot.”
She eyed his red polo shirt and tan cargos. “You too. Can I carry something?”
He handed her a canvas bag, beer and snacks peeking out. “I got the rest.”
They climbed the stairs to the balcony and walked in the front door. Jack looked around at the living and dining area with its white walls, vaulted ceiling, and stone fireplace. Tans and sea-foam greens dominated the color scheme of the sofa, love seat and chairs.
Terri led the way to the kitchen where they stacked the beer in the fridge. “Just leave the snacks on the counter. I’ll show you the bedroom.” She smiled at Jack.
Up a short flight of stairs off the kitchen was the master suite, a large bedroom with a balcony and spacious bath and dressing area. The bed, love seat, and area rug were tan and white. Jack was impressed.
“Nice,” he said. “How long have you been coming here?”
“Years. Were close friends with the owners, hung out a lot as a family, our kids all played together till they grew up. They had the place remodeled a few years ago. Rent it out sometimes.”
Jack tossed his duffel bag on the floor by the huge balcony sliding glass door. He gazed out at the water. Several children splashed in the waves, adults nearby. Two beach canopies were erected on the sand with lawn chairs underneath. Terri stood beside him, touching him. “What would you like to do?”
“Guess.” Wasn’t far to land on the bed.
. . . . .
The day passed quickly for Jack. Couldn’t remember the last time he had plain, old-fashioned fun like this. The sex was enhanced by the sound of the surf, the escape from the everyday.
He lugged the canopy from the garage, and with Terri helping, managed to assemble it on their chosen spot away from the others. They were lucky not many people were around; it was a private beach, but the public beach laws could be an issue he’d heard.
Terri brought lunch, wine, and beer to enjoy by the water. They waded, splashed, wrestled, and felt each other in the swell, laughing like kids. Jack told himself to ignore the seaweed by the shore and sticky sand on his feet and legs. When they lay side by side on colorful towels, she smoothed his dark hair off his brow. “Do you get tired of people saying you look like Liam Neeson?”
He shrugged and squeezed her hair, pony tail long gone. “Nah, sometimes they can’t come up with the name. Just say I look like somebody.”
Late afternoon they called it a day. Terri said the canopy would be fine to leave overnight, and they sauntered back to the house for showers, followed by a quickie, and then a change of clothes.
They headed for Waterman’s on the bay side for dinner. An established popular restaurant, Terri wanted to arrive early to avoid a wait.
Their table sat by a wall of windows with a view of the marina. Jack took pictures of the scene and later the pink, purple and orange sky.
“The sunsets here are always breathtaking.” Terri sipped her wine. “Just love ‘em.”
“They never look as good on camera.” Jack held out his phone for her to see.
He was irritated with the slow service. No excuse for it, the place wasn’t busy. The waiter was okay; maybe poor kitchen management. The dinner finally arrived, and they enjoyed a sumptuous meal of grilled shrimp, fresh vegetables for Terri, with fried oysters for Jack. They splurged and shared key lime pie for dessert after finishing a bottle of Pinot Grigio. Made up for the lousy service.
He noticed Terri had not mentioned taking pictures of one another. Did they have an unspoken agreement that photos were verboten? That was good with him. Can’t be too careful with privacy these days.
Satiated and in good spirits, they returned to the house and clamored upstairs. Terri kicked off her sandals. “Can you believe I’m too full for sex?”
“Damn, do I need to wait till morning?” Truth be told, he felt the same. A day in the sun and sand followed by a big dinner was exhausting.
When they settled in bed, Terri said, “Thanks for today, Jack. The best I’ve had for months, maybe longer.”
He nuzzled her neck with his lips. “Me too.”
“Too bad it won’t last.”
Curious, he said, “What do you mean?”
“Well, you know.” She stroked his chest hair. “I love your chest. So manly. I mean it might be too good to be true. Us.”
Jack frowned. He raised his head and leaned on his elbow. “You lost me, Terri. Why can’t we have fun? Enjoy ourselves?” Seemed like women always wanted more. Why not relax, have pleasure doing stuff? With Karen he knew he wanted to spend forever with her. But Terri? No, not now anyway.
Gotta get his shit together first. He was on the way, though.
“I’m just afraid something will happen to spoil things. You might—”
“What?” He was confused.
She giggled. “Oh, nothing. Just being silly. Sun got to me.” She leaned over and kissed him. “I gotta get some sleep. That okay?”
“Sure, babe. G’night.” He wondered what she meant. Maybe they were too good to be true.
During the night Jack went in the bathroom, took a leak, and was washing his hands when he noticed the side medicine cabinet door ajar. Telling himself he wasn’t snooping, like a Seinfeld episode he remembered, he dried his hands and opened the cabinet door. Several pill bottles sat in a row, two of which were prescription. He examined them one at a time. Both were written for Terri by a doc Jack never heard of, nothing unusual. One script was for Ativan, the other Lamictal. He hadn’t heard of the second one, but he thought Ativan was for anxiety. He memorized the spelling of the one med to look up later.
He crept back to bed, careful not to wake Terri. Denise’s words from awhile ago popped into his mind. Something about a hospital co-worker saying Terri had mental issues? His memory was fuzzy. He told himself not to let his imagination run wild, but something continued to nag at him.
Chapter 34
The next morning was cloudy, a chance of rain according to the bubbly TV weather lady. Terri served a breakfast of cantaloupe, melon, and bagels with cream cheese. She brewed strong coffee from some exotic country Jack couldn’t remember. “Tastes perfect.”
She bent over and kissed him, ruffled his hair. “Thanks.” She smelled of lilac and coffee beans.
Later on when the sun peeked out and pushed the clouds away, Terri suggested a walk on the beach. Jack pretended to go for it. Good thin
g there were caps available. His face would turn into a beet without covering. In his opinion, walks on the beach were for self-advertising on e-Harmony.
They lounged under the canopy after their stroll. Terri brushed sand off her leg. “Feel like going back?”
“Sure.” Hadn’t had sex today. The time had come.
They plodded over the sand to the house. Terri took a glass of wine upstairs and drained half before falling onto the rumpled sheets. She held the glass up to Jack.
He shook his head. “I’ll have a beer later.”
. . . . .
It was good, but Jack sensed a slight change, an overall different mood. Couldn’t pinpoint it.
Maybe the sun.
By midafternoon they returned from a drive around the bay side of the island. Terri wanted to show him the golf course and other sites, but the traffic was heavier than expected. She told Jack she was tired and wanted to nap for an hour or so. Sounded good to him, so he joined her.
Two hours later he gradually awakened, looked around, no Terri. Groggy, he splashed water on his face and walked downstairs. She sat on the living room sofa holding a glass of wine, watching a TV news program.
She smiled. “Hi, sleepy head.” She patted the space beside her.
“Gotta get a beer.”
They sat close together. Terri turned off the TV. “You know, I still don’t know much about you. What made you come to Richmond?”
He knew this was coming. Couldn’t put it off forever. “Well, you know I’m from Chicago. Moved here six years ago. Needed a change of scenery.”