Finding Jake (28 page)

Authors: Bryan Reardon

Tags: #Fiction, #Literary, #Psychological, #Retail, #Suspense

BOOK: Finding Jake

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Rachel does not come to me. When I look at her, her eyebrows rise, as if asking what brought me here. I walk to her. We speak, not facing each other, but watching our daughter play with her new dog.

“A puppy?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. I was on my phone, about to call . . . make a call, and I started searching for breeders. Then it just kinda happened.”

She laughs. “That’s not very Simon.”

“I know.”

She looks worried when she asks, “What’s his name?”

I shake my head, as if to assure her that the thought, her worry, never crossed my mind. “Bubba.”

She laughs.

We do not talk for a moment. When I continue, I find it hard to stop.

“I’m sorry, Rachel.” I continue through her protest. “Let me say it. I’m sorry for not being able to turn my mind off. I think I missed so much with the kids because I couldn’t just let it be fun. Everything had to mean something; everything became some kind of pivotal moment shaping them for the . . . forever. I forgot to make every minute special, with them . . . and with you.”

Her hand takes mine. “You’re okay, Simon. You’ve always been okay. Sure, you think too much but there’s nothing wrong with that. You do it because it’s you and because you love with everything you have inside you. We all know that. You don’t have to apologize.”

“But I feel like I worried so much about him that I never just enjoyed our time.”

Although I wish I could say we did not cry anymore, we did, together.

“You’re forgetting the good,” she whispers. “Disney and all those summers here. That game you and the kids used to play in the surf, where you let the waves crash on you.” She laughs and cries at the same time. “And you all yelled.”

“
Oh No,” I say, filling in the name.

“Yeah.
Oh No!
Remember that stuff, okay?”

“I’ll try. I want to remember everything.”

We both read into that statement. The one thing we don’t want to remember is the one thing we will never be allowed to forget. I struggle to get past that thought, but Rachel helps.

“You know, I like the beard.”

I laugh. “Makes me feel manly. I bet Laney’ll hate it, though.”

Rachel looks me in the eyes. “She loves you so much.”

“I didn’t pay enough attention to her. It was easier with Jake. I understand boy stuff. I feel like I never spent enough time with her.”

“You’re fine,” she says. “More than fine. What you gave her is better than all that. You showed her the kind of man she’ll marry. A man who will love her with all his heart. A man who will do anything to keep her safe. A man who will help raise their children. A man who will treat her like she’s the most special girl on this planet.”

“How’d I do that?”

She squeezed my hand. “By being you.”

I know she’s leaving something important out. She knows, as well as I do, that we’ve lost something, she and I. This moment, I think, isn’t about that. It’s not about us. It’s about survival and strength. It is about living, not without fear but despite it.

“You know that no matter how quickly we found him, it wouldn’t have mattered. The coroner told us that.”

“I know,” I say, though I doubt I’ll ever truly accept that. I will continue to blame myself, but I will live with that, too. “I’m sorry
about how I acted. I talked to Mary Moore, Kandice’s mom. I apologized to her. There was no excuse, but I am sorry about that.”

I hear my daughter laugh for the first time in a long while. When I turn, Laney looks at us. Her eyes are hopeful. Ignoring the puppy, she rises and sprints to us. Her arms widen and I know what she wants. So does Rachel. We hug, the three of us becoming one as the ocean roars behind us. The sun shines on Laney’s cheek and a sparkling tear rolls down her perfect young skin. It might as well be the first tear of joy to grace this world.

We hold each other. The tears dry up and the moment stretches toward normalcy. The puppy nudges Laney’s calf. She turns with a squeal of excitement and runs, the dog playfully nipping at her ankles.

We watch our daughter go and it is some time before I realize Rachel and I remain holding each other. It feels right.

When Rachel speaks, it reminds me of a time long past, a time before Jake and Laney. A bitter memory now, but I can, at the least, conceive of the fact that it was once sweet, too.

“You just have Jake in your thoughts. You have always been so hard on yourself. Let it go. You didn’t mess Jake up. You made him such a beautiful person that he gave up his life to protect others. He saved those kids.”

“He did,” I say, looking out at the ocean, listening to my daughter laugh. “And more.”

She tilts her head. “What do you mean?”

I think of Jake. My son kept his dark hair on the long side. He loved to play football with his friends. As a big brother, he neared perfection, never treating his sister like a lesser life form. Jake loved his family with every part of his being. Smart and funny, maybe my son was a little shy. Most of all he cared about people the way we all should. Like Jaimie’s letter reminded me, Jake can be a lesson to us all.

I’m not crying when I answer Rachel. Nor am I smiling. I look at Laney.

“He saved us.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Michelle
. . . my best friend, life with me may be heavy but you have a way of pushing me when I need to be pushed and understanding when I can’t be pushed another inch. I love you.

Mom and Dad
. . . you endured your own worries, so different than my generation’s yet stemming from the same source. It couldn’t have been easy watching me change majors five times. Looks like psychology was a good fit.

The University of Notre Dame
. . . a place of history, culture, social dynamics and awe. My experience under your massive wing led me to an amazing, albeit bizarre, life.

Mrs. Long
. . . my high school English teacher. I’m sure you’ll never see this but if you do, you’ll be as shocked as I am grateful.

Tracy Garozzo
. . . just because I know how happy you’ll be seeing this. You helped me survive one of the most daunting experiences of my life to date—my kids’ preschool—by talking to me like an average person, not a stay-at-home dad.

Kari Reardon
. . . the first person that read this story, thanks for making me feel like a better writer than I am.

Captain’s Catch
. . . you showed me that cleaning dumpsters at a fish store might not be my first choice for a profession.

Stephanie Kip Rostan
. . . a better closer than Papelbon, that’s for sure. Thanks for seeing potential and pushing me to realize it. And thanks for getting me.

Lyssa Keusch
. . . for making me a better writer. I’ve learned so much in such a short time and it feels great knowing that it’s changed how I work.

Rebecca Lucash
. . . thanks for all the help in making me a better writer. Your thoughtful perspective gave me the confidence to think this story may speak to more than simply parents.

HarperCollins
. . . I owe you one.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Photo by Kerry Harrison Photography

BRYAN REARDON
is a freelance writer specializing in medical communications. He co-wrote
Ready, Set, Play!
with retired NFL player and ESPN analyst Mark Schlereth, and
Cruel Harvest
with Fran Elizabeth Grubb. Prior to becoming a full-time writer, Bryan worked for the state of Delaware for more than a decade, starting in the office of the governor. He holds a BA in psychology from the University of Notre Dame and lives in West Chester, Pennsylvania, with his wife, kids, and rescue dog, Simon.

Discover great authors, exclusive offers, and more at
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CREDITS

Cover design by Amanda Kain

Cover photograph © by plainpicture/Metin Fejzula

COPYRIGHT

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

FINDING JAKE
. Copyright © 2015 by Bryan Reardon. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

FIRST EDITION

ISBN 978-0-06-233948-5

EPub Edition February 2015 ISBN 9780062339539

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ABOUT THE PUBLISHER

Australia

HarperCollins Publishers Australia Pty. Ltd.

Level 13, 201 Elizabeth Street

Sydney, NSW 2000, Australia

www.harpercollins.com.au

Canada

HarperCollins Canada