Page 66 of The Second Kiss
I go up slowly, feeling like I’m intruding. I don’t see him at first, just a dim light through the flap that covers the old grain bin. I lift it up and peer inside. He’s sitting on the floor, his head resting on his arms, a lot like I was when he found me here over six years ago.
“Jacob, are you okay?” I whisper it, but he startles, uncovering his face. I can’t see it very well because of the shadows, but I could swear he’s been crying.
“Jess. What are you doing out here?”
“Mom sent me to find you.”
“Oh yeah. I made everyone wait. I’m sorry.” He scrubs at his face, and braces his feet like he’s going to get up.
“It’s okay. We aren’t eating until Dad gets back.” I move beside him, and he lets his feet slip down again, like he’s too tired to stand. I sit down next to him. “Who were you talking to on the phone?”
For a minute he stares at me like I’m invading something private, then he looks down at the floor. “A guy from my old unit.He wanted to let me know that one of our captains was killed in Iraq earlier this week. But I already knew. I heard this morning.”
I move closer to him, putting my arm over his shoulders the way he did with me. “Oh, Jake, I’m so sorry.”
He touches my hand. “It's okay, Jess. Things like this happen.”
I shake my head. “No. It’s not okay. It doesn’t have to be okay. Not right now. Maybe not ever.”
He drops his gaze to the floor. “You’re right. It isn’t okay. He had two kids, a wife. Lots of years ahead of him. He was a great guy. Really smart. Tough. But you knew he cared about all of us.” His voice cracks.
“That's so hard.” It sounds so generic, and I hate that it's all I can offer him.
“I came out to the barn because I didn’t want to bring everyone down on Christmas Eve. I’m glad Mom is already gone. She hates hearing this stuff. Especially now that things are shifting around and Steve is maybe heading over there and I’m...” he trails off, like he said more than he wanted to say.
“And you’re what?” I ask, even though I’m afraid of the answer.
He takes a breath. “I’m going in the fall, maybe sooner. I knew it was only a matter of time.”
I tighten my arm around his shoulder and lean closer to him. “I don’t want you to go.” My voice sounds small and weak, like a little girl. I feel like a little girl. Too young to stop what's going on or even offer anything like comfort to him.
“You want to know something,” he won’t look at me, “I don’t want to go either.” He takes a breath. “We’re not supposed to say stuff like that.”
I look at him incredulously. “Why not? I’m sure everyone feels that way.”
“You’re probably right, but saying it out loud feels wrong. I could never say that to anyone on base, or even Mom or Steve. It sounds like I’m not willing to do what I said I would do.”
“You’re allowed to be afraid, right?”
“No.” He shakes his head. “I don't think I am. Not after all the training and the commitments I’ve made. I just have to act like the deployment is part of what I do, like it’s just another day on the job.”
“You can be afraid with me,” I answer.
He turns to face me. “Where have I heard that before?”
I look across the room, at the dust caught in cobwebs in the corner. I'm too embarrassed to face him as I relive the memory. “I was ten. My family and your family were going skiing together. Me for the first time. I wanted to go so badly. I wanted to show everyone I could do all the things that you and the other boys could do. But I was afraid. If I had told Matt, or Nate, or Gage or anyone else that, they would have laughed at me.”
“You threw up behind the lodge,” Jacob says.
I roll my eyes. “Thanks for remembering that part.”
“And then you told me you were afraid to go up on the lift.”
“You said you’d ride with me. And that you’d hold my hand. And you said it was okay for me to be afraid with you.” I reach for his hand again. “So I’m giving that back to you. No matter what happens, no matter what you have to face. It will always be okay to be afraid with me.”
He reaches for my hand, but says nothing for a long time. Long enough for me to worry that everything I said was stupid. He leans over. His lips brush the top of my head as he murmurs into my hair, “Thanks, Jess. That’s the best Christmas present anyone has ever given me.”
We sit for a long moment. A car door slams.
