Page 77 of Finding Yesterday
“You were seven.” My voice is just above a whisper.
“Yeah, but I screwed up. I think Maw and Ms. Millie came looking for me in the mine.” He shakes his head, his eyes misting over. “Claire, what if they went looking for me in the mine?”
“No,” I say automatically, but I’m not sure I mean it. My mind is spinning. I listen to the rain, rapping harder on the porch roof as I fight to process his theory.
“It would explain all this pain.” His eyes glaze over.
“Okay, hold on.” I step closer, brushing my fingers over his cheek, which is red from the cold. I can’t stand seeing him like this. “That doesn’t add up.” I shake my head. “They were in the mine, and you just left them there? That doesn’t sound like you.”
“That doesn’t sound like menow, no. But then I was a stupid kid. Maybe I was so scared of getting in trouble, and I was young, so I couldn’t imagine anything bad ever happening. I was probably just sure they’d get out. So, I biked back to Pops’s house.” He puts his face in his hands. “Before Pops realized I’d left.”
“But then how did he not see the book of recipes? If you had it?”
“I had to have hidden them without Pops seeing me. As you know, it was me, years later, that found them. Somewhere in my brain, I knew where to look. I must’ve been terrified to tell him or anyone.” His voice is hoarse. “I’ve replayed that day in my mind, over and over. For years, over and over again. It had to go down like that, or something close to it.” He exhales a shaky breath. “Which means they died because of me.”
“Jack, you don’t know that for sure. And you were so young.”
“I was old enough to know I wasn’t supposed to bike there or go in the mine.”
I don’t have a response to that one because he’s right. Yes, he was a kid, but yes, if he did that, he screwed up. But I’m still struggling to figure out if this is the only way the events could’ve transpired. It isn’t, for sure, and it might even be a stretch.
But then why are my lips trembling? Because if this is true, then Jackwasthe reason Mama and Hannah died. But I just don’t believe it. “It’s not your fault, Jack. It isn’t.”
“I don’t know. I just don’t know that for sure.”
“But…” I trail off, finding my words. As the implications of his story hit, questions flood my brain. “How did the mine collapse on them and not you?”
“I was smaller. Maybe I could get out and they couldn’t.”
“What about Mama and Ms. Hannah’s sketch? Buried in the wall?” I shake my head in disbelief. “We know they noted the mine on it.”
“I don’t know about that one. Maybe Maw was dreaming about a big remodel, expanding the restaurant or putting an outdoor patio that would extend above the mine? She was a dreamer. And so was your mom, wasn’t she?”
That’s another thing Mama and I had in common. “Yes. She was.” I hadn’t thought about the fact that the drawing could be an expansion. An outdoor patio would be a nice addition to the restaurant.
Jack reaches out to touch my hand, and I squeeze it. I don’t pull my hand away, but admittedly, I want to. Jack is right, it’s hard to look at him if it really was his fault that Mama and Hannah died. He was a child, and logically, I can’t blame him. But nothing about this is logical, and my emotions are getting the best of me. I keep my face even as I say, “We don’t know what happened, and we might never know. But it doesn’t matter. No one would blame you.”
“ButIblame me.” He closes his eyes. “How can I ever forgive myself if I messed up so many lives? Especially yours?”
I wish I had an answer for him, more than anything. I know if I were the one responsible, I’d never forgive myself either. “You don’t know if you are at fault. But if you are, won’t it help you more to try and make it right instead of leaving?” My voice gets softer. “For me. For my family, for your family. Pops needs you. But mostly, for yourself. This is no way to live.”
“I can apologize to your family.” His lips quiver. “They deserve the truth. They deserve my apology, even though it’ll never be enough.”
“If you were sure that’s what happened, then yes, they would deserve that.” My voice is flat, hard. “But you aren’t sure. I don’t think that’s what happened. I really don’t. So, you can’t apologize for a theory.”
“Fair enough.” He exhales. “I won’t say anything, then.” After a beat, he continues, “But I have to go back to San Francisco.” His jaw tenses when he croaks out, “The truth is…” He slams his eyes shut. When he opens them, he says, “The truth is that we can’t be together.”
“Why?” My tone turns razor sharp. “If you care about me like you say you do, why not?”
“Because…”
“Because why!” I cry out in desperate frustration.
“Because it physicallyhurtsme to look at you!” His face is crimson and his eyes are filled with unshed tears.
His words hit like a blow, and I back up. I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out.
He continues, hoarse. “Every breath I feel the crushing guilt of what I might’ve done to you, your family, Pops…the people I destroyed. And it’s the torment ofnotknowing for sure what I did. Around every corner, I live in fear of seeing these bits of the past that put me back in a state where I’m frozen, terrified, guilt-ridden. None of my memories come back, but somehow the torment does. I desperately hoped I’d remember something that day in the mine, but I didn’t.” He rakes a hand through his hair. “Of course I didn’t. And now, somehow, I had your mother’s book of recipes, not Maw’s. How in the world did I get that?” His voice gets louder. “I just can’t live like this.”
