Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
JAY
San Francisco, California
One week later
The wipers on the black limousine flapped in rapid rhythm, clearing rain from the windshield.
An endless caravan of vehicles followed behind, all headlights blazing.
Hundreds of mourners packed the cathedral to pay their respects, and most now trailed the hearse and the cars carrying immediate family members.
Jay kept his gaze fixed on the clouds beyond the tinted windows.
The last week of his life mirrored the skies overhead–dark, ominous and completely devoid of light.
He'd staggered through the past seven days while twisted thoughts ate away at him like cancerous bugs, leaving him almost incapable of coherent thought.
Now, he could do nothing but remember as he replayed the final, fateful conversation he and Hope shared again and again in his mind.
Rob sat with his arm around Jay’s shoulder.
He'd become the family’s rock, handling all the arrangements and giving Jay what he needed most—the unconditional love of a true best friend.
Rob had stood beside him, matching Jay tear for tear, when he called Hope’s parents to tell them of her tragic passing.
It was the hardest thing Jay had ever done in his life. And now, he faced the second hardest.
Rob’s wife, Abby, sat beside Rob. Each time Jay found her gaze, her eyes shone with love and sympathy. At one point, Abby reached across her husband for Jay’s hand and offered a loving squeeze. Jay said nothing, only able to nod in response.
As the car approached the entrance to the memorial park, the rain finally began to subside, though the storm inside Jay raged.
He could still see the moment his world fell apart.
How the police officers in the hall outside their door delivered the news he'd never expected to hear. The feeling still lingered—the sensation of being sucked into a black tunnel. He’d fallen against the doorframe for support.
The officers had to help him back inside, his heart thrashing inside his chest. Their words, burning holes in his brain. We’re sorry to have to inform you…
Jay wiggled his hand free from Abby’s grip. He leaned forward, resting his head in his hands. Rob and Abby exchanged worrisome looks. Rob comforted him with a compassionate pat on the back, but his touch felt cold and foreign… and so had everything since.
The car followed the hearse along the winding drive to the back of the cemetery, where workers had erected a single green tent.
Two neat rows of white chairs waited beneath it.
Though he'd made the drive there with Hope’s parents and the funeral director the day before, it looked completely different, as though seeing it for the first time.
His mind drifted to a photo of Hope’s mother holding her two babies, one in each arm.
The day would weigh heavily on everyone, but especially on Hope’s parents.
Jay closed his eyes and whispered a quiet prayer that they all survive the next hour.
Jay’s hand caressed the edge of the Steinway, and he watched his distorted reflection in the polished instrument.
The surface of the Baby Grand told a story, one that he'd been inextricably drawn to from the moment he'd entered the room.
His eyes absorbed the photographic images that stood frozen like little soldiers, all standing at attention in matching silver frames—a complete pictorial history of the Hanks family.
To the casual onlooker, they appeared to be the perfect family.
Each member, a shining example of hard work and the living embodiment of the American dream.
A blending of lives and cultures, each one gifted with an abundance of talents to better the world.
His eyes rested on a photo from his own wedding.
Hope looked ethereal, her satin slip dress—the definition of elegance. His stomach churned with guilt.
He'd been a guest in his in-laws’ home only once during their engagement.
Sitting across from Hope’s mother, he remembered how his palms felt—sweaty and cold—the first time he’d set foot inside their grand Victorian home.
It had been the family home for over twenty-five years.
Yet the cheery exterior that highlighted the San Francisco landscape in no way resembled the family who lived there now.
Her father, a quiet man with more intellect than personality, had been kind and welcoming for the most part.
A former law professor, Emerson Hanks was a tall, thin wisp of a man who obsessed over model trains and fancied ornithology.
A nervous sort of man, constantly wringing his hands and clearing his throat.
Her mother, as Hope had warned, fell to the opposite end of the spectrum.
A dark-eyed, porcelain figure, she seemed to balance somewhere between the mysteries of old China and the musings of the modern world.
A strong-willed woman of tradition, discipline, and intelligence, she silently sized Jay up as they exchanged pleasantries in the foyer during their first introduction.
Her coffee-bean eyes traveled the length of Jay’s body before settling on the hand he had comfortably parked on her daughter’s waist. Even after Hope warned him about her mother’s suspicious nature toward potential love interests, Jay still held his breath and waited for some small sign of acceptance.
To his surprise, she offered him a pleasant smile and her hand.
"It’s so nice to meet you, Jameson. Please call me Nang."
"Thank you. And it's Jay."
“I like Jameson better,” she'd said.
“Really, Jay is fine.”
He instantly regretted the polite correction.
During their first exchange, he worried that Nang had stamped a single word across her mind as she shook the hand of her daughter’s future husband: unworthy.
Instead, the moment had accomplished the opposite.
Over the years, he and Nang grew close and teased each other relentlessly.
Behind closed doors, she became a completely different person—more open and relaxed than the ultra-professional woman she displayed to the rest of the world.
"I thought I might find you here." His mother-in-law's voice brought his mind back to the present and the painful reality that surrounded them.
She stepped quietly into the room and closed the French doors behind her, blocking out the din of guests scattered about her three-story home.
In a tailored black dress and heels, she made her way noiselessly across to him, moving with a catlike stealth that always amazed Jay.
She stood beside him, turning her eyes in the same direction as his.
"I'm sorry, Nang. I just needed a moment," he muttered, his eyes still focused on their wedding photo.
"Me too," she said.
Her voice broke with unmistakable pain, and he turned toward her, watching her body begin to crumble.
He reached out and wrapped his arms around her.
Like her daughter, she felt small and seemingly fragile in his embrace.
With her silver hair brushing against Jay’s chin, they clung to each other in a tangle of grief and regret.
Nang’s tears came hard and fast. Up until now, she hadn’t shed a single one in his presence.
Not at the hospital. Not at the funeral.
She'd been all business while her husband had fallen apart, scarcely able to speak.
Watching them bury their only remaining child had been one of the most heartbreaking moments of Jay's life.
He'd wanted to mourn with them and had begged God to deliver his own tears. But the shock of unexpectedly losing Hope had smothered every other emotion, leaving a numbness that made the tragedy feel unreal. As if someone had made a terrible mistake. How could death take someone so beautiful, so driven to improve the lives of others? Nothing about it made sense. The lines etched on Nang’s face showed she struggled with the same disbelief.
She'd given her daughter every advantage to succeed in life. Yet for reasons they’d never understand, Hope had been taken from them.
Jay’s gaze drifted back to the piano. He had wanted a life like the one before him, each precious memory housed in a shiny frame. Perhaps, he thought as he held Hope's mother in his arms, his tears weren't far behind.
Almost as quickly as they began, Nang’s tears ended. She dried her pale cheeks on a wrinkled tissue fished from the pocket of her dress and took a step back from her son-in-law.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered.
"I don't know how you've managed to hold it in this long."
She shook her head. "No, I'm not talking about the tears."
"Sorry?" Jay said.
"My mother always said that if you keep a green bough in your heart, a singing bird will come." She turned toward the collage of memories on the piano. "Two beautiful trees once grew here. Strong, bright green, with so many branches."
She gently traced a photo of Hope and her brother Daniel, taken on one of the family's many travels.
"Somewhere along the way, I discovered that my trees didn't need my constant care.
It broke my heart, but I understood. You water them, feed them, and shelter them.
That's all you can do. Then one day, I woke to find that my precious trees had disappeared.
That's when the birds stopped singing. And now, my heart is a dry, brittle place. There is no chance for a green bough for me. Not anymore.”
"Nang, please—" Jay shook his head, her words pricking his wounded heart.
Nang continued. “It’s the greatest cliche but holds the most truth. Life is short. A mere wisp. But you still have a chance, Jameson. I know your heart has been without a green bough for a while. You’re a good man, and Hope wouldn’t want you to be unhappy or alone."
To most, the idea that a mother-in-law might share these feelings just hours after burying her daughter—her last surviving child—would seem alarming. But Jay knew Nang better than most. This wasn’t callous insensitivity. It was simply Nang being Nang.
"I don’t think we should be talking about—" Jay tried to turn the conversational tide.
"I guess it's my fault. I preached to both my children that success could only be measured by the amount of sacrifice one is willing to make—and of course, who would know that better than I?
I'm just sorry Hope’s sacrifice was you.
She knew she was hurting you and she wanted to set you free," Nang confessed, turning back to Jay with a pained expression. "And now she has."