February, 2007
Jen Lindley sat at her computer, which was temporarily parked on the kitchen table. The dissertation was somewhat closer to being finished than it had been one month ago, but not a lot closer. She'd taken the rest of the semester of to finish the stupid thing, and she wasn't working any faster than she had been when she had a job and classes on top of it. Exasperated and annoyed, she took a long drink of coffee.
She exited her WordPerfect document and opened her accounting software in order to pay bills and take a break from writing. She tore into an envelope with a return address from Capeside.
"Dear Generous Donor:," it read. "We are pleased to announce that the Evelyn Ryan Memorial Halfway House is celebrating it's one month anniversary this week. Any and all donations are appreciated."
She studied the letter, griping it as if it were a personal link to her Grams. The top of the stiff manila paper was emblazoned with the pink and green logo that Jack's then-boyfriend had designed for them. It was a pair of hands, grasped in prayer, set over a rising yellow-orange sun. She knew it was a design that Grams would be proud to call her own. Jen wiped the wetness from the corner of her eyes and tore a check out of her book. When she and Jack had established the halfway house, they'd both given a thousand dollars. The remainder of the money had come from community collections. Today, she wrote a two thousand dollar check. The world had been kind to Jen Lindley in the past few years, and she needed Grams to know that.
Jack had stood by her at the funeral, and they'd both given eulogies. Jack had told the story of coming to live at Grams' house at a seemingly impossible time in his life. He'd talked about how Grams had loved him when his own parents hadn't. Jen watched him cry in front of the whole population of Capeside, and began to think it less and less likely that she would be able to hold it together when it was her turn. When writing, she had tried her hardest to keep the eulogy impersonal. For some reason, she didn't want to advertise her sadness and anger, as if advertising it would make it real.
She remembered seeing Dawson there, and Joey. They were happy, living together with two kids in Ohio. Pacey had been there with his wife and daughter. Andie had called the next day from her home in London.
Her memories were all shadows and sketches, though. The only person she really saw, talked to, or acknowledged on that day had been Jack. The only person who could really share her grief on that day had been Jack. The only person she'd wanted to be with was Jack.
Her parents had come to the wake, wanting to see her. Jack had kept them at bay, sacrificing his own tenuous relationship with them because she had refused to see them. In fact, Jack had organized and handled everything for that funeral. She had been grateful that he hadn't allowed anyone to stay past four o'clock.
After that, the two of them had crawled into her old bed and cried for the rest of the day. When they woke up the next morning, they didn't speak. They packed their belongings, flipped off all the lights in the house, and walked out to the waiting cab.
Leaving him that last time had been nearly impossible. Looking back from inside the airplane tunnel, she had realized that he was all she had now. His eyes met hers, and she knew he was thinking the same thing. Jen had put her hand up on the foggy window, recognizing the moment as every bit the movie-of-the-week scene it was. She watched him do the same, and the plane pulled out onto the tarmac.
The computer beeped, telling her that she had entered a check number incorrectly. Woken out of her reverie, she noticed the time, and got up quickly. She had to make it look like she'd done something today, or Davis would bother her about it all weekend.
"Knock, knock!" he said, as he crept in the door, summoned by her thoughts.
"Hey," she greeted him, kissing his cheek and wrapping her arms around his waist.
"You look beautiful today, my love."
"Are you kidding? My hair is greasy, I'm wearing workout clothes, and I haven't taken a shower all day."
"You look beautiful," he said.
She noticed a look on his face that she'd never seen before. "What's wrong, Baby?"
He breathed in, then out, and patted her shoulder.
"Let's sit down over here," he motioned her toward the sofa.
She looked at him curiously. "Okay . . ."
"Um, I got some -- potentially -- bad news today."
Jen sat up immediately. "What?"
"You know I went to Dr. Yelman today?"
"What? Oh my God. What's wrong?"
"Well . . . They don't know for sure. Please don't go crazy, Jenni. Not yet, at least. They think I may have lung cancer," he talked quickly, not allowing her to speak until he was done. "It's not certain, but it could be. I'll have more tests in a month or so."
Jen looked at him, shocked. It was the typical moment after receiving terrible news. First, she felt like it must be a dream or a hallucination and half expected to turn around and see herself sitting at the computer. Then, she looked at him to make sure he wasn't some stranger. Last she sunk down next to and curled in the crook of his arm.
"Davis . . ." she said, blinking back her tears.
"No, Jen. No tears. Yet," he told her sternly. "I can't handle that."
"We have to wait a month? That's so long." She had moved from desperation to a deep-seated need to take immediate action.
"They say they won't know anything before then."
"Damn. Damn it to hell."
He rubbed her shoulder comfortingly. "I know, Baby, I know."
Near midnight, she pulled the covers off herself violently. She couldn't sleep, and couldn't work on her dissertation. She was worried and angry, thinking about Davis and what might lie ahead of them.
She covered herself in her robe, slipped on her padded house-shoes, and crept out into the living room of the apartment. Sitting down at the computer, she pulled her legs up under her and flipped the on button. It was way too late to call even your best friend in the world. Thank God for technology.
The email program opened with a minimum of hassle for a change, and she clicked the "new message" icon.
To: JMcPhee From: JLindley Subject: Some News 15 Feb. 2007 11:51 PM CST
Jack –
I'm up in the middle of the night because I'm worried out of my mind.
Davis came home today with the news that he may have some kind of lung cancer, but the damn doctors are scratching their asses and doing nothing about it for a month. Apparently they won't know anything til then. The bastards.
I thought it might be a little late to call. I know you have a lot of ‘sleepovers' these days. ;)
I love you lots.
Jen
p.s. Do you ever wish were still living in Capeside with Grams, showing off our big vocabularies and analyzing our small, uninteresting lives around-the-clock?
She pressed "send" without proofreading, exited the program, and flipped off the computer. She wasn't going to pretend to get any work done tonight. She stepped out on the balcony, breathed in the cold air and fervently wished she believed in God.
Jack took his coffee into the bedroom where Paul lay sleeping. He watched him shamelessly, shaking his head at his good fortune. It would be several hours until Paul woke up. While Jack was an early riser, even on weekends, Paul didn't wake up before eleven unless he had to.
It was still partly dark outside and Jack couldn't stand the thought of turning on the television and waking up the whole house. Armed with an idea, he went to his office across the hall from the bedroom, and turned on his laptop. He listened to the whir and buzz of the internet connection, and gulped his coffee. He could thank Jen for his caffeine addiction, he thought to himself, smiling. She always had bad habits to share and he loved for that.
He turned the volume on the computer down before it rudely announced, "you have fifteen new messages."
He scanned over the list of senders. AMcPhee, AMcPhee, PWitter, PLippman, RWinslow, RWinslow, RWinslow, RWinslow, LWitter, JLindley . . .
He had found the only one he was especially interested in reading. Clicking on the subject line, the computer made a few thinking sounds, then presented him with the typically short note. He read the words slowly, taking in their meaning.
"Damn, damn, damn," he whispered.
Jack placed his hands over the keyboard, then stopped. What could he tell her? What could he say that would make her feel better? "Gee, I'm sorry your lover is dying and by the way, mine is happier and more handsome than ever"? No, that's no good.
To: JLindley From: JMcPhee Subject: Re: Some News 16 Feb 2007 5:00 AM EST
Dear Jen,
Are you asking if I wish we still lived together? The answer is: every day. I would give up Paul in a minute to live with you. But don't tell him that, okay? :)
I can't imagine how terrible it must be for you right now. I can't believe I'm even writing ‘I'm sorry' when ‘I'm sorry' falls pathetically below the sympathy I feel. I'm here for you. If you call me at the office, the firm will foot the phone bill. I love you. Hang in there.
Jack
p.s. Tell Davis I'm thinking of him and hoping for the best.
He pressed send, unsure if he'd said not enough or too much. He wavered in self doubt as the machine marked it's sending progress on a blue bar in the center of the screen. It was done before he realized it, and he hoped he had said exactly what she needed to hear, or somewhere close to that.
Jack made Ryan and Helen breakfast in exchange for their help with moving Paul in. He scooped eggs out onto their plates and handed them forks.
"So, Jack," Ryan said between bites. "How come it took Paul a month to move his stuff from two streets away."
"I don't know. He said something about subletting his apartment and finding a renter or something." Jack shrugged.
Helen smiled. "Oh well. He's here now. Right?"
"Right," Jack said, definitively. "Okay, I want you guys to take the moving van over there. I think Lewis is going to unlock the apartment for you. Get the four boxes in the hallway and like three or four suitcases in the kitchen. Leave the rest. Paul's renting it as is."
"Yes, sir," Helen said, saluting him.
Ryan laughed with her, and Jack looked at both of his worthless, hilarious, adorable tenants. And people said he'd never be a father . . .
Ryan picked the keys up off the table, swinging them as he walked to the door. "We'll see you shortly, Jack."
"Okay. Be careful!"
"Yes, Dad," Ryan replied, rolling his eyes.
The front door and bedroom door shut in unison, and Paul walked into the kitchen.
"Hey," he said, rubbing his face.
"Hey. Want some eggs?"
"I don't think so, but the coffee smells good."
"Okay," Jack said as he pulled a cup out of the cabinet. "I sent Ryan and Helen for the stuff. They seemed giddy just to be able to drive. I guess they miss that since they moved here."
Paul nodded, half asleep. "Do you?"
"Miss driving?"
"Yeah."
"Oh, I don't know. Not really. I never was a very good driver, anyway. I was always getting the gas and the brake mixed up."
Paul laughed. "That *is* bad. I've never been behind a wheel in my life and I'm pretty sure I would be better than that."
"Yeah, that's what you think until you're sitting there, scared to death, just knowing that you're going to kill some old woman or small animal."
"Ha. Okay, I'll take your word for it."
"Did you find someone to sublet the apartment?"
"Yeah, I did."
"Oh?" Jack asked. "Who?"
"Um . . . no one really. Lewis, from the office."
"Lewis? Lewis as in my assistant Lewis?"
"Lewis as in your assistant Lewis," Paul replied.
"Oh. Okay."
"Jack," Paul said, changing the subject, "did you want to go to that exhibit tomorrow before it ships off to Miami?"
"Um, yeah. Yeah, I do." Jack nodded.
"Great. I'll tell Molly to get tickets."
"Great," Jack said.
"Great," Paul said again.
Jack looked down at the stacks and stacks of mail on his desk, and slipped out of his suit jacket. Digging through them, he saw a tiny emblem that he knew by heart. He picked it up and tore into it.
Thank goodness, Jack thought, he would be able to donate a large sum to the halfway house this year. Grams had always been like a mother to him, and he didn't know of a better way to serve her memory than through giving shelter. That was, after all, what she'd done all her life.
Jack remembered Mrs. Ryan sending him and Jen off to Columbia and Boston University, respectively. She'd given them both Bibles and each of them had gotten a pillow with ‘faith' stitched across the front. Jack had kept both items, but the pillow was the one he used most frequently. He could clearly see her small frame waving and smiling proudly at them, looking at them through the bus window. At the time, he'd made sure to remember that face. Maybe a part of him knew that it wouldn't always be there, maybe not. But in any case, six years later, he could still see it in his mind.
He stepped out into the hall to take a break. He turned the corner near Paul's office, choosing not to go inside. It seemed like the more he saw Paul at work, the less special seeing him at home was. And Jack desperately wanted seeing him at home to be something special.
So much for not running into him at work today, Jack thought, as his eyes rested on Paul's familiar figure down the hall. Paul stood with Jack's assistant, Lewis, chatting amicably. Jack's heart sunk to his shoes, and he backed around the corner, spying mercilessly. One thing Jack could do was read people. He knew he wasn't mistaken in his assumption that Paul and Lewis were very close. Everything told him that, their body language, their gestures, their facial expressions. Yes, they were closer than either of them had made Jack to understand, but just how close? That was what worried Jack.
He looked down, then up, then down, trying to escape the image. He couldn't bring himself to jump to conclusions, and standing here was only making him less and less sure that he could hold it together enough not to walk over and demand an explanation. That's what Jen would do, he admitted without a doubt, but he wasn't Jen, especially when it came to men.
He had never had a huge jealous streak, so this didn't worry him a great deal. He walked back down the hall, deliberately slowly, waving at the secretaries as he passed by. He sat back down at his desk, thought about it for several more minutes, then firmly told himself to put it away until later. After all, he couldn't bring it up to Paul. Talking about it would risk Paul having hurt feelings and Jack having to feel guilty. It was probably nothing. He was just looking for drama, as Pacey would tell him, if Pacey were here.
Jack wrote out a three thousand dollar check to the halfway house, sealed it in an envelope, addressed it, and thought about Grams as he set the envelope gently into his 'out box.'