From The Dead (20 page)

“Sounds like Eden,” Jesse chuckled.

“He tried to get her attention, showing up by
coincidence at activities, striking up conversations with her.
Everyone could detect his interest—except her. And when she finally
realized Blake’s crush, my daughter, in her typical strong-willed
fashion, just kept her eye on him. She wanted to know how he
operated when he didn’t
know
she saw him.”

“Played hard to get, huh?”

“That’s an understatement. She had him going for
months longer—he wondered what in the world he did wrong.” Chuck
gave Eden and Blake another glance. “She wanted to make sure he was
trustworthy before she committed. She’s seen a lot of personalities
as a social worker; she doesn’t want to enter a first date, much
less a relationship, blindly.”

Jesse thought back to Jada. “Can’t say I blame
her.”

Together, he and his father shifted the pork steaks,
smoky scented and crisped around the edges, to a platter and headed
over to the table, where Chuck said grace over the meal.

After dinner, Blake ducked out early to run by the
shop for some inventory work. As the rest of them gathered the
table settings, Chuck smacked Jesse’s hand in jest.

“I’ll take care of these,” the minister said. “You
two hang out.” And with that, he disappeared into the kitchen with
a stack of disposable plates and ware for the trash.

Jesse looked over at Eden. “You and Blake.”

“He said you’ve been a gentleman about the whole
dating-your-sister scenario.”

“A
gentleman
?”

“My own paraphrase. He said you’ve taken it like a
man. You’d better be nice to him.”

Jesse feigned innocence. “Far be it from me to
interrupt your personal bliss.” In the initial taste of sunset, he
listened to a dog bark in the distance—a large one, from the timbre
of its voice. He pictured Jada trying to be kind to a Siberian
Husky and getting trampled by the miniature horse as it lapped her
face in gratitude. What had Jesse seen in her?

At the far corner of the yard, he noticed a football
behind a bush, no doubt lost by the kid next door. Jesse headed
over to retrieve it. “Remember when you used to tag along whenever
the guys and I played? I was what, twelve years old?”

“How could I forget! I was only nine and, like, half
your size. It was dangerous.”

Jesse had a glint in his eye. “Please! It was only
flag football.”

“Yeah, until you bowled me over and tackled me to the
ground!” She shook her head, the wounded soul. “One of your friends
made it his ambition each game to try to give me a broken boob—if
I’d had any back then!”

“Whatever, whiner,” Jesse joked. Football in hand, he
walked back toward her and bumped it against her elbow. “How about
a game right now? You know, for old time’s sake.”

“No way, Barlow.”

“Not up to the challenge?” he teased. “What’s the
matter?”

“You cheat. You made it
your
ambition to break
my
arm
!” she bantered in return. “Plus you believe in
wedgies as loser awards, and I want to save you the embarrassment.
What if I turned the tables on you after all this time?”

Jesse taunted her further until Eden snatched the
ball from his hand and raced to the opposite end of the lawn.

“Wait, now who’s cheating?”

With a fist pump, Eden hooted and shouted, “Give it
up for the girls!” She laughed. “First touchdown, and without a
broken bone!”

She gave the ball a light punt and ran toward her big
brother. When Jesse caught the ball and started to dart, Eden
grabbed his ankle at the last moment in an effort to stop him.
Though she clung with limited success, Jesse maintained his balance
and dragged her, inch by inch, across the grass.

Chuck sauntered outside again. From the patio, he
caught sight of his kids as they scuffled in hilarity in the lawn.
His face impish, Chuck charged in with a shout, tackled both his
kids in his arms, and tumbled over them.

At last, the three of them rolled apart, settled on
their backs in the cool grass and its emerald hues of life. All
three lay there in spontaneous mirth, their laughter so intense
that tears of joy erupted from their eyes.

A family together.

Just like old times.

CHAPTER 33

One morning around eight thirty the following week,
Jesse, seated among red and yellow tulips, added fresh soil to the
flower garden in front of the church. The dirt, when brushed over
his skin, tickled his senses with its rich scent of minerals.
Albeit crisp this time of day, sunlight warmed his skin and soothed
his cheeks. Unlike the perpetual, lazy shine of the California sun,
Ohio sunlight seemed to possess a brisk quality that left him
invigorated and signaled a fresh start. To think, mere weeks ago,
he could have caught snow flurries on his tongue in this
garden.

By his own admission, Jesse found it easier to relax
amid the pace here. An occasional car passed along the street
before him. But with most people at work or school, the environment
lacked the constant activity of the culture from which he’d
emerged—a city that never slept, filled with actors between gigs or
who worked the night shift at a restaurant.

At the sound of the familiar motorcycle putting to a
stop, Jesse’s eyes darted straight to the parking lot. He shook his
head in amusement as Chuck stripped off his helmet. Hard to
believe: As far as Jesse had pushed the envelope as a young guy, he
hadn’t taken his dad’s motorcycle out for a spin. And knowing Jesse
back then, he wouldn’t have fooled with a helmet.

As Chuck approached the building, Jesse heard a set
of keys clash in a tiny metallic chime as Chuck spun his key ring
around his index finger. Jesse jerked his head toward the
motorcycle.

“Do you ever wonder how many people would crucify you
for being a preacher who rides a motorcycle?”

“Hey, don’t knock it,” Chuck played along. “I used to
take you out on my old one.” With a glance toward his ringing cell
phone, Chuck chose to ignore the call. “So Mel assigned you the
dirty work, huh?”

“Literally. But it’s relaxing. Never had time to just
fuck around with dirt back in L.A.—oh … sorry, I meant, ‘dig around
in the dirt.’”

Jesse winced and peered up at the preacher, who kept
silent. In fact, to Jesse’s surprise, Chuck hadn’t winced or
expressed the slightest ounce of anger. Without a doubt, the man
didn’t find humor in his son’s verb selection—Chuck wasn’t one to
use offensive language—yet he seemed to let it pass in a
nonjudgmental fashion. Still, Jesse could see a wrinkle in his
father’s forehead that revealed Chuck indeed held an opinion.

Jesse dug in the dirt again. “I guess people might
crucify
me
for swearing on church property, huh?”

Chuck compressed his lips, tilted his head in what
seemed an indifferent manner. With a pat to Jesse’s back, he
replied, “Well, if they do, they’ve forgotten the life
they
used to live.” Chuck rubbed a kink from the back of his own neck.
“Still, it’s probably a good idea to watch your words. Deal?”

“Yeah, okay.”

Chuck slid his foot across a bare patch of soil and
changed the subject. “I sure enjoyed the family dinner the other
night.”

“It’s been a while.”

“Apparently, poor Eden thinks you busted her rib
during your scrimmage.” The minister winked at his son.

“Daddy’s delicate princess.”

“I’d better get inside.” Chuck checked his watch.
“Later, dude.” The preacher chuckled on his way into the
building.

Jesse wiped away beads of perspiration that sprouted
beneath his chin and returned to work. And a moment later, he felt
a strange pooling sensation at the edge of his nostril, followed by
a drop of blood that fell to the ground. Anxious and lightheaded,
Jesse tilted his head back. Palms against the ground, he extended
his arms behind him and reclined to stifle the bleeding.

It had to be due to this extended time in the sun and
the chilly morning air. That’s what Jesse decided to chalk it up
to.

Had the door clinked shut?

Jesse took a quick look toward the entrance to make
sure Chuck had made it inside.

Good—no sign of his father. No need to get him
involved in this, whatever it was.

Unable to pinch his nose closed because of his
soil-caked hands, he leaned back further and rested on his
forearms. On average, these nosebleeds had taken twenty minutes to
heal.

So he waited.

CHAPTER 34

They met at Brick Oven again. Just the two of
them.

Together they joked about the modest atmosphere and
the high-school kids in booths around them. Neither Jesse nor
Caitlyn had anything to hide—neither swam in cash at this point in
their lives. Caitlyn enjoyed the restaurant’s sentimental strings.
And Jesse treasured his rediscovery of how it felt to spend time
with the girl he’d once loved.

And perhaps still did.

Drew wasn’t happy when told he couldn’t come along,
but Jesse promised to take him downtown one day that upcoming
weekend.

They ordered the same pizza at the same table as
before. They sat on the same sides of the booth, and caught
glimpses of each other’s familiar eyes.

“Drew talks about you constantly,” Caitlyn said.
“He’s thrilled with Mom’s new friend.”

“Is
Mom
thrilled with her new friend?”

She pondered the question. “Mom’s trying to process
it.”

Jesse treaded with caution. “Is that good or
bad?”

Without a word, Caitlyn picked at her pizza crust.
She seemed to avoid his face. “Why did you …” She wavered, as if
unsure what to say next—or rather, to select the precise words. “I
don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t ask.”

“Ask what?” He leaned forward, his heart in search of
hers.

At last, in a slow, delicate motion, Caitlyn raised
her head and peered into Jesse’s face. Her voice yearned for
honesty.

“Why did you come back home?” When Jesse eased back
in his seat, she held out her palms. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean for
that to sound cruel. But after eleven years, I’m just … well,
curious.”

That, plus scared to death of another broken heart,
Jesse figured. Though she seemed to feel less awkward about his
reappearance, Jesse could tell her own doubts caused her
concern.

“Don’t apologize. It’s a fair question.”

“Did something happen?”

“A combination of things, I suppose.” He stumbled
around for an answer. Yes, he wanted to offer candor. Jesse owed
her that much. But he couldn’t mention the suicide attempt. “The
situation got rough out there, not quite the picturesque outcome
I’d imagined as a kid. Life happened. Then the reflection settled
in: You reach a point in your life when you ask questions, evaluate
where you’ve been and where you are—maybe even
who
you are.
And I realized I’d failed out there, including ways unrelated to
show business,” he said. “There were mistakes …”

Jesse shook his head with regret. The words came
forth slow and honest. Though he felt ashamed, a purity existed as
time froze in place. Caitlyn nodded her encouragement.

Jesse pressed on. “I guess it was time for me to slow
down, time to take inventory of what matters in life.” He closed
his eyes and escaped into the pain of the past before he reopened
them. “Hard as I tried, I couldn’t forget about the baby, though I
never laid sight on it or even knew it was alive. Random thoughts
came to mind: Was it a boy or girl? If it were alive, what color
hair would it have? Would it be left- or right-handed? Would the
kid walk on the sidewalk or on the street?” A beat passed before
Jesse continued. “But most of all, I thought this: Would the child
wonder about its dad?”

Caitlyn folded her gentle hands on the table. “He
wondered about you often.”

“Did he feel hurt?”

“No, not hurt. It was normal for him to be without a
dad—that was all he’d known his whole life. He only wanted to
understand.” She stared at her hands as she rubbed her thumb
against her palm. “He had many questions—a lot of why’s: Why was
his dad absent while other kids had their dads? Why couldn’t his
mom and dad stay together?”

Jesse felt a blade in his heart as he pictured Drew,
a young boy, struggling with rejection. Regardless of whether it
was all Drew had ever known, a kid should never experience such a
thing in the first place. Oh, if Jesse could turn back time.

Caitlyn must have perceived his regret. She reached
for his hand.

“He turned out fine,” she said. “Whatever void he
might have, you’re filling it now.”

Each of them ate another slice of pizza in
silence.

Jesse watched a middle-aged couple across the aisle,
who rose from their booth and headed to the front counter to pay
their bill. He listened to the idle clang of a cash register. The
man drew his wife close and laid a kiss against her temple.

Jesse returned his attention to the girl before him,
who sipped her iced tea with subtle refinement, before he broke
their silence. “I never really forgot about you, Cait.”

Her cheeks deepened into a light blush, and she
fluttered her hand in front of her face as if to hide the
coloration. She held back her smile.

“You’re special,” he added. “You’re an emerald.”

Caitlyn’s face sobered. Still mild-spoken, she asked,
“Did you have a girlfriend in California?”

Taken aback, Jesse paused.

“Yes,” he said. A vulnerable admission, one for which
he could muster little more than a whisper.

Caitlyn deserved to know the truth. But Jesse knew it
must be difficult for her to hear.

Caitlyn nodded as she processed it. Her eyes flitted
from his eyes to her hands, and then returned to his eyes again. In
her eyes, Jesse found a look of compassion, almost forgiveness. Her
tone remained steady, kind, as though she knew the answer to the
next question on her heart but needed to hear it herself. “And did
you stay together with
her
long term?”