The Long Journey to Jake Palmer (22 page)

“How do I defeat a being that is obviously stronger than me? He's in control of what goes on inside the corridor, can bend reality to his will . . . how can I win?”

“I don't know. But I have to believe there's a way. I think you want to believe there's a way as well. Ultimately it's your choice to return, but let me ask you something.”

Leonard stopped and peered at Jake for so long, he wondered if his old friend had decided not to ask the question.

“Even if you do die in there, and Ryan wins this war, what will you regret more? Giving up the shot to have your legs and stomach back, staying nice and safe and cozy in the life you're now living, or facing whatever this final test is and letting your chips fall where they may?”

“How do I even know that Ryan told the truth when he said there were rules he had to follow? How do I know he wasn't lying when he said that if I pass the tests, my restoration will remain?”

“You don't. Of course you don't.”

For the first time since Jake had met the old man, Leonard leaned over and placed both his hands on Jake's shoulders and squeezed them tightly.

“But I think there's a piece inside you, a small piece way deep
down, that knows what Ryan has spoken to you is true. And I think among all the Jake Palmers you've tried to be in your life, the real one wants this battle, whatever it is, more than anything he's ever wanted.”

J
ake stood on the edge of the dock staring down into the black water that night, racking his brain for the answer to whether he should launch himself into the unknown in the morning. He'd avoided Camille, of course, but also Andrew and Peter, even Susie. He needed the time to process, to think, to come to some sort of decision. But nothing had come. Then, just as a resolution to stay away from the end of the lake started to take shape, a deep voice from behind floated toward him.

“We gotta talk, Jake.”

He turned to find Andrew standing at the bottom of the stairs.

“Andrew.”

“There are a few things you need to hear.”

Jake returned to gazing into the depths of the lake. “I appreciate the thought, but company is not what I need right now.”

“Remember six years back when our pipes cracked and insurance didn't cover the cost, and outta the blue you fly out and help me redo the floor and paint and recarpet the place?”

“Yeah.”

“You showed up for me. Now I'm showing up for you.”

Andrew clomped down the ramp that connected to the dock. He stopped after he reached the planks faded white from years of harsh summer light and cold, wet winters. He spread his legs shoulder width and pulled his arms across his chest. “It's time to step up, my dear brother.”

“I need to figure this out on my own.”

“That's exactly what you don't need.”

“Yeah, it is.”

A gust of wind blew Andrew's thick hair off his forehead, revealing a deep scar that ran just below his hairline. Jake blinked. In all the years of knowing Andrew, Jake had never seen it. Instantly Jake realized why Andrew always wore hats when it was windy.

“Where'd you get . . .”

Andrew pulled his hair back and pointed at the scar. “This? You want to know about this, Jake? You want to know why I've never told you about this or how this happened in all the years we've known each other? You want to know why I keep it hidden? You think you're ready to hear the story?”

Andrew took another two steps forward.

“When I was a kid, my dad's brother was always friendly to me. And then one day he got a little too friendly. It went on for six months till one time something came over me and I fought and I broke free and sprinted away, but I tripped and cracked my head on a table and gave myself this forever reminder of those days.”

Jake's friend came closer, till they stood within three feet of each other.

“I never told anyone but Susie, because for years I believed it
was my fault, and the shame of those six months kept me hidden so deep in the shadows I didn't know the sun existed. But last year I took a step toward the light. Got some counseling. Worked through it. Susie has been my rock through the whole thing. And I'm free, Jake. Like I've never been before.”

Andrew threw his big arm around Jake's neck the way he had in the bedroom a few days earlier.

“You're the label guy, so let me read a few things on your bottle. You inspire people. You encourage them. Bring them light. You're a three-in-the-morning-phone-call friend. You show people what freedom can look like, then lead them down that path.

“But Jake, baby, you're not free yourself. You're in a cage. So while I don't know what you're going through, I do know that it's time you face whatever is keeping you in the shadows. It's time to do whatever it takes.”

Jake grabbed Andrew's forearm and squeezed tightly.

“One more thing.”

“Sure,” Jake said.

“I see it in your eyes. The war raging deep inside. And fear. I just want to say, whatever it is, don't back down. Trust this God of ours, and fight with all you have. Not for anyone else. Fight this battle with everything you have, for Jacob Palmer.”

F
or the fifth time in ten days, Jake slid into the waters at the end of Willow Lake. The water felt colder, and he wished he'd waited for the sun to rise farther and warm him more before starting, but what was the point? This would either end well or end in death. No sense in dragging it out. And no matter what happened, he would take Andrew's counsel and trust God. There was no one else to turn to. In the moment he made that choice, a peace came over Jake he hadn't known since before the incident.

He pulled forward with a breaststroke, his breathing steady, his thoughts the opposite. Would he make it? Was he ready for this war? Ryan's words pinged through his mind.
If you survive, you will have the healing you desire. Healing that will stay with you when you leave this realm. You have my word. But know this also. The restrictions placed upon me up until this point? They will be lifted if we meet again.

The width of the corridor had tapered down yet again. Now it was so narrow Jake had to push hard through the trees, even turned sideways. When he reached the end of the path, he pushed
aside the willow branches and stepped onto the edge of the meadow. Nothing moved. No bird called, no blade of grass bent to the wind. Calm now, but the storm would come.

Seconds later, Ryan appeared fifty yards away, next to the pond, arms folded.

Jake didn't hesitate. He strode toward Ryan and slowly raised his hand and pointed at his enemy. “You're not all-powerful. There is only One who is. I can overcome today. I will overcome with his strength. So let the games begin.”

“Yes.” Ryan's stone expression didn't change. “Let us begin.”

“What will it be, Ryan? Knives like you did with Leonard?”

“Knives? How archaic,” Ryan scoffed. “Battles fought with guns, swords, knives are so stark. Devoid of nuance. No, for you, Jacob, I have something different. A battle where you'll be forced to fight against the turn of a phrase, against psychological feints and parries, against what brutalized you in days gone by.”

Ryan grinned. “You'll have the chance to fight three battles you have previously lost. Three battles that represent the type you've longed to fight a second time, to prove you can do it right, fix things, and finally be enough for them.”

“Who?”

“You don't need to ask, do you?” Ryan smiled, eyes cold. “You already know.”

“My mom. My dad. Sienna.”

“Oh, very good, very, very good, Jake. Once again, you impress me.”

“Whatever you throw at me today using those three, I can overcome it. You won't defeat me.”

“I will not have to. I have no doubt you will bring defeat upon yourself.”

“How do I know you'll keep your word when I succeed?”

“As Leonard said, you don't. But do you have a choice?”

“Let's get this over with.”

“Agreed.” Ryan pointed to a narrow path on the far side of the apple orchard. “That's where you'll begin. There is truly nothing to explain. Follow that path. Things will become clear. I'm giving you a great gift, the chance to make things right. To finally be enough. If you can accomplish this, then I promise, you will be healed, and the healing will remain.”

“How long do I have?”

Ryan tried to hold back a smile. “As long as you need.”

As Jake passed the orchard and stepped onto the path, a groan of agony ripped through the air. Jake broke into a jog. Without question it was his mom's voice. He'd heard that cry of anguish almost every day of his childhood, till she'd taken her own life.

Another guttural groan smothered the woods, and he pushed faster down the narrow path, branches scraping across his legs, arms, face. Ahead, a thick cluster of branches blocked his way completely, but Jake closed his eyes, ducked his head, and pushed hard into the undergrowth. Three paces, maybe four, and he was out the other side. Ten yards in front of him, the path banked to the right. Jake plowed forward, driven by another low groan from up ahead.

As Jake dashed around the corner, the foliage opened up, the path widened, and a home came into view, a perfect replica of the house he grew up in. The low groan he'd heard floated out of the house and seemed to snake around his throat and grab
hold. He steeled himself, strode down the gravel path, and stepped through the front door.

The entryway was dark, as was the living room. The groan came from his mom's bedroom and he eased toward the partially open door. The smell of cigarette smoke snaked out of the room. Jake clenched his teeth and walked inside.

Her bedroom was spotless—the influence of his dad lorded over her—but a smell like old wet newspapers filled his nose. His mom lay on the bed on a flowered comforter, a dingy white bathrobe cinched tightly around her gnarled body. A cluster of little orange pill bottles with white tops sat on the nightstand. The glow of the lamp put half his mom's face in silhouette, half in the light. The shock of seeing her again after so many years made Jake's knees wobble, but he held steady.

“Hello, Mom.”

“Jakey, is that you?”

“Yeah, Mom. How are you?”

She only groaned in response.

His mom looked older than she'd been when she died. Wrinkles now lined her face, the way he imagined she'd have looked if she hadn't taken her life. The rings under her eyes had grown darker, her skin thinner, as if the years had stretched it to the point where it would tear soon.

“How are you?” Jake repeated.

“I'm tired, Jakey, so tired. I want to go to sleep for a long, long time. I want to go to sleep forever.”

“No, Mom, I need you to take care of yourself. I need you to make the choice to live.”

Her eyes moistened. “You need me?”

Jake hesitated. “Yes, I need you.”

“But you're too busy for me. You're always off playing your baseball, and when you are here you mess things up and make life hard for me.”

Not entirely surprising that she saw a child standing in front of her and not an adult.

“No, Mom. That's not true. I'm just a kid being a kid. But right now, you just need to promise me you'll take your medicine. That's all. Promise me.”

“There you go.” His mom waved her hands at the ceiling. “You're just like your dad, doing what you want to do, directing me around, telling me what to do.”

“No, I'm not like Dad. I only want you to get better. Take care of yourself. I know you can do it.

“Mom, look at me. Forgive me for not being there more for you. I was wrong, but I tried and I was only a kid.”

Her eyes watered as she ground out her cigarette, tilted her head back, and let the smoke seep from her cracked lips.

“Yes, Jake, you were. It was so hard, I was so alone and I needed you.”

“Forgive me, Mom. I wasn't even a teenager yet. I should have been there for you more. But I didn't know how.”

“You said that. It doesn't change anything.”

“I know. But I want you to hear me. This is important. We can change things this time. I'm here now.”

“Will you stay?”

“I don't know how long I'll be able to. But while I'm here, I'll do everything I can to make you feel better.”

“Will you?” His mom shifted onto her side, and for the first time since he'd walked through her door, she looked into his eyes. “Will you sing for me? The funny song? You know the one.”

Jake knew it. Yes. The one that always helped. The one that always made her laugh, always made her feel better. He racked his mind for the words, the melody.

“Can you, Jakey? Please.”

He stared at her, begging the words to come, but there was nothing. He had to remember, had to! It would open her up to his words. And then, like a flash of lightning, it was there.

“Sing it, please? Make me smile. Make me laugh. It would help so much, you know it would help.” A toothy smile teetered on her face.

“Okay, Mom.”

“Sing it!” His mom pushed herself up, her hands jammed into the white mattress, eyes wild. “Sing it! Sing it! Sing it!”

Jake swallowed and took a step back. “I will. But if I do, you have to promise me something.”

She slumped back in bed. “What, Jakey? What do I have to do for you? Always doing something for you. I ask if you'll do something for me, and you end up asking if I can do something for you. Always about you, isn't it? Isn't that the way it's always been? Yes, it has. Always about Jakey. What Jakey wants. What about me, Jakey? What about me!”

“I want to sing the song for you, Mom. I do. But you have to make me a promise. That's all.”

“What promise?”

“Live, just live. Just promise to take your pills and live.”

His mom's eyes fluttered and she smiled again. A real smile this time, and her eyes cleared.

“You want me to live.”

“Yes, more than anything.”

“Thank you, Jakey.”

She reached out for him and he took her cold, battered hand and began to sing. By the time he finished, her laughter had sent tears of joy down her cheeks, and as grueling as it was to sing that song, Jake felt lighter, freer, because he knew it had worked. It was far less arduous than he'd expected. But that only meant his dad and Sienna would be harder.

After a few minutes of silence, as he watched his mom rock back and forth, eyes closed, a smile on her face, Jake let his hand slide from his mom's and eased toward the door.

When he reached her bedroom door, she opened her eyes. “Thank you for saving me, Jakey.”

“You're going to be okay, Mom. I promise.”

“I promise too.” She glanced at the row of orange bottles on her nightstand. “I love you, Jakey.”

“I love you too, Mom.”

As Jake strode out the front door of his mom's house, relief flooded through him. Not easy. But he'd done it. Kept his mom from taking her life. Made things right and been enough. Even though part of him accepted that it hadn't happened twenty-five years ago, it had happened now. He'd done what he couldn't do all those years ago. And it counted. One down, two to go.

When he reached the main path, Jake turned left at a fast clip. Get it done. He didn't have to guess who would be next. Had to be his dad, because Ryan would save the toughest for last: Sienna. His parents? He had ideas on how to fix things, be enough for
them. But Sienna? Not one iota of a clue. He shook the thought from his mind. Just take care of his dad. Worry about Sienna when he got to her.

As he strode down the wood-chip-covered path, a shout from farther up seemed to fill the sky. His dad's voice. That cheerful, grating voice. No surprise. Jake pressed his palms into his eyes and took in a deep breath. He would be enough, whatever he encountered. He would fix it, do it right this time around. Jake broke into a jog and soon reached a smaller path that would lead to his dad.

The moment he started down it, the sound of hammering reverberated through the woods. As he headed down the trail toward the ringing, something about it unearthed a memory buried deep. Didn't feel like a good one. No surprise.

As he got closer the banging stopped and the sound of a saw biting into wood started. The memory surfaced but was still muddled. But by the time the trees started to thin out, he knew exactly what he was about to face. Harder than what just happened with his mom? Yeah, probably, but Jake had no doubt he could handle it.

Thirty more steps and the tiny path spat him out into a small clearing. No, not a clearing. A lawn. Terraced flower beds to the right. A freshly painted swing set to the left. Jake's backyard from when he was a kid.

Cedar planks were precisely stacked to the right and left of Jake's dad, who was on his knees, saw in hand. His back was to Jake. The old red flannel shirt his dad always wore when working on projects was perfectly tucked in, and his work boots looked like they'd been shined that morning.

Nine? Ten? That's the age Jake had been when his dad stood in their garage and invited Jake to join him in the backyard to build a doghouse. He'd blown it. Bent the nails. Sawed the boards crooked. Didn't line anything up correctly. There were a thousand other times he hadn't been what his dad wanted. Why revisit this one? It didn't matter. All that mattered was making it right.

“Boy oh boy, Jaker,” his dad had said that day. “You surely messed it up this time. What in the world am I going to do with you? Let's do it right this time, huh, pard? We always do things right around the Palmer household, don't you know.”

The image of his dad's joyless smile hanging over him as he tried again and again and again plastered itself to the wall of Jake's mind. The afternoon had worn on into early evening, but ten-year-old Jake never got it right. But now, that was all going to change.

“Hey, Jaker!” His dad looked up, glanced at his watch, then back to Jake. “Did I get our time wrong, or are you late?”

“I think I'm late.”

“Let's not let that happen again, pard, okay? We want to be members of the on-time-all-the-time club, right?”

“Yeah, Dad, we do.”

“
We
do?”

“I do.”

“Good man. Okay then. Wonderful.” His dad motioned at the boards with his saw. “Why don't we dive in and put this structure together.”

For the next two hours, Jake did exactly what his dad instructed him to do, not with the skills of a ten-year-old, but with those of a thirty-seven-year-old. His dad kept up his usual stream
of banter that was sickeningly cheerful because it wasn't real. His dad was the original velvet hammer, seemingly nice as apple pie, but if you didn't live life exactly as he thought it should be lived, he would smash your thumb and pay no attention to how much it hurt.

When they finished, his dad crawled around on his hands and knees examining the doghouse. “Well, well, well, Jaker! Looks pretty good, pretty doggone good!” His dad laughed at his own joke and relief rose up in Jake. He'd done it. Been enough for his dad, at least this time.