Absolution(13)

Yet he was here now, standing at her door, petrified, but ready to ask for forgiveness. He had come this far – a lot further than he ever dreamed he could. He tried to breathe normally, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans to stop them from shaking.

It took every ounce of strength he had inside of him to stand there, on her doorstep, and wait. It seemed to take an eternity before the door finally opened and when it did, the suddenness of it rendered him speechless.

Maggie stared back at him. “You’re here.”

Her hair was longer and blonder, and her eyes were red-rimmed. Still speechless, he nodded.

“I’m sorry, about your Dad.”

All he could do was nod again.

“I can’t believe you actually came.”

“I had to.”

His mouth was dry, although his hands felt clammy. He clenched them into fists inside the pockets of his jeans.

“Took you four years, but you got here eventually.”

Jack winced, willing himself to remember why he was there. His entire body was tense, as if barricading itself against a physical onslaught.

“Is she here?” he glanced past her, down the empty hallway.

“Yes. But she doesn’t want to see you.”

His heart sank.

“I can understand that.” He took a ragged breath and tried again. “Look, I’m not an idiot – I know… I mean, I was just hoping that maybe she might talk to me? Just for a few minutes.”

“She doesn’t want to see you,” Maggie repeated evenly.

He was being stonewalled and he knew it. He couldn’t blame her.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

His mouth and throat were barren and aching from the effort of trying to keep a lid on his emotions.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not enough,” she shook her head, eyes suddenly brimming with tears. “It’s not nearly enough, Jack.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered again, turning away and stumbling down the front steps towards his car.

He could barely see straight, the road swimming in front of him crazily. He didn’t even remember the drive back to his father’s house, just the desperate need to escape.





CHAPTER 3




“The brave man is not the one who has no fears; he is the one who triumphs over his fears.”

- Nelson Mandela




Pain filtered through Ally’s dream, nudging her awake. The intensity steadily increased, fiery tendrils licking up and down her spine. Holding her breath involuntarily, she lay on her side, blinking in the dim light of early morning. The pain held her physically captive as she mentally struggled to fight off the last vestiges of the nightmare she had been in the middle of when she had been so rudely awakened.

Sometimes she woke with the uncertainty of not knowing if she was awake or still dreaming, the phantom sensations shooting up her legs confusing the two. It took a few moments for reality to crash headlong into her, the sensations giving way to the familiar numbness as disappointment settled in the pit of her stomach like ice. Most nights she was lucky to get five or six hours sleep, often waking with a dull ache where the steel rods were surgically fused to her spine. Occasionally she woke like she did this morning – in agony. She had gotten used to the lack of sleep, but the pain seemed to take her by surprise every time.

This morning was a double whammy. Pain had woken her out of the recurring nightmare she referred to as “the running dream”. It had felt so real – she could actually feel her feet hitting the ground as she ran, her body jarring with the impact. She swore she felt the soles of her feet tingling. Not phantom pain, not some kind of muscle memory, but actual sensation. Adding to the torture, there was usually some twisted reference to the accident. Both of those elements combined to create a disturbingly effective, set-your-teeth-on-edge nightmare.

She steeled herself against the pain squeezing her spine. She had lain awake half the night thinking about Tom and the other half thinking about Jack. She relived moment after moment as they played through her head like a movie, years of familiarity reduced down to snippets and echoes, some clearer than others. Tom was gone. Jack was here. Everything was twisted around again.

She had cowered in her living room yesterday, while Maggie had talked to Jack on her doorstep. She had hidden from him as if she was afraid of him – what was she so scared of?

It was so strange, hearing his voice after so long. He sounded different. Frightened. Unsure of himself. She tried to feel empathy for him but her own fear was too strong. It had taken a long time to convince herself that she didn’t need to see him or talk to him to put all of this behind her. It had allowed her a kind of closure. A truce was borne out of the passage of time coupled with the need to move on.