Chapter Thirty-One
Regan
Since people learned Jack was alive, it’s been a hell of an undertaking explaining to everyone how that’s possible. I’m exhausted
from distilling history and details into bite-size sentences to offer up multiple times a day when it’s truly none of their
business. Of course they want to know. It’s shocking. All of it is too much to wrap their heads around, but it’s the same
for me, too, so I try to lie low as much as I can.
When I walk into the pub for Tia’s memorial gathering, I pull my woolly hat down over my ears, keeping my eyes downcast while
I make a beeline for the booth I see Andi and Roxie sitting in.
“Hey!” I hear a few guys at the bar yell.
One starts to sing “for she’s a jolly good fella,” but the man next to him gives him an elbow in the ribs, reminding him of the occasion.
I give them a nod of recognition. Someone shoves a drink in my hand and pats me on the back.
Before too much fuss can be made, I slip into the booth and Andi pulls me in for a hug.
I have to hold back tears as we hug each other for a long moment. We’ve talked about it so many times now—I didn’t save her
life; the medics did. She didn’t single-handedly bring down evil—it was a strange series of events and all of us played a
part we never wanted to be cast in. But our lives are forever entwined now in the baffling, unsettling turns they’ve taken.
It’s really Roxie and Drew who should be taking the credit, but Andi reminds me of all the illegal things they did to get
the information they got, and she doesn’t want their lives even more disrupted, so Sasha and I both agreed to leave their
names out of it.
“How’s Drew liking Tucson?” I ask Roxie.
“He likes it, I guess. He’s taking a photography class and his Instagram is full of cactus photos. Looks boring to me.”
“But we’ll drive down so she can visit this spring,” Andi says, and Roxie nods.
“And you?” I ask Andi, who is zoned out watching Ray across the room sobbing into his handkerchief while some older woman
I don’t know hugs him.
“Huh?” she says, missing the question, but I don’t repeat it. It was a stupid question.
“I just stopped in to pay my respects, but I’m gonna just say hello to Ray and then head out. Jack has a doctor’s appointment.”
And then I hug them both and slide my drink to Andi. On my way out, I dodge a few people who want to ask me questions about
the whole tragic night that I have no intention of answering, and I just make sure Ray sees me wave to him before getting
out of the crowded bar and heading back home.
It’s a strange feeling, not knowing which place I want to be in less—surrounded by friends and loved ones at O’Malley’s, or home spending time with Jack.
Before, either option would have been top on my list of favorite things to do.
Now I’m looked at differently by people, bombarded, praised or judged or pitied.
Everyone has an opinion about my life. And going home . . . it’s changed.
When I walk in the door with burgers from Kellers, Hallie has Jack’s feet up on a pillow on the coffee table and they’re watching
Curious George while she makes tiny ponytails in his hair with rubber bands. She’s careful not to jump on him or get close to his wounds.
She understands on some level what’s happened, but I don’t know how much.
“Hi, Mom!” She beams and then giggles when she sees me notice the glitter nail polish Jack has let her paint his nails with.
“You should open your own shop,” I say, handing her the bag of takeout. She opens it and starts plucking out the food, looking
for her waffle fries. I sit down next to Jack and hand him a burger.
“Thanks.” He kisses me on the cheek, and we eat while we watch George learn how to paint with watercolors on the television
for a few minutes. All I’ve ever wanted. This. I would have given up just about anything in life to have one more day like
this with Jack—just his presence and the minutiae of the day-to-day, the simple things that aren’t in themselves exciting
but having him close makes them perfect. Why can’t I feel that anymore?
I know why he did what he did. I know that it destroyed him and that he thought it was the right thing to do—the only thing.
I can’t really hate him for that, because it was incredibly selfless.
Not only was he looking over his shoulder every day, running constantly, trying to survive, but he gave up the only family he had and went through mourning all of that alone. He should get a medal, if anything.
But there is a part of me that deeply resents being abandoned. It feels like a betrayal no matter how many ways I look at
it—no matter how understanding I try to be.
“We should get ready for your appointment,” I say after everyone finishes eating. I pull his walker from the hallway and set
it next to the couch. Then I give him his afternoon meds before I go to warm the car up and pull it around. Hal likes to help
him put his coat on and run ahead to open the car door.
“It’s a long road to recovery,” Hallie says, not for the first time today, repeating something she’s heard us discussing.
She wants to take care of him, and it’s heartwarming. As we pile into the car and pull away for another doctor’s appointment,
I look over at Jack and smile. I want to feel something different. He’s a hero, really. I want to see the sacrifice and love
when I look at him now, but . . .
He’s a stranger to me.