From The Dead (25 page)

Though he recalled the name earlier, he mocked his
recall in a now-that-you-mention-it manner, his vowels drawn out.
“Oh yeah, that’s right. Why did I do that again?”

She leaned in closer. To Jesse, she seemed caught in
a bittersweet rush. “You said
I’m
a princess, so my freckle
needed a name worthy of a princess.” They shared a gaze together.
At last, the spontaneity passed and Caitlyn broke contact. She
turned her head away. “What a schmooze,” she teased.

From above, they heard the pop of a small firework,
though they saw nothing.

“There they go.” Jesse nodded toward the sky.

“Just kids. The park up the street holds its display
at nine thirty. We can see them from here. What time is it?”

Jesse aimed his watch to catch a glint of moonlight.
“It’s 9:28.”

The two sat in silence for a while and watched the
sky deepen in its shade of blue. Together they listened to the
whistles and snaps of neighborhood bottle rockets. Soon the scent
of singed firework fibers teased the summer air.

Then the local park began its fireworks display a
half mile away. In the distance, a series of cracks and pops
delayed in its arrival as the speed of light rushed past the speed
of sound. Above the trees, neon hues of red, green and white burst
across the night sky in majestic form. Stars, circles and other
patterns, in single colors and combinations, shot forth one after
another—some in full force, while others failed in mid formation.
As the sky filled with fire and withdrew to darkness between
launches, Jesse peered over at Caitlyn. Her face shined in the
intermittent glow as it reflected the lights above. She looked
beautiful.

Eleven years ago today: July fourth marked the final
time a pregnant Caitlyn had seen him. A few days later, Jesse
departed.

He didn’t need to mention such an anniversary. He
knew she remembered well.

“I called you a couple of times,” he said, his voice
hushed.

“You did? When?”

He shrugged. “Back in California. I missed you most
of my time there. When Jada and I hit rough patches, I’d take a
drive in the car and dial your number.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“That’s where it ended—dialing the number. I wanted
to get back in touch, but as soon as I heard you say hello, the
sound of your voice—well, it reminded me that I’d given up on our
relationship. I figured you were better off without me. So I hung
up the phone and let you live your life in peace.”

“I wish you would have talked to me.”

A shower of red and white burst in the sky, followed
by another deep boom.

“Was it tough for you? Wait, what am I asking? Of
course it was tough.”

Enveloped in the sporadic light, she said, “Things
got worse. Once you left, everything started to tumble like
dominoes. Ten weeks pregnant, I didn’t know what to do. So when I
decided to have the baby, I went to my parents. They didn’t know
about the pregnancy, of course—nothing showed yet.”

“How’d they take it?”

She rested her hand against her temple. “They were
furious. You remember how strict they were. But I didn’t have
anywhere else to turn. So I came home one night and got them
together in the living room. I could barely get the words out,
couldn’t look at them, felt so ashamed facing them alone.” She
sighed. “I told them what had happened. They were shell-shocked.
But really, can you blame them? My older sister had lived a perfect
life and graduated from college, everything about our home looked
ideal—white-picket fence, the whole deal. Then I disrupted it all.
So Mom and Dad sat there without a word. Mom sobbed the whole time.
After a few long, never-ending minutes, Dad looked me straight in
the eye—I can’t begin to describe the rage in his eyes—and he said
in this weird, soft, monotonous tone, ‘We didn’t raise you this
way.’”

Caitlyn’s lip quivered, but she bit down and
continued. “He said, ‘How many times did I tell you to stay away
from that Barlow kid?’ I told him I was sorry, but he wouldn’t
listen. And that was the moment he stopped looking at me—it was the
moment I was no longer his daughter. He simply said, ‘I want you to
pack your bags. I don’t know where you’re going to go, but I want
you out—tonight.’ I pleaded with him but he wouldn’t listen. Mom
was scared to death of him and didn’t say a word.”

Jesse reached out, but she pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” Jesse said.

She waved her hand as if to brush away the need for
consolation. “It’s over. Besides, that would’ve happened whether
you’d been here or not.”

“Where did you go? That night, I mean.”

“I stayed with my sister. She and her husband lived
in an apartment further south. I lived there a few months until I
realized I’d have to press through on my own. And by then, my
sister and her husband were ready to have their place back to
themselves.” In apparent afterthought, Caitlyn reached for her iced
tea. She took a sip; the ice had melted but had kept the tea
chilled. “I went through a deluge of emotions during that time:
confused, scared, hurt, betrayed, humiliated, you name it.”

As a decade of repressed anger seemed to rise to the
surface, tears seeped through her eyes. Jesse wanted to comfort
her, but he felt the least worthy person to do so. He hated to see
her in torment. If only he could wrap it around himself like a
cloak, a personal purgatory.

She drew her other leg against her body and sat
huddled in her chair. It became clear to Jesse that she was
stronger than he ever realized.

“Anyway,” she continued, “I got an inexpensive
apartment and a data-entry job.”

“You wanted to go to Duke and study psychology. You
always made terrific grades.”

“Yeah, well—priorities shift when you’re a single
mom. I didn’t know what I was doing or how I was going to do it,
but I knew I had to start somewhere. So I did.” She scratched her
knee. Jesse heard her fingernail as it bristled against her skin.
“I couldn’t sort through my perception of you: One day you were the
only person I’d ever wanted to fall in love with, but the next day
you were a cruel, selfish person who left and never looked back,
never called … never seemed to care.” She turned to Jesse in
earnest. “I loved you with my whole heart, Jess. I know we talked
about your move to L.A. I know that I encouraged you to pursue your
dream, but it didn’t stop the pain of losing you. You and me—that
was
my
dream. So when I realized it was a lost cause—”
Caitlyn tightened her lips, shook her head. “I tried so hard to
hate you. I felt hurt and angry, did everything I could to despise
you for not coming back.”

Jesse nodded. “I can’t blame you for that,” he said,
a mere whisper because he felt it was all the sound space he
deserved to occupy.

“But here’s what made it so frustrating: For whatever
reason, a piece of me still loved you because I knew you
weren’t
cruel or selfish—not in your heart.” She paused.
“You were scared.”

Jesse gripped the arms of his chair.

She was right.

Scared to death. He’d never realized it before, but
…

After all this time, he had never stepped back to ask
why
he took off. At first, he had tried to ignore his
personal plight. Then feelings of guilt had resurfaced and consumed
him, dominated his attention. Always faced with one distraction or
another, he’d never sought an answer to
why
.

Stunned, he shook his head in awe. “You’re right,” he
said and sifted through the revelation. “I know that doesn’t begin
to justify my self-centeredness, but life closed in and … I’d
panicked when the pregnancy happened.” He turned toward her. “How
did you know that?”

“I knew you better than anyone. I knew your
responses, how you react to situations that overwhelm you. And I
knew, when you felt scared, you went into hiding—not literally, but
in your own way. That’s why you loved those high-school plays—you
could hide behind the characters. But when you reach your limit,
when there’s nowhere to hide—you try to escape. So you ran to
California to escape as far as you could. To escape from your dad’s
shadow, from your relationship with me—maybe even to escape
yourself. Maybe you didn’t like who you were.” While her words hung
in the tranquility of the air, the fireworks finished. Then she
broke their silence, her voice in a search. “Is that why you came
back home? Are you escaping something? Please tell me …”

Jesse remained silent, unable to attach words to what
he wanted to say. He felt vulnerable and transparent. In her own
tender way, Caitlyn, the girl he had loved, had now cut to his
core. She had drawn to the surface who he truly was, forced him to
confront himself in all his naked weakness. He was scared right
now: nowhere to run, no mask to hide behind.

He was Jesse. She was Caitlyn. And in their moments
of honesty, this was who they were together—they were at their best
when together.

Caitlyn’s eyes narrowed. She eased back. Neither
angry nor offended, she seemed to understand his inner conflict. To
change the subject, she chuckled and said, “Once Drew was born, I
felt unprepared. I had no idea what to do with a baby. I only knew
I wanted him.”

“I’m glad you made that decision. I can’t imagine him
not here today.”

Each of them stared at the sky, its hue in full
darkness now, and counted stars. The smoky Fourth-of-July haze
formed a screen across the stars and moon.

Touched, Jesse turned to Caitlyn and whispered.
“Thank you, Cait.”

She met his gaze. “For what?”

He scratched at his chair, then returned to her eyes
again. “For believing in me,” he said. “For believing the
best.”

By this time it was too dark to tell for sure, but
Jesse thought he caught a flicker of a smile from her. His gaze
lingered with hers a bit longer before she turned her attention
back to the sky.

In the distance, several neighborhoods away, an
isolated firework popped, but it proved faulty, its yellow sparks
sparse and lacking.

CHAPTER 41

“Don’t you ever leave for lunch?” Jesse joked as he
poked his head into Chuck’s office. Bagged lunch in hand, he made
his way inside.

Chuck peered up over his reading glasses. “I have a
couple of hospital visits this afternoon, so I’ll break away in a
bit. Are you headed outside?”

“Yeah, just figured I’d check in on you.”

“That’s nice. Any particular reason?”

“No.”

“What’s for lunch?” Chuck gestured with his head to
Jesse’s plastic bag.

“PB and J—the meal of champions.”

Chuck gave him a look of parental concern, one which
a parent never seems to outgrow, no matter how old his kids are.
“Are you sure you’re eating enough? You’ve got cash, right?”

“Don’t worry about it. You’re forgetting I survived
on the coast.”

“Right.” Chuck eyed his son. “So, how are you and
Eden getting along sharing her place?”

The bag rattled as Jesse shifted it to his other
hand. “You mean, have we managed to refrain from strangling each
other? Sure thing! We take turns making dinner, plus she delights
in having me as her personal maid to keep her house clean.”

Chuck laughed. “It’s good to see you two hang out
together. I know she enjoys having you back.”

Jesse watched as his father set his reading glasses
aside. Chuck cleared the paperwork in front of him and rearranged a
pile on one side of the desk. On the other side, a hardcover Bible
commentary lay open, as did a Bible itself. Behind closed doors,
the books served as evidence of what Jesse already knew: The
minister that people saw in public operated with equal dedication
in private. Despite the differences between Jesse and his father,
Jesse respected the man’s commitment to his beliefs. He admired
Chuck’s determination to weave those beliefs into his daily walk as
he preached to his flock and encouraged those who, it seemed,
wouldn’t step through a church door. But to Jesse’s surprise—and
sometimes to Chuck’s as well—some of those random acquaintances did
indeed step through a church door eventually.

Yes, his father had caused himself headaches as a
result of his own dedication. Jesse recalled when Chuck’s
faithfulness to his scruples had spurred problems with those who
disagreed with what he preached or how he testified to God’s
goodness in his life. And, sad to say, sometimes those
disagreements came from churchgoers with good intentions. Many
forgot that, unlike Chuck, they had never walked in the shoes of a
minister and lacked awareness of the considerations that came into
play. Jesse could remember one such encounter, when an angry
community alderman yelled at Chuck. The alderman’s face looked as
if blood boiled beneath the surface. After the encounter, Chuck
tightened his jaw and went for a long, brisk walk around the
church.

With regard to his critics, Chuck guarded his tongue
and chose to avoid negative speech. Jesse remembered how he would
hide and watch as his father escaped by himself to an empty field
near their house. In such times, he’d see Chuck fall to his knees,
lift his arms to heaven, and ask for guidance. Then his father,
still alone, would start to worship in the field, just between God
and him. Chuck always returned refreshed.

From across the desk, Jesse peered at Chuck’s
handwritten notes. “What are you working on?”

“I’m preparing for my sermon this weekend.”

Since Chuck had always cooped himself up in his
office to prepare his messages, Jesse had paid scant attention to
his father’s process. He’d seen Chuck preach but hadn’t cared how
it all came together. “Do you write them out word for word, and
then memorize them?”

“Some ministers like to write them word for word.
I’ll jot down some notes beforehand, but I end up straying from
them after the first ten minutes. It’s God’s church service; I
figure He can take it in whatever direction He wants. When you get
down to it, I’m just a guy who rides a motorcycle. Why God chose to
use me as a preacher I’ll never figure out.”