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Jake was back in Long Island and it was all because of Samantha Fox.
He’d been surprised when, after several days of silence, she’d called him on the phone. He’d been more surprised when she brought up the subject of his wife. And then she’d floored him with the most bizarre suggestion he’d ever heard. According to Sam he needed to say a proper goodbye to Jessica. Only then would he be able to heal. Most important, though, he was to ask Jessica’s forgiveness. And that was why he was here.
Jake climbed the grassy bank to the little knoll where Jessica’s grave lay. His heart heavy, he approached the little mound then stood looking down at the headstone with the angel, its arms spread wide as if to welcome him. “Jessica Layne McKoy” the headstone read, “1974 – 2009. Loving daughter, wife and friend. May you rest in peace.”
Rest in peace. Were there any words sadder than those? His heart breaking, Jake swallowed hard, fighting to keep his emotions in check. He lowered his head and sank to his knees in the grass.
“Jessica,” he said, his voice mere whisper. “Jessica.” That was as far as he got.
His heart swell inside him and he felt like it would burst from his chest. It was such agony, kneeling there at her feet, knowing that she was lying beneath the ground – but it was not her. Not really. The real Jessica, the one he’d known and loved, the true essence of who she’d been, had departed three years ago.
Since the funeral Jake had been back to Jessica’s grave three times but this trip was hardest of all. Each time before he’d told her he loved her but now he couldn’t speak. There was a lump in his throat, choking him as he fought hard for control.
But it was no use. He slumped forward, his forehead pressed into the grass, and for the first time since the funeral the tears came.
Jake dug his fingers into the grass, his shoulders heaving as he gave way to the waves of grief that washed over him. Jessica, dear sweet Jessica was gone forever, and no amount of self-torture or denial would bring her back. It had finally sunken in. He had to say goodbye.
“Jessica.” His voice was a broken whisper. “I'm sorry. So sorry. Please…forgive me.”
The ache in his heart burst and spread through his body and he moaned in pain that was almost physical. But then a gentle breeze came floating over his back like a soft caress, somehow soothing his tortured soul. Dared he think it was a sign? Could he be forgiven? For a long time Jake stayed there, as still as stone, his thoughts going back to the wonderful times he’d shared with Jessica. Those years he’d had with her were a gift he would cherish as long as he had breath.
“Thank you,” he whispered, “for all the love you gave me. I will never forget you.”
Later, much later, as he walked back down the hill and toward the cemetery gate he drew in a deep, cleansing breath. He now knew what he had to do. There was only one way he could make things right in his soul. The thought had come to him as he bowed there on his knees.
Now he had a plan - and a purpose - and he was ready to move.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“Not the moping again.” Meg stepped into the office and slammed the door behind her. “What a rain. It felt like God was up there throwing down buckets of water.” She shook out her umbrella and leaned it in the corner then unbuttoned her raincoat and shrugged it off. She hung it on the coat rack then turned to Sam. “So what are you doing here so early in the morning? It’s not even eight o’clock yet.”
“I had some charts I wanted to print off before I hit the road.”
“And I bet you haven’t done it yet.” Meg patted her bun and paused to give her an accusing look.
“What? Printed the charts?”
“No, silly.” Meg waved a hand as if in exasperation. “Called the guy. Remember our talk?”
“I remember,” Sam said quietly. “And I did call him.”
Meg’s eyebrows shot up. “You did? How did it go?”
“I’m…not sure.” Sam began stacking papers, trying to look busy. She didn’t want Meg to see how nervous she was. “We spoke on the phone and he seemed to understand what I was trying to say but then…it’s been a week. I haven’t heard from him since.” She lifted her eyes from the papers and looked at Meg. “Do you think I should call again?”
“Of course you should, child. As long as your conversation ended on a friendly note there’s no reason not to.”
Sam pulled at a lock of hair that had slipped out of her scrunchie. “I don’t want him to think I’m stalking.”
“That’s not stalking, that’s being proactive. Listen,” Meg gave her a conspiratorial look,” “men don’t know what they want half the time. You have to prod them along. If I had waited for your father to make up his mind on his own do you think we’d be married today?” She gave her trademark snort. “I’d probably still be waiting for him to pop the question.”
Sam sighed. “Okay, I’ll call. But it’s only to check that he’s okay, not because I’m fishing for a date or anything like that.”
“Of course not, dear. I totally believe you.” Meg’s wide grin said she’d formed her own conclusions.
Well, whatever Meg thought, that was her problem. She’d call but definitely not from here. Her stepmom knew too much already.
And that was how Sam ended up making the call from her cell phone that afternoon while sitting in her car in the local park in the shade of a copse of trees. As the gentle breeze blew through the car window she dialed Jake's number.
“Hello.” It was more of a moan than a greeting.
Sam frowned. “Jake? Is that you?”
Another moan then a hoarse whisper. “Not so loud. Please.”
Sam’s heart lurched. “What’s the matter?” Luckily she remembered to whisper her urgent question. “You sound terrible.”
“Migraine,” he whispered then groaned. “Since yesterday.”
“Oh, my God.” Sam felt her heart flutter. Jake was in pain and he was all alone. “I’m coming over. Just leave the front door open for me.”
“Okay,” he said with a sigh then hung up.
At the speed at which Sam drove that morning she got to Jake’s house in under fifteen minutes. She didn’t bother to ring the doorbell but just turned the knob. Good. He’d left it open like she’d asked. She left her boots at the front door and climbed the stairs to the master bedroom. The door was ajar. “Jake?” she said softly, understanding how sensitive he would be to loud noises. She pushed the door open wider and stuck her head in. The curtains were drawn and all she could see in the dimly lit room was a blanket-covered mound in the middle of the king-size bed.
“Jake,” she whispered again as she padded over to the bed. He didn’t even budge.
Gingerly, Sam sat on the bed beside him and rested a gentle hand on what must have been his shoulder. This time she said nothing but stroked slightly so he would know she was there.
Only then did he stir. He gave a groan from deep under the covers and slowly pulled the blanket from over his head. He struggled to open his eyes and then he was squinting up at her. She gasped. Jake’s eyes were bloodshot and puffy, his forehead wrinkled in pain, and he looked like he hadn’t shaved in days.
“Oh, Jake,” she whispered, her heart weeping at the sight, “you poor thing.” She rested her palm on his forehead and he sighed and closed his eyes.
What did it matter that she was little more than a stranger to him? What did it matter that he’d been running away from her since the day they’d met? Right now he needed her and she was going to be there for him – whether he liked it or not.
“Just relax,” she said softly. “I’m here now. You’re going to be alright.”
He didn’t answer but just lay there with his eyes closed, his breathing shallow, perspiration beading his upper lip.
Sam slid off the bed and headed for the bathroom where she grabbed a face towel off the rack and held it under the faucet. She wrung out most of the water then headed back to the bed where she folded the towel into a narrow strip and laid it over Jake’s forehead and eyes.
“Aah.” He let out a long sigh of relief and she could see his body relax back into the pillow.
Gently, she pulled the blanket out of his grip and drew it down to his waist. His cotton T-shirt was soaked with perspiration. She looked around. He needed to change. There was no way he could be comfortable in that.
She walked over to his chest of drawers and, after a moment of hesitation, she pulled the top one open. She was loathe to invade his privacy but under the circumstances she had little choice. In the top drawer she found boxer shorts and in the middle drawer, T-shirts. She grabbed one of each and dropped them on the bed then hurried to the bathroom where she soaked a couple of washcloths in tepid water then went back to him.
