Chapter 42 Jamison
Jamison
“I’m sorry,” is the first thing I say to Claire after thirty-six hours of silence. It’s not enough, but it’s all I can manage when I see her run toward her building, her hair tossed on top of her head, face wet, shirt clinging to her body slick from sweat — beautiful.
I’ve been sitting here for an hour. It’s the first place I came when I got home.
I ran through the rest of my cigarettes in the first fifteen minutes, trying to calm the mixture of emotions threatening to choke me from the inside out.
I have no idea what else I’m going to say.
I’ve tried a hundred times to plan it out, but nothing does her any justice.
She stops just short of me, hands hanging by her side, breath heavy.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat.
“You left.”
“I know.”
“Disappeared.”
“I went to find my brother.” She steps closer to me, leaning forward, then quickly pulls back crossing her arms over her chest like for just a second, curiosity beat out the emotions inside her.
“I remembered the address I saw on the paperwork at your parent’s house. Turns out he’s been just a few hours from Maple Grove this whole time.” I chew my bottom lip as I stare at the concrete in front of her.
Finding Jackson was not a quick decision.
Sometimes you know in your gut the choice you’re going to make about something before you even make it consciously, but this wasn’t like that.
All night with Claire I laid awake going back and forth between whether or not I wanted to reopen that wound.
I laid there, Claire’s head on my chest, her leg thrown across me, and thought this could be enough.
But as much as I wanted it to be, as much as I wanted her to fill every void in my life, I couldn’t let her take on those burdens.
If anyone understands that one person can’t fix another, can’t take away the hurt and pain or the addictions of someone else, it’s me.
So I needed to attempt to fill this one myself.
My mother is gone. That guilt and shame have made their home and will occupy that space inside of me forever.
But Jackson isn’t. And when I found that out, a door cracked open that I thought was locked forever and I had to decide if I was slamming it shut or ripping it off the hinges.
I tried to shake it all off ever since seeing his name yesterday on that damn piece of paper.
Tried to push it out of my mind. To downplay the fact that my brother who I haven't seen for seventeen years is alive and well and buying a damn 1974 orange Ford Maverick.
But I couldn't.
“What happened?”
“Well,” I gather my thoughts. “First I sat in my car down the street for like twenty minutes trying to decide if I should just fucking turn back around. But then Jackson came out of the house to get in his car, and I knew if he left, I may never get my chance.
So, I just walked up to him. I told him he may not remember me, but he did, Claire.
He knew without me even saying anything.
He came up to me and he hugged me. He hugged me so goddamn tight like he had been waiting seventeen years to do it.
He said he tried to come back for me. He came a year after he left but I was already gone.
Mom wasn't home and no one knew where I was except for that I was living with a new family.
" I inhale deeply before daring to take another step towards her.
She doesn't back away but she doesn't meet me either.
"He said he hoped that being with a new family meant that I was finally happy. Finally free." She swallows and I see her tough exterior waver ever so slightly. She uncrosses one arm, using it to pull the other in tighter.
“I told him about my life and he apologized for not doing more. We talked about where we are now and when I left,” I continue, “We exchanged numbers and addresses and made plans to check in and see each other. To talk. To never let time like this go by again.”
“And how did you feel about all that?”
“I felt,” I pause to think. “I felt…relieved. I felt pissed — at my mom, at him, at the fucking universe, at myself. But mostly I felt so…happy.”
She nods. “And now?”
“And now,” I say, closing what’s left of the gap between us. “Now, I feel…just so damn sorry.” I put my hands on her shoulders, leaning forward so my eyes meet hers. She pulls back gently but holds her gaze, her eyes glossy with tears.
“You just left, Jay. You could have told me what you were doing. I would have understood. I would have gone with you!” Her volume rises as she speaks, but not out of rage. Out of something closer to hurt.
“No, I couldn’t have, Claire, because you would have gone with me. I can’t drag you into all of my shit!”
She shakes her head. “You’re not dragging me if I come with you willingly!” At this point we’re both yelling, back and forth — a tug of war.
I take a deep breath and steady my voice. “I am not going to ask you to save me, Claire.”
“Why can't you ever just let me all the way in?” she sighs, stepping past me towards the building. As she pushes the door open, she turns back to me, a look of defeat written all over her face. "Maybe you should go.”
She walks down the hall toward her apartment, and I follow her. She gets to her door and pushes the key into the lock.
“That’s not what I’m saying,” I say calmly as I catch up behind her. She turns to me and if frustration had a face it would be Claire's.
She huffs, throwing her arms in the air. “Then what are you saying?”
“I’m saying, I fucking love you!”
Her hands slowly fall to her sides as she stares at me, eyes wide, lips parted. “What?”
“I love you, Claire,” I say softly, moving closer. “So goddamn much. And because I love you, I won’t ask you to save me.”
She stands motionless for what feels like an eternity then slowly rises onto her tiptoes, holding onto my forearms for support. When she finally speaks, her voice is almost a whisper.
“Then don’t,” she says. I focus on her, holding my breath. “Just ask me to be with you while you learn to save yourself.” Her eyes shift between mine before she lowers herself back down.
I drop my forehead to hers and close my eyes relishing in what she just said. “And you will?” I ask.
“I will,” she says, placing a soft kiss on my cheek. “Because I love you, too.”
Claire and I walk into Enzo’s not at all surprised to see Chloe leaning against the display window.
From what she filled me in on, something is brewing between these two but neither of us has any idea what it is.
Honestly, I'm not sure they even have any idea. It could work out perfectly though if Claire’s best friend starts dating my best friend.
It would sure make going out more a million times easier.
Claire also filled me in on her talk with Ro. It’s not necessarily how I wanted her to put the final puzzle pieces together, her crying to him because I hurt her when I left, but I’m glad that he told her everything.
That day is forever ingrained in my mind.
The weather outside, the sight of it all, the sound of the voice on the other end of the phone, and until yesterday, it ate me alive.
It felt like I had willingly given over my mom, my family, and my entire life, to the system.
Like I personally caused the next fifteen years to unfold if not from my actions then from some sort of cosmic karma.
But after talking with Jackson and then Claire, and really hearing what they both had to say, I might not feel one hundred percent better, but I'm on my way.
Besides filling me in on the time between when he left and now, Jackson and I talked all day about the years he was around.
He told me stories I don’t even remember.
Times when I would beg Mom to stay, not to go to the bars or to leave with a guy, and she would tell me I was too young to be worrying about her.
The irony there is proof alone at how lost she really was.
It’s funny because I used to think about Mom coming back.
About her finally calling and telling me she’d gotten better.
That she had her life together and was ready for me to come home so we could be a family.
Then, I knew I’d run to her ten times over if that ever happened. Now, I know it never would have.
Mom was sicker than any nine-year-old was capable of knowing.
Jackson understood because he was older.
He learned about the disease in school, and even experimented with alcohol and drugs just to see for himself what our mother could possibly have loved more than her children.
He knew that nothing anyone did could help her if she didn’t want to help herself.
It's why he left when he got the chance.
But I wasn't old enough to get that and by the time I was, there was no more room for understanding in my heart. It was filled with so much humiliation and rage, so much resentment, that it was just easier to burden the blame than to hold her accountable.
I’m sure Mom dealt with her own shit. Guilt maybe or regret.
I think deep down every mother would to some extent, but in most ways, I’m glad I never found out.
I’m learning that people who love you don't make you question it. They don’t leave you guessing at whether or not you’ll be cared for today.
Sometimes they falter. Sometimes they leave.
Sometimes, like Jackson, they make the best decision of all their terrible options, but they say sorry, they come back, and they fix the things they broke.
“Claire!” Chloe turns around seeing us. She’s all smiles until she lands on me. “Jay.”
“Chloe,” I say, but it isn't lost on me that she actually used my real name.
“It’s fine Chlo,” Claire says probably noticing too. Chloe squints at her as if trying to decide if she’s telling the truth and then relaxes. She steps forward and wags her finger in my face.
“Fine. But if you ever go all Gone Girl again,” She pokes me in the chest. “We will have words.”
I look back to Ronan who is smiling behind the counter. “Received,” I say, walking towards Ro to leave the girls to talk.
“Is it bad that she kind of scares me?” I ask him as I lean on the window.
“Me too, man. But is it worse if I kinda like it?” I laugh and we slap hands over the window. “Welcome home, buddy.”
It hits me once he says it, that this is why everything feels so right. I’ve never even known what home really meant. Sure, my boys have always been here. Hell, now even my brother’s back, but with my girl here too — I think I’m finally starting to understand.