Page 71 of Promise of a New Beginning
“Ever since you were a boy, you wore your emotions on your sleeve. I recognize the tension in your body and the worry in your eyes, and I’m sorry that seeing me instills such a reaction. But I think maybe it always has.”
“No, Dad—”
His father raised his hand. “Please. If there’s one thing I know, it’s truth. And I’m well aware of the choices I’ve made in life. Jack, when you were born, my entire life changed. The minute I held you in my arms, the responsibility that pressed in on me was all-consuming.” His stare softened as he continued. “Your mother handled it differently, though she was equally, if not more, enamored by you and amazed by the magnitude of responsibility that comes along with having a child. She believed that we needed to love and support everything you did, even if it was, for lack of a better word, stupid.”
Jack looked away. That crack cut him to the bone.I wasn’t stupid for missing Linda.
“You know how hard your mother works on her sculptures and paintings, and I know you remember her toiling in the garden for hours so our family could eat organic vegetables, of all things. But you may not remember the day you thought you’d make your own sculpture while she was off taking a shower or something. You gathered all of the vegetables—every last one of them—and you brought them into her studio and used pounds and pounds of clay to create a garden sculpture. It was one big gloppy mess of clay with vegetables stuck haphazardly throughout. Your mother had a gallery deadline to meet at the time, and of course it was a Sunday evening, so getting her hands on more clay before the next morning wasn’t even an option. Being the resourceful kid that you were, you washed up and never said a word until she was putting you to bed hours later. Do you remember how she used to say good night and then she’d toil away in her studio for hours while I was on kid duty?”
Jack vaguely remembered something about her garden and clay, but he couldn’t reconcile the story—or his father taking over their care—to any concrete memory. He shook his head.
“No. I guess you wouldn’t. When your mother came back inside, she didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. The light in her eyes was gone. When I saw what you had done, I was livid. I knew your mother was devastated to have lost the clay she relied on, and I knew the idea of her hard work in the garden being for naught was even worse, because she’d grown them for us. For you kids. I laid into you, Jack. As I believed I should. I told you how irresponsible you were being, and I made you work for the next month doing anything your mother asked—in the garden and in her studio.”
Jack shook his head. “Dad, I don’t even remember that.”
“Maybe not, but I remember every second of it. You said you hated me, and I thought”—he raised his eyebrows and smiled—“that’s okay, because you’ll learn from it and it’ll make you a better, more responsible man.”
“Dad, how does this have anything to do with what’s going on now?” Jack leaned forward, trying to understand.
“Because I remember that like it was yesterday. And I did more of that, pushing, instilling harshness upon you, trying to strengthen your resolve and make you understand the importance of being a responsible man. Jack, you were my first child. I had no experiences to fall back on or learn from. I know now that kids do silly things all the time, and I know you didn’t make that sculpture out of anything other than a child’s curiosity or wanting to do something you thought your mother might be proud of, and I’m sorry for pushing you so hard.” He looked away and clenched his jaw, and when he looked back, his eyes were damp. He blinked away the dampness, and Jack lowered his eyes, ashamed to see his father as a weaker man.No.He raised his eyes and met his father’s gaze.You’re not weak at all. You’re human.
“Jack, when you turned your back on your family and on everyone, I took that as a personal affront. I saw it as my fault, because I taught you how to be a man. And the only way I could diffuse my own guilt was to thrust that guilt back on you.”
Jack swallowed past the growing lump in his throat. He sat back and clutched the armrests of the chair, not out of anger, but as a way to gain control of the emotions that were seeping out of his heart and swelling his chest, working their way out of every pore of his body and threatening to tear him apart.
“You’re more of a man than I could ever be, Jackson, and I’m here to tell you that I’m sorry for how I treated you and for how I raised you. I’m ashamed of the way I thrust on you the things my father thrust on me.”
All the air in the room dissipated. Jack could only stare at the man he’d looked up to and disliked all at once. He couldn’t think about the words he’d said or the way his eyes reached for forgiveness. He could only rise to his feet, cross the floor, and embrace him. His father’s large hand pressed against his back, and at that very second, Jack was sure he heard his mother’s voice whispering,He’s a good man, Jack. Just like you.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
SAVANNAH PACED THE bedroom floor, dying to know what was going on out in the living room. She hadn’t heard any yelling and assumed that had to be a good sign. She jumped to her feet when the bedroom door cracked open.
“Hi, angel,” Jack whispered.
The concerned look on Jack’s face and the way every muscle in his body tightened had her thinking the worst. She ran into his arms. “Are you okay? You’re shaking. What happened?”
“I’ll explain it all tonight, but first, there’s something I want to do. Would you be okay if we stayed at my house tonight?”
“Your house? What about—” Her mind spun in fifteen directions, and she couldn’t hold on to any coherent thoughts.
He pressed his finger to her lips. “Please?”
“Yes, yes, of course. Jack, I’m happy to do anything you need or want.” She pulled a bag from her closet and began packing clothes for the night.
“There’s something I need to do, and I want you and my father there.”
Savannah stilled. “Is your dad still here?”
Jack nodded. “He’s going to follow us out.”
“Jack, you’re worrying me. What’s going on?” She tried to read his expression, but it hovered someplace between happy and scared, and again, she felt lost.
“We’re moving forward.”
Chapter Thirty-Nine
THEY’D BEEN DRIVING for more than an hour, and Savannah had been a good sport about riding on his motorcycle, though he’d have liked to have had a safer vehicle to share with her.Just another thing on my “New Life List.”He was thankful for the motorcycle on one level, though. He’d had enough time to think on the way over to know he was doing the right thing, and he hoped that Savannah would think so, too.
