Thunder Snow (Thunder On The Mountain Series) (16 page)

I know the wrenching ache will fade

Dear God, please tell me it has to

The tears, the blood will dry

I’ll be normal again, yes?

I wait constantly for relief

‘We’ll be friends forever, little one’ – just words

I miss you so much

I’m so tired of crying

Dear God . . .

I fell into a fitful sleep, and the sun was shining when I woke up. I had gotten some rest. Surely I would feel better now. For a while I was fine. For a while I was able to do things around the house, fix a meal, clean the kitchen. But there was no way to shut off my brain. I just wanted to talk to him.

Dear Jack. Do you remember the movie with Richard Gere and Diana Lane called
Unfaithful
? While I have actually never seen it, I have heard about the ending so many times, and I have thought about it many times recently in different contexts.

Specifically, how much of our life do we chose where we never consider the consequences? She is a bored housewife, he a businessman. They are set in their ways, living life with no passion. She has never thought of being unfaithful until she meets a dynamic young Frenchman who has a passion for life . . . a total passion.

They literally run into each other on the streets of NY, and he invites her up to his apartment to help her out. She watches the taxi go by, and decides to take him up on his offer. They begin an affair. Her husband finds out about it and goes to see the young man. When he sees a snow globe that is in the young man’s apartment that the husband had given to his wife, in a fit of rage, he hits the young Frenchman with the globe, killing him. Everyone’s life is ruined.

The movie is set in flashbacks, and she relives the scene where she meets him again. She imagines, “What if I had
said ‘no’? What if I had gotten into the taxi and driven away?”

So often over the past few days I have thought of that. Would I have changed walking into the Amber Rose? Would I have found some other little hamlet to escape to where there was no Jack Franklin? Would I have rather avoided what we had to be able live with what I have now? At what point would I have changed things? What different path would I have chosen?

And I keep coming back to the same place. I hate thinking of making different decisions because the decisions we’ve made make us who we are. They have brought us where we are today, with all of the inherent joy of how we got here, and the amazing, life altering pain I am now feeling. Would I trade being pregnant? Never, but I wonder how you can be so indifferent. Soon, I know I will have to get on with my life. But now I have to learn how to put one step in front of the other again to be able to do that.

Would I have been better for not having known you? I can’t ever believe that is possible. But right now, I can’t believe it’s possible I will ever be normal again, even though I have to trust that I will be. One day soon I will have to find the answer to my question; the wondering if I continue down the path of waiting for you, or will there come a time soon where I will have to make new decisions that will cause a change in life’s trajectory? I can’t fathom that today. I can’t face the possibility.

So I continue to wait. I wonder how I survive when you have taken every vital part of me. Please, Jack, please. I need so desperately to hear from you.

It wasn’t even noon yet, but I was so tired. Tired of crying, tired of thinking, tired of being awake. I crawled under the covers and fell asleep . . . welcome, blissful sleep.

It was late afternoon, and I knew I couldn’t stay where I was. I didn’t want to leave the house, so maybe I could go up to
Callie’s Eyrie
and take some pictures. As I rounded the last turn on the staircase, I remembered clearly looking up and seeing Jack standing there. I remembered feeling that life was complete, and believing I would always be as happy as I was in that moment. What a fool. And I was a fool for thinking I could go up and take pictures. I turned and headed back to the living room.

Seeing the chess set sitting on the table, my first notion was to pick it up and throw it piece by piece, destroying it as I was being destroyed. But I couldn’t do it. When I picked up the first piece, no matter my pain, I knew I could never destroy something that was almost lifelike. I cried as I picked up the first piece and ran my thumb over her carved robe. I cried at the thought of the heart that had made it, conceived it. I opened the box and reset the pieces one by one. Even the workmanship of the box was so clever, and I could see so clearly in my mind’s eye the joy of playing chess with Jack.

Please, let me believe I would be able to touch those memories one day without the exquisite pain involved.
But not today. I began to rush through the task, just wanting them out of my sight. I thought about the Amber Rose, but I didn’t want to face anyone. Warring emotions, puffy face, incredible heartache. I just couldn’t do it. I finally settled on a book that I found on the shelf. It was a bestseller, surely it would occupy some time.

But I didn’t care. I didn’t see the words on the page, just kept reliving the last time I saw Jack. It was almost 9:00 pm. It would be okay to go to sleep now, right? Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Saw him in the bed next to me. Saw him in the kitchen. Saw him with Sam. I couldn’t drink alcohol because of the baby, but I craved the sweet oblivion. Amazingly, I slept until morning.

If my days were going to be like this, how was I going to make it? There is no way I would survive. Jack was too much a part of this place now. I wasn’t sure I could ever be content here again. After a day of virtually not moving, I called Marge. I knew what street Jack lived on up here, but I didn’t know the exact address. I would ask Marge to find it for me. I don’t know what I was going to do with it. I couldn't imagine he was there, but I needed to know.

I mentally chided myself that I was going to be able to understand and appreciate the mentality of a stalker before this was over. I could feel that desperation, the insanity of needing to know where he was. Was he hurting like I was, was he with someone else, how could he have just walked away, no contact? I didn’t know what to think, all I knew was I wanted the pain to end.

When she called me back, I knew it didn’t bode well when her first words were, “Are you sitting down?”

“What is it, Marge? Just tell me, dammit.”

Marge had been as gentle as possible, but there hadn't been any way to cushion the blow. “Oh, honey, he owns that house—and several other houses—with his wife.”

CHAPTER  TWENTY-SEVE
N

T
he phone fell to the floor as the numbness permeated my body. I could hear that Marge was still talking, but I didn’t care. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered now. My greatest fear was what was going to happen to me when the numbness wore off?

Was it possible to feel nothing, absolutely nothing at all? I put on my coat and stepped outside. The snow was starting to fall, and the ground looked like fairy dust, but I didn't care. I didn't notice when my hands started to freeze, and I didn't notice when people called to me to hurry home, or offered me a ride, or asked if I was okay. I just kept putting one foot in front of the other.

Jack has a wife, I am going to have his baby. Jack has a wife, I am going to have his baby.
It was all I could grasp. I continued on mindlessly, not wanting to think, certainly not wanting to feel. Somewhere along the way I realized I was the only one now who would be there for our baby, no MY baby. Just the thought brought me up short. I became aware of my surroundings and didn't have a clue where I was. The sun was setting and the snow was falling hard. There was another life I had to take care of now. I had to pull myself together no matter how much pain I was in.

I hurriedly retraced my footprints in the snow, hoping to catch their trail to a familiar path before the snow covered them completely. The cold in my hands and feet was suddenly unbearable. I slipped once or twice, cut my hand on a jutting rock, all the while realizing I had to get home, had to get in out of the cold.

I crested the hill and saw the lights and the smoke from the chimneys below. I knew where I was and hurried to get inside, to get warm. Maybe Jack would be waiting for me. NO! He was gone. He'd never be waiting again. How was I going to make it? How could he have lied to me so completely? How could Sam and my father have let it happen? Was it possible I was truly that blind? Was I blind because I had
wanted
to be?

Cold, numb, bruised, I hurried to the sanctuary of my bath, purposefully avoiding noticing my surroundings. There wasn't an inch of this place that Jack hadn't permeated. But I wouldn't think of that right now, I had to get warm. I struggled to remove my boots with my frozen hands. I seemed to be in slow motion as I tried to remove my clothes. Finally, blessedly,
I slipped under the warm water— and started sobbing.

The sobs drowned out the sound of the running water. I was warm but I was numb. I didn’t want to think, but I remembered that first morning Jack had walked into the room while I was in the tub. Please, no, I didn’t want to feel. I just wanted oblivion.

In the morning I awoke in my bed. I don’t remember how or when I got there. The phone was ringing, but it didn't matter who it was, I didn't want to speak to anyone. I stayed under the covers and watched the snowfall, turned the ringer off, and slept some more. The sun was setting the next time I woke. I figured it was the growling in my stomach that had awakened me, and knew I would have to get something to eat.

The pounding wouldn’t stop. What WAS that noise? Please, just go away. But the pounding continued. I threw the covers off and opened the door. Sam was wagging his finger at me.

“Ya been holed up here long enough. Why ain’t ya answering yer phone? Yer pa is worried sick about ya. Good God almighty, young ‘un. What's the matter with ya? Ya sick?! Ya look like hell.”

“Nothing, Sam. Please, just leave me in peace.”

“When was the last time ya had a decent meal in ya?”

“I have no idea. Thank you for checking on me. I’m fine, now go.”

“I’ll be back in twenty minutes. If ya lock this door I’m gonna pound it down. Ya gonna eat if I have ta spoon feed ya like a baby."

True to his word, he came back with a plate piled high. Just the thought of it made me nauseated, but Sam insisted I have some of it. When I had eaten all that I could, he packed the rest away and put it in the refrigerator.

“Ya get hungry, ya just pull that out. It’ll be good fer the next few days.”

“Thank you, Sam. I don’t want to be mean, but please just leave me alone.”

“Ya’ll know I ken be here in two minutes flat. All ya gotta do is ask.”

“I know, thank you.”

As he was walking out the door, I said, “Sam, why didn’t you tell me that Jack was married?”

“WHAT?!!!” he asked. “Who told ya that?”

“My secretary found out that Jack’s house here, and his other houses all over the State, are owned by he and his wife. Why didn’t you and Daddy ever tell me? Did you not understand how close Jack and I were?”

“Oh, sweet child, ya got it all wrong.”

“Just go, Sam. I can’t take any more right now,” I said as I closed and locked the door.

Two hours later, there was a pounding on the door again.

“Sweet Jesus, can’t you people just leave me in peace?” I shouted as I opened the door. It was my father, who pushed right past me and came into the living room. “Sam’s right, you DO look like hell.”

“Sam needs to mind his own business.”

“Sam’s concerned about you, and rightly so. Oh, honey, you got it all wrong. We need to talk.”

I headed into the kitchen to get some food, suddenly hungry. “Have you eaten yet?” I asked. “Sam brought some food up earlier. I'll fix it for both of us.

“But before you explain to me why everyone chose to lie to me, let me tell YOU something. I’m pregnant. Yes, daddy, I’m going to have Jack's baby. NOW how do you feel about not telling me about his WIFE?!” I realized that the shrieking was coming from my mouth, and not one part of me cared.

“And as soon as he found out about the baby, he left. Poof, like smoke. No contact, no communication whatsoever. Just gone. The high and mighty Jack Franklin that everyone knows and loves. The man that can do no wrong.” Breaking down in fitful sobs, I said, "I’m not sure I can survive this, Daddy.”

He took me in his arms and led me to the couch. “Oh, sugar, someone should have told you. I’m so sorry.”

My cries grew even louder. “Someone should have TOLD ME? Oh, Daddy, how could you not have?!”

“It’s not at all what you think, pun’kin. Any one of us should have told you. I guess we all thought the other would. God knows I told him enough times he had to be honest with you.”

“Well, he wasn’t.”

“Listen, Callie. Let me explain.”

I laid down on the edge of the couch and put my feet in his lap. After he put a blanket over me, his words were quiet, painful. As my father sat absently patting his little girl, he kept telling me that his heart broke for Jack’s and my pain.

“WHAT? Under the circumstances, how could you have sympathy for someone who could do this to me?”

“You don’t understand. Jack has been through trauma like few others I have known. You have to give him a little more time to come to grips with your situation.”

Throwing my legs off of the couch, I sat up, angry. “Are you SERIOUS? Jack needs MY understanding? Are you KIDDING ME?” I knew I was screaming. Tough.

“Listen to me, Callie, just listen. Jack WAS married. He was married to a beautiful woman named Marcie. They were very much in love. When Marcie was eight months pregnant with their son, a drunk driver ran a red light and hit her broadside. She wasn’t wearing a seat belt, and she was hit on the driver’s side.

“The baby died instantly. Marcie lived several more days after that. Jack has been up here ever since. Someone should have told you, but I just always thought Jack would, and I didn’t want to interfere. It should make you feel better knowing Jack isn’t married. He hasn’t been leading a double life. He probably just can't bring himself to talk about it. It’s been less than four years.”

I was completely still, quiet. “Callie? What is it, honey?”

How many times could my world be rocked by revelations and I maintain my sanity?

“Nothing, Daddy. Thank you for telling me. I’m very tired now. I’m going to bed. Thank you for coming up. The bed in the guest room is made. Make yourself at home.”

I turned to make it to my room before I broke down completely. Without turning back, I said, “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful or inhospitable. It is your house, after all, so please, sincerely, make yourself at home."

What he couldn’t possibly have understood was the intensified heartache this information brought to my life.
How could I ever compete with the ghost of a dead woman? A
perfect
dead woman. I would struggle now with the thought that, in my whole life, even if Jack were to come back, I could never replace the woman that had been so cruelly taken from him, the mother of his unborn son. The one that time would make larger-than-life. How do you measure up to something like that? How can you possibly help someone heal from that kind of heartbreak?

“Listen, honey,” daddy said as he came up behind me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Why don't you think about coming back to town for a while? I hate the thought of you being here by yourself, hours away. At least until you get things figured out and know what you want to do.”

“I’ll give it some thought, Daddy. I promise.”

“I’m not gonna stay unless you need me to. I just thought you should know before any more days went by. I didn’t trust Sam to tell you the whole truth. I had no idea Jack wouldn’t have told you before now.”

“Thank you, Daddy. I’ll be fine. Thank you so much for coming up here to deliver the news personally.”

As we stood and hugged, I kept telling myself I needed to wait until he left before I could break down. I could hold off another minute or two.

“Now might be a good time to think about building that house you’ve always wanted. New beginnings. You have a baby on the way. It would be a perfect time to think about it.”

“That makes a lot of sense. I will definitely give it some thought. And I promise I will come to town in the next few days. I know in my heart of hearts that I’m not going to be able to stay here much longer."

“That’s my girl. It’s gonna be okay, pun’kin. I promise.”

Watching him pull out of the driveway, instead of wanting to go to bed, I now wanted so much to talk to Jack.

Dear Jack. When you left me, my drugs of choice were tragic songs and tears— trying to erase you from my mind, trying to erase us from my memory.

I would walk in the door and see you here – you filled my world – everything I knew included you. I kept reading your letter, never wanting to believe it was a lie, and wondering how it was possible for you to change so completely, so intensely, so quickly. Why couldn’t you have told me? I have never known someone who could so completely turn it off the way that you did.

I never understood what happened. Could you seriously not like me anymore after everything we had been through? Was I losing my mind? I know now I have stayed here in the Fortress of Solitude because to leave would mean leaving you behind. I know now I have to do that. I can’t replace what you’ve lost, and I can’t stay here with what I’ve lost.

Daddy came up tonight. He was concerned when Sam called him and told him I was holed up here. I had been crying for days. I told him about the baby. I told him about how I had found out that you were married. I had never before told him how special our relationship was, but I’m sure he must have known when you built
Callie’s Eyrie
. I poured out my heart to him about how much I missed my friend; about how much you meant to me and that you had broken my heart.

I told him about how you motivate, excite, and make me want to be better, and that you had completely rejected me and our relationship. I poured my heart out to him, and he was so solicitous. It was an amazing bonding time. And he told me about Marcie.
Oh, Jack. I am so sorry. I know I can’t heal that pain for you, but I am so terribly, terribly sorry for your loss.

The night I met you, for whatever reason, my psyche absorbed you. I still believed what you and I had was special and unique . . . and while we were wildly attracted to each other, it wasn’t just sex, it was mental and emotional also. You know I am a sensual creature. But there was something about what you and I shared that took that to a different plane, a different level.

In your letter before you left you said it was never very far from the surface, and that is how it always was for me. I was so happy with our friendship and what we had – my body was always so much more aware - my mind was enhanced. But when you left, that changed. I was so wounded that I couldn’t think of anything else. I took it so personally – I took it as such a rejection of me. How could this happen from the man with whom I had shared such heights of passion? I took it as such a question of my discernment. How could I have been so wrong about you, about us?

And how could it have changed overnight? It destroyed my world. Tragic, heartbreaking songs became my best friend because they touched every fiber in me that had been crushed, rejected, unloved, unwanted . . . and desperate. I listened to them until it was the only thing in my brain. For a while, they even drowned out your voice, your words, your desire . . . your being that existed in my being. And how could you have been so sexually active with me, so daily active with me, so involved with me in bed, on text, email and phone, and then one day not only not want me anymore, but completely slam that door? It made no sense.