* * * *

"Jackie..." Booker didn't see anything but her. She had stopped crying a while ago, and was simply staring at nothing. He was beside her on the bench.

"Jackie, look at me."

She turned her eyes to him but he knew she wasn't seeing anything. His hands seemed to be moving on their own as he cupped her face in both his hands. "Jackie, say something. Anything."

She looked him full in the eyes. "What are you doing here?" Her voice was surprisingly steady.

"I came after you. I'm so sorry about your mom."

Jackie looked down. "She had cancer."

"I'm sorry."

She was quiet for a long moment.

"Why did you come after me now? Why didn't you come after me then?"

Booker knew she was talking about eight years ago. Everything must have come rushing back to her, just like him. He didn't say anything.

"I told you that night that I would not go if you didn't want me to."

"And I told you to follow your dreams," Booker said, lifting her chin to face him. "Julliard was the best thing that could have happened to you. You were always a star."

Jackie took his hands. "I should have followed my heart. I should have stayed in Wilsted."

"What brought you back to Wilsted?"

"My mother," Jackie said. "When she got the diagnosis, I came home right after graduation." Her eyes welled up again. "I... I was so scared. I thought about you when I wasn't thinking about my mother. I didn't know if I'd ever see you again."

Booker looked her in the eyes. "I know."

She drew a deep breath. "The point is, I'm home again. I think I'm going to stay here."

Booker's thoughts went back to that day in July of 1994, when they had had the fight that had broken them up before they had even had a chance together.

*Flashback*

"I told you, Booker, I got accepted to Julliard... But I'm not going to go if you don't want me to."

"You deserve this, Jackie." He touched her hand. "This means so much to you."

"No. You mean so much to me. We just barely started going out, Booker," She sat down on the stoop. "This isn't fair."

"It is fair." Booker sat down beside her. "You owe it to yourself and your music to see how far you can go. Don't let me stop you. There's plenty of guys in New York who'll want you, and I'm sure you'll be just as attracted to them."

She flew up from her seat. "What?"

He stood up too. "Don't let small town ties keep you from a dream."

"Is that how you think I see you?" Jackie's voice rose. "Do you think I don't care about you? You think I could just throw you away?"

"I'm not making you stay with me."

She stared at him in shock. "Booker... how could you say that? Are you saying you don't care? That this relationship means less to you than a stupid school?"

He said nothing.

She reached for the chain around her neck. "Then take this back." She broke it with one swift tug and flung it at him, hitting him square in the face. She turned and walked away.

Booker bent down to retrieve the locket. It was a small thing, a sterling silver heart that hinged open to reveal their names engraved inside. He looked up at her retreating figure and bit his lip. Did he just do the right thing?

*End Of Flashback*

"I don't even know why I said that that day." Jackie was saying. "I just... I couldn't handle the fact that you were so willing to let me go,"

"I wasn't," Booker said. "No way."

"Then why did you?"

"I knew I couldn't stop you," Booker said. "You were always a free bird. Why do you think I always called you a phoenix?"

"You did?"

He flushed red. "Yeah, in the poems I wrote for you."

She smiled, her eyes filling up again. "God, I missed you."

"Are you sure you're okay?" He looked her in the eyes. "Completely sure?"

She sighed heavily. "I'm gonna walk myself home now. I... I think I need to call the funeral home in the morning."

"I'll drive you," Booker offered quickly. Way to go, Murray. Don't sound too eager.

Jackie smiled gratefully at him. "Thanks."

He held the door for her and she climbed in and looked out the window. "Wilsted is more beautiful than I remember it."

"Sure is. It just gets better every year," Booker shifted the car into gear. "Are you still on West Lane?"

She looked at him. "You remember?"

"Of course."

"Well, no, I got a house on Freeport Street. Freeport and South." Jackie watched the scenery go by. Unconsciously, her hand rested on his knee as he drove. It was a simple gesture, one that she had always made when they were driving to and from their dates. It brought back a lot of memories, and Booker shuddered involuntarily.

He pulled up to the corner of Freeport and South. "Which one?"

"Thirty-eight ten," she replied. He drove the few feet further it took to reach the house. She turned to him, smiling.

"Thank you," she said, opening the door. He sat, watching her go.

"If you need me," he said as she climbed out. "I'm here."

Jackie looked back at him, and slid back into the car. She lifted one hand to his face and kissed him square on the lips. Booker's hand lifted up automatically to tangle in her hair as they had always done. The gesture was automatic as the kiss deepened.

She pulled away and he slid his hand from her hair. He was surprised to see her cheeks wet with tears. She bit her lips together.

They didn't say anything for a long time. "Good night," Jackie said softly.

He let her go, watching after her as she walked slowly down the street. Memories were flooding back. He turned to start the car and frowned, picking up a small piece of paper that had fallen onto the seat where Jackie had been. He unfolded it and the frown relaxed.

Jacquelynne Laine
Choreographer/Vocal Coach
Call 1-284-886-3432 To Inquire

It looked like a draft for a business card. Booker slid it into his pocket. Now he had her new number, at least. He shifted the car into gear and drove slowly down the street.

He hadn't realized it, but he was exhausted. He pulled up slowly to his own house. Ten minutes later the light in his room went out.

The sun was up, and so was Jett. He was sitting on the edge of his bed, thinking. The terror of the night before had hit him when he walked into the house. He had collapsed on the couch, shaking.

"What's wrong?" Wood had said, rushing to his son's side.

"I should have saved her, Dad." Jett's voice was shaking. "It should have been me getting stabbed. I should have been a man. I should have protected her." His voice broke. "This is my fault."

"Jett." Wood took his son by the shoulders. "None of this is your fault, okay? You did not have control over this. This was not your fault."

And now he was still afraid, still guilty.

The sunrise poked its bright fingers into his room, staining the wood floor a montage of colors. He traced a finger along the bent surface of a ruby red line of light that curved along his bedsheets and thought of blood.

His alarm rang. He punched it off the bureau and flopped back on his mattress. Thank god she was okay. Thank god they were both okay, for Christ sake, he thought. The whole thing was making him upset.

"Jett?" Miz Corretta was in the doorway. "I heard the clock hit the floor. Are you okay? Are you hungry? I made breakfast."

Jett shook his head. "Yeah." He sat up. "I guess I'm hungry."

"Well, come down. I made bacon and eggs."

Jett followed his great grandmother down the stairs, the smell of butter and bacon and eggs wafting through his senses. It was the scent of normalcy, he thought, something he definitely didn't feel right now. He sank into his chair at the table and looked down at his plate, and then at the silverware. His stomach lurched at the sight of the blunt knife on his napkin. He shoved it off the square of linen and picked up the fork gingerly. He used the side of it to cut the bacon.

Wood exchanged glances with his grandmother. They both knew it would be awhile before Jett was over everything.