Page 23 of Jackson
8
Summer
I’d grown bored of lying on the sun bed, as much as the thought was wonderful, sunbathing actually wasn’t for me. Perhaps it was the paranoia that my fairly pale skin would end up red and peeling, or perhaps it was that I found it difficult to sit still for any length of time on my own. Sitting still meant thinking and that wasn’t something I wanted todo.
Jackson had been gone longer than the hour he’d initially said, but I wasn’t worried. He had the wall to finish and the bar to prepare for opening night. I was looking forward to opening night. I wanted to see Jack in action, he could make a mean cocktail and having him at a party had always been fun. In fact, I think I danced with him more at my wedding thanDane.
Sadness swept over me at the thought of Dane. I sighed as I poured a glass of cold water. We had been married for just under three years, yet to start a family. He was the life and soul wherever he went. He worked hard; in fact he worked for Jackson’s father. I knew that had caused some tension between them. Dane liked Brett Walker, I’d met him once and it was an instant dislike. Brett didn’t like women, yet doted on his daughter. And no one could fail to notice the obvious distaste Brett showed towards his son. It had baffled me that Dane could be so disloyal to his friend by taking up the offer of a job. However, Dane always did what Dane wanted to do. If I sat and really analysed my marriage, it wasn’t all hearts and roses; it was very much one-sided.
I picked up the CD case that sat on top of the music centre while I pressed play. It was the James Bay CD that Jack seemed to be constantly playing. He had an eclectic taste in music. I’d heard him listen to rap, rock, and classical. He was the kind of man that loved whatever his mood wanted at the time. Some days he was mild, chilled out, yet on others, he was erratic, hyped. For three years I’d wanted to know more about him. He was an enigma. I remembered having a conversation with Dane about him to be told Jack wasn’t someone anyone knew, he never allowed people to getclose.
Perhaps it was a man thing, I’d have wanted to unravel the man had I known him from childhood. I would have wanted to peel back the layers but maybe that was just too hard withJack.
When Dane and I had fought he would always finish with, “Go on, run to the pussy.” Jackson was my go-to when life got tough. Somehow, he always knew without my calling that I needed him. He would appear or call. I believed Dane to be jealous of Jack. Jealous of the easy friendship we had; yet they remained friends, sort of, until the end. Jackson had been with Dane on a night out when he had been killed. He’d fallen from a bridge into the path of a train, drunk, so the pathologist report said. It was a tragic accident that affected not just Jack and me, but the train driver aswell.
Jackson and I had never really talked about that night. It seemed too hard for both of us. I’d lost my husband, but he had lost his lifelongfriend.
* * *
Iheardthe front door open and looked up towards the landing. He smiled when he saw me, although there seemed to be sadness about him that day. As he descended the stairs, his music started to play. He strode towards me and picked up one of my hands, he placed the other around my waist, and without a word he danced with me. I laughed as we made our way around the kitchen. He pulled me close to his chest, I rested my cheek on his shoulder, and he rested his chin on the top of my head. I heard the familiar sigh. He let go of my hand and I wound my arms around his neck. He looked down at me as he gently sang along toIncomplete. He tightened his arms around me and I could feel his heart beat in his chest. We’d danced that way many times in the past, but something felt different. There was neediness abouthim.
When the song changed to something a little more upbeat, he stepped back, held one hand, and twirled me under his arm. He laughed as Idid.
“Did you finish your wall?” I asked as we came to astop.
“Not yet. What did you do thismorning?”
“Sunbathed for a little while but I got bored. I guess I don’t like my own companyanymore.”
“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have leftyou.”
“It’s fine, please don’t worry. You have work to do. Life doesn’t stop just because you have avisitor.”
He still held onto my hand and his thumb ran across my knuckles. I watched him look down at them. His thumb brushed over my wedding band, he twisted it, just the once, before lettinggo.
“I need to eat,” he saidabruptly.
“Let me make you something, you cooked lastnight.”
“Okay, I’ll beoutside.”
I watched him walk away and I was a little confused. Maybe we needed to sit and talk about what was happening to us, something clearly was. We’d spent days and nights together when Dane had first died. He’d even slept beside me in my bed; he’d cradled my head to his chest and let me cry myself to sleep. But then we had a few months apart. Something had changed in him, in me, in thattime.
I leaned on the countertop and looked at him through the window. He had his back to me and his hands rested on the balcony rail. A slight breeze came in off the sea; it ruffled his t-shirt, exposing his back. His body fascinated me, and many a time I would just sit and study his art. It was seeing him that remindedme.
“Are we getting that tattoo today?” I called out as I made him asandwich.
I carried the plate out and handed it to him with a bottle ofbeer.
“We are. Are you ready to be permanently inked byme?”
“I’d rather you did it than astranger.”
“Good, I wouldn’t let anyone else touch your skinanyway.”
He had taken a bite of his sandwich and stared at me. That statement could have so many differentmeanings.
I took a seat next to him on the daybed, nudging him with my shoulder to shuffleover.
