The Long Journey to Jake Palmer (20 page)

“No you won't.”

“What?” Jake whipped his head toward her. “You don't think I have the guts to do it? If I say I'm going to tell her tomorrow, I will tell her tomorrow.”

“I believe you.” Susie's face grew serious. “But since she's leaving this evening, tomorrow will be too late.”

“What?” Jake lurched forward. “I thought she'd decided to stay the full ten days.”

“Guess not.”

“Why didn't you tell me?”

“I just did.” Susie motioned up toward the cabin. “I just found out.”

“I have to talk to her. Have to.”

“Why?”

“It doesn't make sense.”

“What doesn't?”

“This is crazy, it's only been a week, but I think I'm in . . .” Jake trailed off, unable to say the words.

“Yes. You most certainly are.” Susie clapped him on the shoulders. “Go.”

Jake held his breath. “Any idea where she is?”

“Out on the grass overlooking the lake, last I saw.”

Jake was headed toward the stairs leading up to the house when Susie's voice stopped him. “Hey.”

“Yeah?”

“It will go better than you think, my dear brother.”

Jake walked onto the deck praying Susie was right, but knowing there was a high probability she was dead wrong.

J
ake spotted Ari in the northwest corner of the property, lying in a hammock, an open book across her chest. The back of her head faced him and he halted six or seven yards before he reached her. Did he really want to step into this confessional booth? No. Not at all. But he had to tell her. If there was any chance of a future for the two of them, he had to tell her now.

He eased forward, not sure why he kept his feet from making any sound on the grass leading up to the hammock. When he got two feet from the back of the hammock, he swung to his right, stopped, and looked down at her. Ari's eyes were closed, her hands folded over her stomach.

“Ari?”

She didn't startle but simply shifted her head toward him, opened her eyes, and said, “Hello, Jacob Palmer,” as if she'd been expecting him.

“Susie tells me you're leaving soon.”

“Yeah, I've had a wonderful time, but I need to get back.” Ari glanced at her watch. “Probably in twenty or thirty minutes. But
I wanted to soak up a few more moments here in this paradise before I go.”

“If you don't mind, I'd like to take a few of those moments to talk. Just a few things I need to say.”

“Of course. Take as much time as you need.”

“Things I need to say about us.”

“Us?” Ari sat up in the hammock and swung her legs over the side. “There's an us?”

Jake went over to the fire pit, grabbed a chair, and came back. He set the chair a few feet from the hammock, sat, and rested his elbows on his knees. “Yeah. Us. But before we talk about us, I want to talk about me.”

“I'll talk about anything you want to.”

“I want to talk about what I've been hiding from you all week. My bluff.”

Ari nodded and pushed off the grass so the hammock swung gently back and forth.

Jake waved his finger in front of his shirt and pants. “There's a reason I jumped into the lake after poker with all my clothes on.”

“Kind of figured there was.” Ari put a finger on her lips. “I have to confess, I asked Peter as well as Susie.”

The confession didn't bother Jake. “They didn't tell you, did they?”

“Good friends, those two. They know how to hold a secret.”

Jake nodded.

“Forgive me.” Ari leaned forward and a breeze ruffled her hair.

“For wanting to know my deep, dark secret?”

“Yes.”

“You don't need forgiveness for that or for asking. I would have done the same.”

“Thanks, but still, I'm sorry.”

Jake stood and shuffled a few feet toward the lake. The breeze was making tiny ripples on the surface of the water, marring the usual mirror image he'd come to expect at this hour of the day.

“That's why I'm here. To tell you what it is.” Jake stayed fixed on the lake. “But now that the moment is here . . .”

“Your choice.”

“I've already made the decision.” Jake turned and fixed his gaze on Ari. Peering into those sea-green eyes kicked his heart into a double-time beat. This was harder than he thought it would be.

“No, the question isn't whether I'm going to tell you, it's where to start.”

“Anywhere.”

He eased back into his chair, nodded once, then began. “You never asked why my wife divorced me.”

“It's not something I need to know.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“Okay.”

“She was repulsed by me. By my appearance.”

“Oh?”

Ari's eyes widened, but she didn't look surprised. For some reason that put Jake at ease, as if nothing he said could make her flinch. A kind of peace seemed to float out of her eyes and seep into his mind and heart. And somehow he knew it was all going to be okay.

“A year and a half ago I tried to be a hero. It didn't work out.”

He stopped and groped in his mind for the words that would tell her what happened in the most efficient way possible. Faster the better. Jake hadn't told the story to anyone for a year and a half, and he didn't enjoy pulling it out of the drawer and dusting it off.

“I was burned. Pretty badly. Everything from here down.” He placed the side of his hand under his rib cage. “Legs, backside, front side, ankles, feet, everything.”

Ari's face showed no expression, no hint whether this revelation surprised her or confirmed something she already suspected. She said nothing, so Jake continued.

“My lifelong dream of being a leg model was crushed, and—”

“You don't have to make a joke out of this, Jake.”

He nodded. “One day my wife walks in and tells me she can't handle the sight of me any longer.” He allowed the emotion of Sienna's blow to come over him. “She'd already filed. Three months later the divorce was final.

“For some strange reason it's made me hesitant to go on dates or think about getting involved with anyone ever again. Weird, right?”

Compassion filled Ari's eyes. Was she feeling sorry for him? He didn't want her pity, didn't need it. There was little more to say. The moment to reveal himself had arrived. Jake took hold of the hem of his shirt and closed his eyes. No way he'd risk seeing her face when she reacted to the mass of charred flesh under his clothes.

Jake took a quick breath and lifted the fabric, but Ari spoke in a commanding voice.

“Stop.”

Jake did.

“I don't need to see your scars, Jake.”

“I think you do. If there's going to be any kind of—”

“Jake? Stop. Listen again. I don't need to see. This I promise you.” Ari leaned forward, her eyes burning with intensity. “When I was seven years old, my father was burned in a fire that started in my bedroom. I was lighting matches, and the fringe of a tiny tablecloth that covered my nightstand caught on fire. It was my fault. I . . .”

Ari's eyes grew moist, but after a moment, she shook her head and regained her composure.

“No wonder.” Jake tilted his head back and sighed. “Now I get it. That's why Peter invited—”

“No.” Ari shook her head, then tucked her dark hair behind both ears. “It's not. Peter doesn't know the story of my father. He has no idea. I've never told him. Few people do know about it. But my father's story is the reason why I think I understand you more than you know. Just as you are, my father was a handsome man and had great difficulty showing anyone what had happened to him.”

Jake sat stunned. “You've known the whole time.”

Ari nodded, so slight Jake wasn't sure he'd seen it.

“I didn't fool you for even a moment.”

“It was tough not to notice you always wore pants or nylon sweats at a place where swimsuits and shorts are more the norm. So yes, I suspected. And you're right, I more than suspected. I figured it out after the first day. The stories of your being a triathlete and mountain climber in the past, but not anymore . . . so yes, I knew. The way you walk, just like my father. Barely noticeable, but if you've grown up with it all your life, you know what it is.”

“But you didn't back off . . . you've tried to get to know me . . . you've—”

“I like you, Jake. And I think you probably now realize a few burns, or even a hundred burns on someone's body, has no impact whatsoever on how I feel about them.”

Jake stared at her, stunned by the revelation, and shot through with adrenaline as he also realized that she accepted him. Fully. If they did grow to love each other, there would be no rejection this time, no looks of revulsion, no guessing whether love was seeping away because of his appearance.

An intoxicating amount of hope buried him, and he struggled not to burst out laughing. As he stared at her, blinking with amazement at God's kindness, Ari rose from her chair and knelt on the soft grass at his feet.

“May I?” She pointed at the bottom of his cream-colored linen pants, her eyes questioning.

“What?” Jake peered down at her. “I thought you said you didn't need to see—”

“I don't need to. But I want to, if it's all right with you.”

“Yes. Of course.”

She gently removed his left shoe, then his sock, and set them to the side. Then she lifted his pant leg three, maybe four inches. The corners of her mouth turned up into a soft smile as she gazed at the lower part of his leg for ten, twenty, thirty seconds.

Ari held out her hand, pointed at his leg, and again asked, “May I?”

Jake nodded, heart slamming in his chest like he'd just completed an Ironman. In what seemed like slow motion, Ari reached out and
ran her fingers along his ankle, over the top of his foot in a circle once, twice, and then underneath on his sole. Her countenance was tinged with tenderness and a sadness Jake didn't understand. Time stretched as he waited for her to look at him again.

When she did there was moisture in her eyes. “So temporary, these costumes we wear.” She placed both her hands on his foot and gazed at him. “You won't get to carry these symbols of freedom much longer, you know.”

“Freedom?”

“How tragic to live a life where you are loved for what you are instead of who you are. You were given freedom from that curse—if you choose to live in it.”

Jake fixed his eyes on her, not sure how to respond.

“As I was saying, a day is coming soon where we will discard these costumes and put on our true clothes and wear them for ages that do not end.”

Jake could only nod.

“No more hiding, Jake. If you want to live, you cannot hide any longer.”

He took her hand and squeezed it. She squeezed back, then released his hand, stood, and settled back into the hammock.

“I'd like to see you again,” he said. “Soon. See where you and I might be headed.”

“Don't say that, Jake.”

“What?”

“Just don't.” Ari looked down and shook her head. “There is no us. And there won't be.”

Heat shot through Jake. After what had just happened, her
outright acceptance of him, he had expected a significantly different reaction. He leaned back and a puff of disbelief shot out his mouth.

“Wait a minute. I'm not asking to get engaged. I'm simply saying I'd like to have a cup of coffee, get together and take one day at a time, see where things lead.”

“No.” Ari glanced everywhere but at him. When she finally did look his way, he saw tears gathering in her eyes. “I'm sorry.”

“What is going on?” Jake glanced around to make sure their conversation was still private. “Did I imagine what went on between us these past days? Either there was a connection, or I'm crazy.”

Ari stepped off the hammock, went over to the fire pit, and brought back a chair. She set it directly across from Jake and sat in it, crossing her legs. By the time she settled in, her eyes were dry and her face had grown cold.

“Jake?” She smiled but it didn't reach her eyes. “I like you. Very much. Was there a spark between us? Yes. I think we both know that, and it would be untruthful of me not to admit it. But when I told you that second night that I wasn't looking for a relationship? It wasn't just a line to be coy or playful. I meant it. It has nothing to do with you other than the fact you're male. If we were in a different time of life and a different set of circumstances, yes, a hesitant maybe. But that time and those circumstances are not now.”

In his thirty-seven years of life, Jake had rarely been at a loss for words, but this was a moment where all possible words had vanished from his mind. It made no sense. His burns weren't even a blip of an issue for her. There was no one else in her life. She'd
been widowed for three years. On top of all that, she all but came out and confessed her feelings for him. So what was the problem?

“I don't understand,” he finally sputtered out. “Just a cup of coffee back home. Daytime. Anytime.”

She smiled at him, eyes as bright as he'd seen them. “I wish you great joy and much freedom, Jake.”

Ari rose from her chair, went over to the hammock, and picked up her book. Then she sauntered back to Jake, leaned down, and whispered in his ear.

“Please, respect my wishes.” She kissed him lightly on the cheek. “Good-bye, Jake Palmer.”

With that, Ari strolled back to the deck, through the french doors, and vanished from Jake's life.

J
ake glanced to the east early the next morning as he slid the canoe into the water. Felt right to take it instead of one of the kayaks. Change of pace. New beginning. Adventure with Ryan coming. He was still stunned over his conversation with Ari, but he was determined to let it go. Not so easy, but what other choice was there?

Probably another ten minutes before the sun crawled over the low mountains to the east and lit up the lake like molten gold. The dull gray that hung in the sky was a perfect reflection of Jake's mood. Would he get over Ari? Yes. Did he want whatever was waiting for him at the end of the lake? Yes. Did he believe the world at the other end of the corridor was real? Maybe. Ryan? Still impossible, yet Jake knew he wasn't crazy and he didn't think what he'd encountered was a vision. Ockham's Razor: Of two possible explanations, the simplest one was most likely true.

With little warning, the first rays of dawn burrowed into his neck, and in that moment, his mood lightened. Maybe all of it was a dream, but a dream where he was restored—where he could run again and be healed permanently—was worth fighting for.

This time he spotted the shimmer at the end of the corridor while he was still seventy yards away. Its brightness grew as he eased through the water, and the sun inched down the cattails as if choreographed to fully illuminate the entrance at the exact time he reached it. The sight should have filled him with exhilaration, but a flag of caution fluttered at the back of his mind.

As Jake crawled out of the canoe and slipped into the chilly water, the cry of a blue heron ten yards to his left startled him. The bird jerked its head back and forth as if puzzled by what Jake was about to do. What
was
he about to do? Place his trust in a . . . uh . . . man he knew but didn't know? Choose to believe that whatever journey he was on would lead to light in the end?

He stretched out his arms and stroked through the water. The debate could rage in his head all day. Right now there was only action or inaction, and he hadn't come here to ponder. As he got closer to the entrance, the sliver of him that still doubted melted away, and laughter spilled out of his mouth as the light swirling around the tunnel of willow tree vines invited him to tango.

He pushed through the corridor, the path so narrow now that the trees on both sides brushed his back and chest as he stepped along sideways. But he barely noticed the inconvenience as his soul filled with the anticipation of his legs and stomach growing strong, of sprinting through the field again, of facing whatever challenge Ryan could toss at him and finding triumph in the end. This time, his body was restored ten yards before he reached the vine curtain. The earliest healing so far.

Confidence flowed into his mind and he swept the willow branches aside with boldness. But as soon as he stepped through,
he gasped and lurched backward. There was nothing beyond the vine curtain but blackness.

He staggered back another step, fear surging through him. Where . . . what happened to the meadow? Another step back, his arms clutching at a handful of the vines, the only thing keeping him from falling backward onto the path. Then a confident voice rang out. Strong. From the other side of the curtain.

“Your actions bring confusion to my mind. Why are you leaving? Did we not agree yesterday to continue your journey this morning?”

Ryan. A moment later he pulled the vines aside and stepped into the corridor. His gray-blue eyes were intense, yet a hint of laughter moved across them.

“I was . . . when I pulled back the willow vines, I couldn't see anything.”

“Yes, that is true.” Ryan glanced behind him. “Quite black. It will take your eyes a moment to adjust to the darkness we are about to step into.”

“Darkness?”

“Yes, did you not hear me?”

“Yeah, I heard. Ears are working fine this morning.” Jake pointed over Ryan's shoulder. “I have to say, that doesn't look anything like the meadow.”

“You are late.” Ryan zeroed in on Jake and his voice had a sharpness to it. “The morning grows old. I suggest we start on our journey and no longer waste time on questions that can be answered along the way.”

Jake swallowed and gave one nod. Ryan nodded back, then
pushed through the vines and stepped into only he knew what. Jake lunged forward to push through the vine curtain. If he was about to fling himself into a world of darkness, he would be right behind Ryan when he did it.

Once he stepped through, he saw that the blackness was less grim than he'd first thought. A few moments later, his eyes did adjust, and he found himself standing inside a small cave. Enough light streamed in from the corridor to make the outline of Ryan's body visible.

“Where are we?”

In the dim light, all Jake could see was Ryan's hand pointing to the right of them. “Over there is a stone slide with the ability to deliver us to the bottom of this cave in less than a minute. However, given our assumed mutual desire to avoid broken limbs and cuts and gouges upon face and hand, I suggest we take the stairs to our left.”

Jake trudged over to the stairs in the far left corner of the cave and studied them. He'd been in his grandma's apartment complex last week. The stairs that led from the lower level to the one above were designed for the elderly, easy to navigate, each step only a few inches higher than the one before, so walking up and down was simple.

The stairs before him now were designed for the antithesis of his grandmother. Each step was at least a foot-and-a-half high, and describing them as semiflat would be generous. Describing them as barely wider than a shoe would again be generous. And of course no handrail to steady a descent. Impossible to traverse these stairs with his burnt legs, they would still present a challenge to his restored ones.

“Are you ready?”

Jake pointed into the inky blackness below. “We're going down there?”

“Yes. Don't fall. You would die.”

Ryan's laugh was not kind and it sent trepidation through Jake.

“I'm not liking that plan.”

“No, we couldn't have that happen, could we?”

Ryan chuckled again. He took the first step as if walking through the field with one of the orchard's Gala apples in his hand. Jake followed, all of his concentration on reaching the bottom alive.

By the time he reached the last stair, sweat had broken out on every inch of his body, but the sensation was exhilarating. To once again feel his skin the way it was supposed to be, to feel the sweat and the coolness of the cave on it, to feel the sensation of his feet on the steps, brought life to him.

“Well done. That cannot have been easy for you.”

Ryan plucked a torch off the wall of the cave and strode toward the opening on the other side of the landing. A faint blue light ebbed beyond the curved passageway, and something about it struck Jake as familiar.

He followed Ryan through the breach in the cave wall and found himself standing on a kind of underground beach. Gray sand mixed with silt and a few pebbles, and a lake lapped at the shoreline as if trying to make itself known even in the absence of tides or wind.

A rough-hewn, narrow wooden boat big enough for three or four men sat halfway in, halfway out of the water. From the stern hung a lantern, which cast the dim, gray-blue light Jake had seen
from the bottom of the stairs. A surge of memories rose in him. The boat, the shoreline, the curve of the caverns as they rose out of sight above them were all familiar. He'd been here. Not in real life, but in his imagination.

“I know where we are.” He stared at Ryan, almost expecting the man to dissolve into the air.

“Oh?” He stared at Jake with playful eyes.

“ ‘Many sink down, but few return to the sunlit lands.' ”

“I would certainly hope so, if it is indeed your favorite of the Chronicles.” Ryan winked and motioned toward the crude wooden boat, resting halfway on the sand. “So
The Silver Chair
truly was your favorite.”

“I've read it more than a dozen times.” Jake let his gaze sweep 180 degrees. “It's exactly as I imagined it.”

“I should think so.” Ryan pulled hard on the oars. “You created this.”

“What do you mean—”

“Just as you created me and brought me to life, you created this. Without you, this version of Underland wouldn't exist.”

“That makes no sense. I had nothing to do with this. I expected to step through the curtain into the field, not into a suffocating cavern.”

“And a noble job of creation it is, indeed.”

Again the thought struck Jake that the corridor, Ryan, the kayaking experience, all of it was nothing more than a delusion he'd concocted inside his own brain. That he was breaking down emotionally from the loss of who he was before. In Susie's words, the fact he was now living two lives had finally shattered his mind.

“Let me ask again, is any of this real? Or am I slowly going insane and just don't know it?”

The question was a ludicrous one. If he was going crazy, asking Ryan this question would essentially be asking himself to figure out a question he would have no way of answering truthfully.

“We must go, Jake. Again, these are questions that can be answered as we traverse the water.”

Ryan got into the boat and Jake followed. They shoved off into the darkness, no sound except the oars on the jet-black water.

“We're going to her kingdom, aren't we?”

“Not exactly.”

“What do you mean ‘not exactly'?”

“We're going to your imagination's version of what that kingdom looks like. Don't ask this question again. It grows tiresome.”

He stared at Ryan, whose face was distorted in the dim blue light from the boat's lantern. Ryan's tone sent a chill snaking down Jake's spine. He wasn't dreaming, wasn't going crazy. Not a chance. All of this was real. If only he could convince himself.

As if sensing Jake's apprehension, Ryan said softly, “From your holy book:
No eye has seen, no ear has heard, no heart has imagined.
Yet you doubt all that is happening to you. Might I inquire as to why?”

“This is impossible.”

“With God all things are possible.”

Jake didn't respond. He needed a moment to figure this out. But that was probably the point. There was no logic that could make him believe. The only answer was faith. Faith that whatever kind of bizarre journey he was on at the moment, it was exactly
where he was supposed to be. And that in the end, answers would come.

As he stared into the darkness, he pulled up his memories of the book. They would soon reach the witch's kingdom where Rilian was held prisoner. Where the great lion Aslan and the children, Jill and Eustace, and the Marsh-wiggle Puddleglum set Prince Rilian free from ten years of dark enchantment.

“We're almost there.” Ryan's voice seemed to come from all around Jake.

“If this is my imagination, how do you know that?”

Ryan didn't answer, but thirty seconds later, the dark kingdom Jake remembered from the book emerged out of the darkness. Towers with murky light in the windows rose in the center of a city made of stone. But there were no oddly shaped gnomes as he had remembered. Only empty streets and silence.

Before he had time to consider the implications of what that meant, Ryan stood on dry ground, beckoning Jake to join him. Jake got out and they climbed the stairs in the center of the city. They would lead to the chamber where Prince Rilian in the story had been tied to his silver chair for the hour when the enchantment could not hold him prisoner.

As they reached the door leading to the room that had contained the chair, Ryan lurched forward and stopped his fall with an outstretched hand against the thick dark-gray stone next to the door. He blew out a long breath and raised his face upward, eyes closed.

“What's wrong?”

“I know you cannot understand how I can be truly real, since
I've explained that you created me. Consequently, you cannot imagine how I could have emotions similar to those that humans have. I, however, do not need to imagine myself having feelings of sorrow. At this moment, I am remembering what occurred here many years ago.”

“In the way I saw you reacting when I read the stories as a child.”

“Yes.”

Something broke inside Jake. Whether any of this was real, he felt true compassion for this being called Ryan who stood before him. “I'm sorry. This can't be an easy moment for you.”

“It is not.” Ryan pushed off the wall and clasped Jake's shoulder. “But it is good. One that ends in triumph. And it is right. This is the site of a freedom you learned from when you were young, and that is a good thing.” Ryan reached out for the door. “Are you ready?”

“Yes.” Jake hesitated, then asked, “Are you?”

Ryan didn't answer. Instead he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Jake entered and stood next to Ryan and glanced around the chamber. The size, or lack of size, struck him. He'd expected it to be bigger. The sensation was familiar to anyone who had returned to a childhood home or playground or ball field. He was returning to a children's story that wasn't real. But Jake knew if he let the truth in his heart take center stage, that story would prove to be more real than many things in his life.

Ryan moved around the room like a cat. His footsteps were light, his pace steady. When he neared the center of the chamber, he leaned in and circled as if upon seeing the chair sitting there,
he needed to examine it up close. After he'd paced around it three times, he straightened and focused his eyes on Jake.

“In this room, in this spot, on that wretched chair, Prince Rilian knew who he was for one hour each day. But for twenty-three he did not know. He forgot. The enchantment took hold of him and he could not see through the darkness during those hours. In those hours he was inside, to use your analogy, his bottle. Deceived. He could not read the label.”