Jack was nervous, waiting for Jennifer to arrive. He checked everything about the dinner table several times—the lighting, the vital space heater, the salads were already set and waiting under lids. He wasn't serving this dinner in his bedroom like he'd done before. That was just way too much implicit pressure. He didn't want it indoors either—too many memories of dinner with Harper at that dining room table. He wanted it to be outside in the fresh air and he figured Jennifer would prefer that—and feel less trapped or cornered if they ate out in the open.
Jack couldn't help but mull over the whirlwind of the last several days—his arguments with Jennifer, his discussion with Steve, Kayla's extraordinary monologue. He was just glad for this brief instant in time to just momentarily pause and breathe. He acknowledged again what an astounding and unexpected gift Kayla had bestowed upon him with her visit. Her unfettered honesty, her deep concern for everyone involved, and her amazing strength just still continued to humble him. God, the Jack at that time was no match for her. He knew he had grown since those old days and he truly hoped that current Jack could actually be a proper match for Jennifer. Kayla had been right. He had tried to 'brand' her that night, to claim rights of ownership on her over Steve and even over her own will. What a jerk he had been. Recognizing that now didn't make him a good person, he knew, but he would assert that he's better than he was.
And thank God for Steve. Jack didn't know why he couldn't say the words "I love you too" in the hospital when Steve had said that. It was obvious to everyone how much he admired Steve. He was so grateful daily that Steve had survived that explosion and able to pull through those injuries and walk out of the hospital on his two feet.
His journey with Steve also amazed him. Three years ago, Jack felt quite content to look down on Steve and placed him in the gutter. Since then, he had realized the truth—that Steve was the far better man. Now, he looked up to Steve and had placed him on a pedestal. He also guessed that it was that change in perspective about Steve that helped Kayla to forgive him in that letter to the editor in the Chronicle newspaper last fall after Harper died. They had never spoken explicitly about the letter and he doubted they ever would. However, he had changed enough to understand the true worth of his brother, Steve Johnson,
And Jennifer. Good gracious, he could continue on for hours about everything she meant to him. How she fulfilled him. The pain from losing her—in his mind—with the slap at the cabin was just beyond all description, beyond all knowing. When he had learned the truth from Steve, the pain transformed from a selfish inward pain to a sympathetic, far-more-hellish pain because Jennifer had suffered. Jennifer had felt pain. He kept imagining what she had endured, projecting his own memories of rape onto her experiences, reliving his created memory of what she had suffered. And the more he thought about what Jennifer had gone through, the more he loathed himself. He hated himself—who he had been, what he had been capable of, that nasty part of himself that he buried deep but now he would forever have to acknowledge that dark past was part of Jack's existence. And the more he hated on himself, the more determined Jack felt that he had to bury that alternate self so deep that Jennifer would never see Nasty Jack again.
The pain from learning the truth that she had been raped was just as torturous, but it wasn't quite as sharp as the aftermath of Jennifer slapping him. That pain was dulled by the selfish hope that he and Jennifer might still have a chance to be together. And Kayla had practically ordered him earlier today to give that a chance. But she had been right. Jack had taken away Kayla's choice about consummating their marriage. Lawrence had taken away Jennifer's choice about consummating their marriage. Jack would not, could not, take away Jennifer's choice about her future with him. If she still wanted him and for as long as she wanted him, then he would be there for her—always.
Jack heard the doorbell and wove around the furniture on the lanai through to the house and to the front door. Jennifer looked beautiful and glittering in her silver dress and silver coat. "Hi." She looked nervous and shy, but still like she was anticipating a nice evening.
"Hi," answered Jack matching her shyness and then he grinned. They were acting like this was a first date. "I'd offer to take your coat, but we're eating out back and while it is cozy, you'd probably still be more comfortable with your coat."
"Sure. That's fine with me," Jennifer answered back.
"Here, these are for you," Jack handed over a bouquet of flowers.
"Tulips?"
"You don't like them?" Jack pressed.
"No, they're beautiful. I've just never gotten tulips before."
"Well that's what the guy on the freeway off-ramp was selling. I think he maybe ripped off some poor little Dutch girl…or something."
Jennifer laughed. The tulips were wonderful and thoughtful—much better for tonight than roses with all their associated romantic overtones. She liked how Jack always managed to surprise her. Well, almost always. The surprise about the cabin wasn't that great…. Stop it Jennifer, she told herself. This will be a nice evening.
They sat down on the lanai and settled into their salad course. Jack was being cordial, diffident, and polite. It thrilled Jennifer at this astounding transformation she had seen today, but it also unsettled her. She needed to know what brought about his change from yesterday afternoon. She placed her fork down, anxious to get at the truth.
"Jack, you told me this morning that you wanted to talk. I don't think you meant tulips and recent staffing changes at the Spectator. Although the flowers are beautiful of course."
Jack had been through too many political dinners in which polite talk was made over the starter and main course and then the real talk happened later. He wanted to repeat that now. He wanted Jennifer to have a nice meal and full stomach before anything substantive was addressed.
"Our tuna is coming out now. Could we just wait?"
Jennifer shook her head.
"Compromise. Half the tuna."
Jennifer's eyes were sparkling. "Agreed. But I can chew fast."
Jack liked to see her this way—at ease and feeling comfortable. He guessed he had slowed down the romantic pressure he had unconsciously been putting on her these last weeks. Now, the truth was known to him. There was nothing to prove or reassert—Francois wasn't competition. He supposed that was what she needed—not to have the unspoken questions 'Why can't I touch you? Why can't I make love to you?' hanging in the air every moment they were together.
Five minutes later, Jennifer put down her fork, feeling gleeful that she had won out in their battle of wills.
"Hmm. Done now. So spill, Jack."
Jack closed his eyes and the light-hearted mask that he had worn since her arrival fell away. Jennifer sat back in her chair. She no longer felt comfortable.
"I'd like to finish what I planned to say. When I do, then you are welcome to stay and talk about it or stay and not talk about it or you can leave if you wish. Sheldon has the car outside and can take you wherever you want to go. It's your choice."
"Go on," Jennifer said in a small voice.
"I heard something," Jack began.
"You heard something," Jennifer repeated.
"I now suspect that when we were at the cabin and you..said..what you did, that you were not referring to me. You had said as much that night, but I was too wrapped up in myself. I was hearing the words, but I wasn't truly listening."
Jennifer did not move. She held her breath.
"Were you speaking of Lawrence?"
Jennifer shook her head in disbelief. This wasn't happening. "When?" she said in a small voice; she knew when he was talking about. She just wanted to delay, stall, procrastinate.
"When you slapped me."
Jennifer looked at the stars in the night sky. Looked around at the well manicured gardens. This wasn't happening. "I have to go," she said abruptly and rose from her chair.
"Jennifer please."
"You said I could go. I'm leaving."
"Of course you can go. Just know how I adore you and I am here for you."
She turned round on him, "Where did you hear such a thing? Where, Jack?" Jack's heart was breaking for her. When he didn't answer right away, she continued on. "Lawrence didn't tell you that, did he? Did he?"
"No! God no!"
"Then who!"
"Steve," Jack confessed.
Now Jennifer was even more stunned. How did Steve of all people know about her?
"I have to go." Jennifer, already wearing her coat, scooped up her purse, and rushed to the front door. She slammed it hard and stood outside breathing fast and hard as tears came down her cheeks.
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Steve and Kayla were upstairs giving Stephanie a bath. Her peals of laughter rang throughout the house as she splashed mommy, or better yet, splashed papa. Steve still thought often about the boat explosion; he had come close, too perilously close, to dying and leaving behind his wife and daughter. He had taken chances before and had been foolhardy before, but he had a daughter now. In that hospital bed last fall, he could genuinely feel himself slipping away and leaving behind his family. He had heard his brother beg him not to welch on his promise that Steve made as a little boy to always look out for him. Steve only mentioned that childhood promise once to Jack—on the night that Jack saw the adoption papers and learned the truth. Jack had told him that night that he would always hate his older brother and had figuratively spit in his face, but he had been listening.
At the front door, they could hear someone pounding, banging on the door. "Steve!" they could hear a woman's voice yelling outside. "Steve, I want to talk to you. I know you're there. Get down here."
Steve placed the voice. Jennifer. He gave Kayla a long, meaningful glance, rose up, and went downstairs.
When he opened the door, he saw she was angry and irate—fire in her eyes. She glowered at him. "Steve, I have to talk to you."
Steve, wanting to keep her calm, remained calm himself. "Okay, but let's talk outside. Kayla's giving Stephanie a bath and putting her to bed. Let's not disturb them. Okay, Jennifer?"
"Fine," she replied. She spun on her heel and trumped down the porch stairs. Steve grabbed his leather jacket from off its hook in the foyer.
When he reached the bottom step, she jabbed a finger in his face. "Did you tell something to Jack?"
Steve bit his lip. "Yes. I did."
"And just how did you come to know whatever it was that you told him?"
"I overheard you on the phone at your loft and…and I was concerned."
Jennifer pushed him; both her hands flat against his chest and shoved him back two feet. "You eavesdropped on a private conversation and you should have kept it to yourself and respected my privacy. Instead, you go gossiping to Jack?"
"Jennifer, it wasn't like that truly. I am sorry."
"So why don't you tell me what was it like. It was my right to tell him. My right." Jennifer shoved him again. "Not yours. It was my right to tell him when I was ready. And you stole that from me!" Jennifer moved towards him and beat her fists a dozen times against his chest. "God dammit, you stole that from me. It was my choice. My story. Not yours!"
Jennifer gave him another hard shove. Steve knew that Jennifer was in agony and angry about so many things. He knew she felt safe showing that anger to Steve. She couldn't allow herself to give voice to all that anger with Lawrence. She wouldn't want to hurt Jack even more by taking her anger out on him, yelling at him, and pummeling him with weak, ineffectual fists. However, she had buried the anger for so long that she finally needed to express it. And if that meant yelling at Steve on his front lawn and shoving him around, then by God, he'd definitely let her do it.
"Jennifer please that's not what it was like. I was concerned, truly. I care so much about the both of you…"
"So why don't you tell me what it was like, Steve," she said back in anger and frustration. "Dammit!" she repeated, more to herself than to Steve. Jennifer brought her hands up to her face and Steve could tell that some new realization had just dawned on her. "Jack was hit. Someone had hit him," Jennifer looked him directly in the eyes, "That was you."
Steve winced; he didn't think he could have felt worse about his actions the previous evening. He was wrong. "Yes."
Jennifer's voice was icy and cold. "You didn't just tell Jack. You didn't just gossip about it. You accused Jack. Didn't you?" Steve didn't answer right away. "Didn't you!" Jennifer repeated.
"Yes. I'm sorry."
Jennifer shoved him again, much stronger this time. It wasn't just general anger and pent-up frustration, but now she was genuinely and wholly pissed at Steve.
"How dare you! What must he think? How must he feel? He idolizes you. He loves you. And you—you know that you can say anything or do anything to him and he will never defend himself. You know that and you take advantage of that. Don't deny it; I've seen you do it! I've seen you get in his face and punch him or shove him around, knowing that he'll never strike back and that he'll never defend himself. And you've gotten used to that—to no one defending him. Well I am here and that's all going to change. I will defend him. I will always be on his side. He is one of the most amazing, wonderful men I've ever met and I love him with my whole heart. If you've made it more difficult for us to work out, because you put all those accusations in his head, then I will never forgive you Steve. Never!"
Jennifer stopped to catch hold of her breath and flipped her hair to get it out of her face.
"You know what you mean to him. I know you do. I'll never forget one day about a year ago when you had asked him to be the best man at your wedding—the one that was supposed to be here at your house. I saw him after you asked him and he was so excited and giddy and happy—like a kid who got ten years worth of Christmas and birthday presents all at once. He was drinking champagne and still in shock that you'd even asked him and I remember how…grateful…I was in that moment to you. That you had made him that happy—the happiest I had ever seen him. I would've done anything for you in that moment for making him so happy. You know he will do anything for you and you go and stomp on that by accusing him of something so vile?"
Steve felt so bad now about everything that had happened to hurt Jack and Jennifer. He couldn't debate the truth of her words. She was right. He had gotten used to no one, except his mom, ever presuming to defend Jack.
"I will marry him," Jennifer went on, trying to convince herself as much as the man before her. "I love that man so very much. All I have is his. We will get through this; soon it'll all just be a bad dream and we will get married. I will be Mrs. Jack Deveraux. And we'll be happy. And we're going to have lots and lots of babies." Jennifer didn't sound angry anymore, but desperate to fight for the life she wanted.
"I know you will," Steve replied softly.
"We will. That will happen and no one will stop us. Not even you." Jennifer shoved him again.
"You're right about all of that and I swear that I did my best last night to make up for my egregious mistake. I swear to you Jennifer that it won't happen again." Steve wanted to help. "Can I ask you a question and feel free to say no."
"What is it?" Jennifer asked icily.
"Can I give you a hug?" That question broke down her defenses. In that moment, she really did want that. She wanted to feel the arms of a strong man around her, enveloping her and protecting her. She'd gone without human contact for so long and needed that. Not from Frankie and not even from Jack, because she still felt paranoid that any such contact would have sexual connotations that she would have to fend off in Frankie's case or disappoint in Jack's case. She didn't have her brother or her dad around and she really needed a strong brotherly hug in that moment.
Jennifer nodded, moved forward, and let him wrap his arms around her as she laid her head on his chest. Her breathing slowed and her heart rate slowed. His strong muscles around her were a comfort. She tried to forget Lawrence's strong muscles that she had fought and struggled against and that had held her down as he stole from her and altered the course of her life. Jennifer just melted in Steve's embrace and they stayed like that for a very long moment.
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After Steve had gone downstairs, Kayla had glanced out of Stephanie's window and had spotted them down on the front lawn when Jennifer was shoving Steve about. She had no inclination to go down and interrupt. Steve could take care of himself and whatever Jennifer needed to express, Kayla certainly was not going to stop her. She saw that her husband never raised his hands against Jennifer, not to warn her off or to defend himself. His hands were always firmly at his sides.
God, she loved that man. He was the most amazing man she had ever known and counted herself so lucky that she got to go through life with him.
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After Jennifer stormed out an hour ago, Jack had spent the time listening to Miles Davis play some jazz and mentally kicking himself. He didn't know how or if it could have gone better. Jack had skirted around the topic, Jennifer had skirted round it—neither one used the word rape. He let her know, obliquely, that he knew and that he was willing to talk whenever she wanted to. Hopefully, from the way he treated her that it demonstrated he didn't blame her.
He heard a knocking on the front door. He got up, dialed down the volume on his music so it played softer, and opened the front door. Jennifer was at the door; her hair was askew now and her eyes weren't fiery like when she had exited earlier.
She walked past him and into the living room. "Sheldon wanted to drive me back here." She dropped on to the sofa, sitting at one end so that he could sit on the opposite end and leave a comfortable distance between them. "I forgot my tulips."
A small smile tugged at the corners of Jack's mouth. She was so much like him. He would have said the same thing—always deflecting and denying the real reason he would show up on her doorstep.
Jack played along. He pointed to the French doors for the outside patio. "They're out back still. Want me to go get them?"
Jennifer waved off the suggestion. "They'll keep."
"Would you like to do something? I have a video of one of the films up for Best Documentary at this year's Oscars or we could continue listening to jazz. Or Mahler? I have a new Mahler CD. We can just sit here and be…comfortable."
Comfortable? Yeah, right. At least, we'd be together and no giant secrets between us.
"Your jazz is fine while we talk."
Jack's pulse quickened. "Would you like to talk?"
"I'd like to listen while you talk. I'd like to ask you some questions, if I may."
Jack didn't fully comprehend her suggestion, "Sure, I'd like to think I was a good mentor for you at the Spectator. Fire away with your questions."
Jennifer shook her head, obviously wary of broaching the topic she had in mind. "Not that type. I've had dozens of questions running around in my head for weeks. I can't stop thinking about them. I can't sleep because of them. I need to know why…how…he…"
He now became aware of her meaning and every molecule, every atom inside of him recoiled. Jennifer had spoken calmly and evenly. It was making the suggestion seem so civilized when it wasn't. She wanted him to answer questions about the rape—about what he had done to Kayla. Yet she hadn't been able to acknowledge that was what had happened to her.
Jack jumped up off the sofa. He couldn't throw a veil of polite manners and euphemisms over this talk. "I can't!"
Jack's impassioned plea broke through her wall and she finally spoke with uncontained emotion,"You wanted to talk. This is what I need to talk about." Jennifer stood up too, "This is what I need to know. I don't know how else I'll ever get the answers!"
"Are you asking me to be a proxy for Lawrence?"
Jennifer looked at the floor. "Not like that, but please answer my questions. You brought this up. I wasn't ready to talk about this yet."
"We don't have to talk about anything now. Please don't equate me with him, regardless of how apropos it might be. I don't want to be that man anymore. I want to discard that man—that man that I was. Discard him like old clothes because it just doesn't fit anymore. I was hideous—like one of those ruffly powder blue tuxedos. Please don't ask this of me. It'll destroy everything. We won't get our relationship back. And in the end, it won't answer your questions, it won't bring you any peace because I am not him."
Jennifer was crying now; the tears felt salty on her lips and she angrily swiped at them. "You said you wanted to help me. Well, this would be helping me!"
Jack breathed in and out, trying to get a hold on the situation and himself, "What are your questions. Give me an example of one of your questions."
"Could you hear Kayla saying no?"
Tears started at the corners of Jack's eyes. He immediately recalled Harper's instructions and instinctively bit down on his lips. When that didn't work, he dug his nails into the fleshy part of his palm. "Jennifer please, I'm not that man anymore."
"Fine." Jennifer stormed past him and out to the lanai; a moment later she tromped back through the living room, tulips in hand, and out the front door.
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Sitting in the backseat of the limousine, Jennifer whispered to herself over and over, "Dammit, Dammit, Dammit, Dammit." She knew she had to fix this. She told Sheldon to shut off the car engine, bolted out of the limousine, and dashed back to the front door.
She rang the door bell several times and Jack didn't answer. Was he ignoring her? Done with her?
She was terrified she had pushed him too far. Even after everything with slapping him at the cabin and calling him a rapist, she still could not stop hurting him. She hated herself. She was so worried he would blame her or would hate her when he knew. Now that he did know (and before she was ready, dammit!), she just didn't know how to handle it.
Why did she do that? she chastised herself. Why now when things were so tenuous, so precarious? When you're hanging on by your fingernails, you don't go waving your arms around. It was true that questions about Lawrence and why he raped her and what she could have done to stop it had been haunting her and keeping her awake for weeks. But why foist all that responsibility on to Jack? Now that it was in the open, she really did want to start a dialogue about what had happened to her but didn't feel capable of starting the conversation or talking about herself. She didn't want to relive her night of hell, but truly that didn't mean she want Jack to relive his night of self-created hell either. Truly, Jack, please believe me!
She didn't know—couldn't know—that Jack had gone up to the shower to wash off the long and painful day and never knew that she had came back to the front door.
She looked up to the heavens and saw Orion, the hunter and thought as she trudged back to the car: These are the days that try our souls.
