Page 68 of Finding Yesterday
“That’s what this is like for me. Flashes of nonsensical images. Always on the tip of my brain, but I can never get a complete picture of anything. Well, except moonflowers.”
“I’m so sorry. I wish I knew something that could help.” After blinking in thought, I continue. “I don’t remember Mama or Daddy mentioning moonflowers. What does your pops say?”
“He says as far as he knows, I was playing outside on his farm. I could’ve left during the gap in time from when I went outside to when the police showed. They found me sitting on the tire swing.” Jack rakes a hand through his hair. “But given the timing, it would’ve been pretty impossible for me to walk to the mine and back.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t add up.” I squeeze the cup, letting the warmth spread through my fingers.
His eyes stay trained on the vineyards in the distance. “Something happened, because growing up, I kept acting out. I got in trouble in high school when I got mixed up with the wrong crowd. My parents got me a psychologist who tried techniques to jar memories.” He swallows, and his Adam’s apple bobs. “I didn’t recover any. I should sue that shrink.” The corners of Jack’s mouth tick up.
I tilt my head.
“Nah,” he continues. “The therapy still helped me forgive myself enough to get my life on track.”
There’s an actual twinge in my chest, and I can’t believe he struggled so much over all this. I never would’ve imagined hownotremembering a traumatic event would be so much worse than remembering it. But now I see that it is. I don’t know the words to comfort him, so I say, “I don’t think anyone can dispute that you turned your life around.”
“Thank you.” He slaps his hand on his knee. “All right, Cole, your turn. Tell me something you don’t talk about.”
“Right.” I sigh, taking in the views as I think about what I want to share. “I miss Mama because she was my mother, of course. But there’s another reason. I’m the outsider of the family. Everyone else, including Emma’s son, Dylan, is musical. They all seem to know exactly what they want with their lives. Well, maybe not Dylan yet, but he’s five.” I bite my lip. “Another thing I don’t talk about is that I go to the mine to talk to Mama, not the cemetery. No one else in my family does that. And when I go, I ask her if I’ve made her proud.”
Jack puts a hand on my shoulder. “I don’t remember much about your mother. But I do know this. She’s proud of you, Claire.” I smile, and he continues, “I talk to Maw, too. Not at the cemetery or the mine.” The corners of his mouth tick up. “Just at night. In my head.”
I’m tempted to ask him what he tells her, but I think better of it. Jack is opening up to me, and I should just let him speak his heart. Instead, I reach out for his hand.
He takes it, stroking his thumb over mine. “I ask Maw what would make Pops himself again, if that’s possible.” His voice goes soft. “I ask her if there’s any way she’ll ever forgive me.”
“Why would she have to forgive you?”
“I don’t know. That I couldn’t save her.”
“But you weren’t even there.” I move so I can meet his gaze. “And you were seven years old.”
“I know that. Logically.” His jaw clenches. “But sometimes, I dunno. It’s just, I wish it would’ve been me.”
His words make my blood run cold. I shake my head, managing to say, “I don’t.” I interlace my fingers in his. “If that matters.”
“It does. A lot.” He leans into me, lowering his voice when he says, “You know, in the cellar that day—after you told me what was going on with Hudson—more than anything, I wanted to put my arms around you and tell you that you deserve romance, passion, and trips to the Virgin Islands. And now that I’ve gotten to know you, I’ve realized you deserve even more. You’re perfect.”
My heart stumbles around in my chest, and a smile tugs at my lips. “I love it when you laugh,” I blurt. “I mean Ireallylove it. You’re so carefree, and it makes me feel that way too when I hear it.” I realize this statement isn’t a logical reply to his, but when he revealed vulnerable feelings about me, I had to reciprocate.
Jack’s face lights up like a jar of fireflies.
I purse my lips before I continue, “Is there anything else you would’ve said? I mean, if you could’ve?”
“Maybe.” He looks at me, his face melancholy. “That I understand what it’s like. To feel like you’re always missing something.”
I lean closer, wanting to pull him into a hug and never let go. “I think we have more in common than I ever realized. I used to think you had it all.”
“I have a lot of things, yes.” He looks at me pleadingly, his eyes matching the gold in the moonlight. “I don’t have the most important thing. The one thing I want the most.” He brushes a finger over my cheeks.
My breath catches in my chest as electricity shoots across my skin.
I take his face in my hands, coaxing him closer before bringing my lips to his. He kisses me back, deep, strong, with everything he has. The whiskey tingles my mouth, and heat spreads all the way to my toes.
Jack weaves his tongue in sync with mine, and nothing about his kiss is sweet this time. It’s hungry, the sparks flying off our bodies as we physically express everything that’s bonded us together, good and bad. He moves his hand up the back of my shirt, pulling me closer, demanding I be his.
It should be just a kiss, except it’s Jack, and it’ll never be just a kiss.
And this not-just-a-kiss wipes away my inner voice, reminding me that Jack will be gone again soon, and for good this time, ending whatever this wonderful, magical, beautiful thing is before it’s even started.
