Part VII
Chapter 1
He really liked his new home. The base in Alaska is cool, Jack thought, pleased at his joke. He knew it would get really cold that winter, colder than he'd ever felt, his parents had said, but he thought about all the great snow ball fights he'd have, and didn't mind at all. What he liked best about the base was the indoor skating rink. He thought it was very funny when his dad told him the rink was indoors because it got too cold to skate outside. Yeah, right, he thought to himself, too cold for ice. Good one, Dad.
His father had been transferred there three months before, when they were nearing the end of Alaska's summer, which meant it was towards the middle of August. Although it had been nearly 70 degrees when they'd arrived, which had really surprised him, Jack knew that it was definitely colder, especially at night, where the central heating in the house was already on. The days were shorter now, too, by a lot, for in the middle of summer it stayed light almost all the time, light enough to read outside at 2 in the morning, but that had passed. His parents had let him stay up one night to let him see how light it was, and he was amazed, but even more so when they told him about the aurora borealis, the northern lights, which they'd said would be visible once it got dark. They'd also told Carol about it, and she'd seemed as fascinated as he. He was eager to see them, and he didn't have that long to wait. When winter started he went on an excursion with his father and Carol to see the lights, and after that he tried to stay up a few times, wishing it would get dark earlier so he could see them again, not yet realizing that it would soon be dark almost all of the time. However, most nights he was too tired from school and playing to stay up, and he wasn't quite 12 yet, after all.
One of the first things he'd done when he got settled in was to start skating lessons. There'd been a rink in Tokyo and he'd gone there a few times, but not enough to think that he had learned much, and he was really pathetic, he'd thought at the time. But all the kids at the base skated already, and hockey was the favorite sport; Jack was not going to be left behind. His competitive nature, together with his need to make friends, combined to make him determined to learn the game.
He wasn't happy when he was assigned to a group of younger kids to learn to skate, girls as well as boys, but he was at their skill level, and he would've gotten killed if he'd tried to play with the kids his age. They could literally skate rings around him, literally, and he had no idea how to defend himself against a well-thrown check, which the kids did even when they were supposed to be just skating. Jack practiced as often as he could, and after learning the basics he went on to wind sprints, cross-overs, backwards, all of the maneuvers necessary to play the game.
As with all sports he tried he became good at it and he did, and he finally started moving up the ranks, getting closer to his contemporaries. Although he became quite a good skater he didn't have the size of a defenseman or the real speed needed to become a great player, but he had deft hands, and he developed a good feel and timing for how to set up a shot with a well-placed pass.
As with Little League Mark Bauer followed his son's progress and supported him in every possible way. He went to every game he could, for the first time watching Jack struggle at something, then seeing him find his stride and ease into skating with his classmates, effective as a winger in getting the puck in front of the net, assisting on more goals than he scored, for he was too small and too light to be able to plant himself in the slot. Yet he was very capable of passing to his bigger teammates, who could withstand the checks the defensemen threw at them.
Jack still spent more time on the bench than on the ice, a fact that Mark knew grated on his son, but which Jack was learning to accept, although not happily. It was tough on him to acknowledge that he was not the best at something; in Little League he had clearly been a star, but he was clearly surpassed by most of his hockey teammates. Many of them had played 'pee-wee' starting at age six, after beginning to skate as early as two. Jack obviously had a lot of catching up to do, but he was too competitive to let that put him off the game; as everyone who knew him could predict it just made Jack work longer and harder. He got as much 'ice time' as possible, skating whenever he could to hone his basic skills, increase his speed, practice the more difficult maneuvers like backwards cross-overs. Forwards, such as wings, rarely had to do that, but Jack wouldn't be satisfied until he could make every possible move on the ice. He concentrated on the ones he would most likely need, though, for his ability to identify what was really necessary was already well-developed, and he didn't let the most difficult goals dissuade him, although he didn't apprehend the pun. It seemed, in fact, that the tougher the problem the harder Jack worked at it.
His mom, dad and Carol sat in the stands to watch Jack's first real game, playing for his team, the 'Rangers,' against another team in his league, the "Black Hawks." The Hawks were favored, having placed second in their division championship the previous year; the Rangers had been an also-ran, and that was putting it nicely. In fact they had been dismal, and no one expected much from them now. But they were a determined bunch of kids, competitive as hell, except the old-timers on the team weren't happy about the newcomers, and Jack was a part of that group. They resented being benched even in practice so the novice players could get ice time, and they never stopped giving their newer teammates a hard time. Jack, however, wouldn't let that deter him. He resented having to fight his teammates as he knew he would his official opponents, but he accepted that hazing was a normal part of the game, as it is with many sports, and he would survive it. He just hoped they wouldn't interfere with him when he actually got on the ice in a game.
Jack didn't see any action at all during the first period, although his more experienced teammates seemed hapless against the Hawks. Nevertheless between periods they directed most of their barbs at their junior teammates and were very nasty about it, although none of them had yet played. The coaches yelled at the oldies, telling them that they ought to be on each other's backs instead, for the poor level of play so far was solely their fault.
Jack had never heard coaches so critical of their team; it certainly hadn't been like that in Little League, but then, baseball was a more gentle sport, and the harshness of the coaches seemed to match the intensity of the game. It was enough to make Jack wary of actually playing, for he didn't want such criticism directed at him, especially when he knew his play wasn't up to the level of his longer-playing teammates: he knew he was bound to make more mistakes than they had already. But he had never been a quitter, and he wasn't going to change his nature now, even if he could have. The thought itself never occurred to him.
At the start of the second period the Rangers' center lost the face-off and the Hawks' right defenseman got possession and passed to his left winger, who deftly skated around the Rangers' flat-footed defenseman and scored. That was enough for the coach.
"Get over here!" he yelled at the players on the ice. "You're benched!"
He turned to Jack and the other boys on the bench. "Murphy, Anton, Bauer, get out there. Remember what you practiced. Play your positions. And only your positions. The goalie can't do it all. Girardi, Silverman, show these jerks how to play defense." He tapped each of the boys on the helmet. "What the hell are you waiting for? Get out there! And don't fck up!"
Jack felt unreal as he climbed over the boards. He was glad he didn't slip as his feet hit the ice, as his center, Murphy, did. Jeers from the other team could be heard, and Jack thought he heard a few from his own teammates, who'd just been benched, join in.
He'd learned teamwork playing Little League in Japan; as the short stop you were supposed to back up the second baseman as well as go for balls to the short outfield, so the attitude of his hockey team was hard for him to fathom. He knew what 'play your position' meant, but it wasn't quite like baseball: as a winger in hockey you were supposed to go in towards the net and dig for the puck around the boards, trying to pass it towards one of your own men positioned in the 'slot' in front of the goal. Meanwhile your defensemen were supposed to back up the forwards and guard the lines, ready to take a shot if the puck was passed to them. That was until the other team got possession of the puck; then the defense was supposed to skate backwards while the forwards tried to check the opponent to try to get the puck away as the other side headed for your own net. You were always supposed to play your position and 'play the man;' disciplining yourself not to 'play the puck' was the hardest part. Complicated, but Jack was catching on, and he was really enjoying the game, although he hated the attitude he saw on the ice from the boys on his own team even more than from his opponents. He wasn't going to let that spoil his first game, though; he knew what he had to do, and that was all that mattered.
Murphy lost the face-off and the Hawks got possession and headed for the Rangers' goal. Silverman, one of the defensemen, was great at skating backwards, and after a few steps to get ahead of the Hawks' left wing he turned around, facing the boy as he aimed for the net. Silverman flung himself to the ice to block the shot, something Jack had only seen the pros on TV do, and the Rangers got possession. More precisely, Jack found the puck on the end of his own stick, and he turned and headed for the Hawks' end, knowing their defensemen would be coming at him. He passed to Murphy just as the Hawks' defense headed for him but he somehow evaded their check, and he and Anton hurried to catch up to Murphy as Silverman and Girardi trailed to block the Hawks coming after them, just like they were supposed to. Anton got ahead and Murphy 'head-manned' the puck to him as he crossed the blue line. No one was more surprised than the Rangers players on the ice, including Jack; they had actually managed to make it down the ice in their proper positions.
Just as he'd been taught Anton passed to Jack after he skated over the line, and the Hawks' defenseman had to veer from his teammate to Jack. Before they got to him Jack quickly got the puck to Murphy, who took a shot at the net. The Hawks' goalie blocked it, but at least the Rangers actually had a shot on goal. It was their first of the game, something the more experienced boys hadn't come close to doing.
The Rangers fans clapped until their hands hurt, even with their gloves on, for the heated building still barely blocked the Arctic wind. They were disappointed when the team failed to score and lost 4-0, but they had played better than the team had done the previous year, and that in itself was a win. The new-comer 'kids' had shown up the boys who had so smugly derided them; it was only after the novices got the game going with that shot on goal that the senior players on the team finally got into gear.
In Little League the coaches treated their team to ice cream after a game; in hockey in Alaska, the reward was hot chocolate. Jack then went home with his family, keyed up from his first game, more determined than ever to improve his skills, and now willing and able to withstand the razzing of his more senior teammates. He could hold his head up with them now, and that suited his competitiveness. And his ego.
Chapter 2
He became even more excited about playing hockey than he had about baseball, although during the short Alaskan summers he still enjoyed that, almost as much as he loved just being able to play outside. Virtually all of the hockey players played baseball in the "off-season," as short as it was, for they were all active kids, and other means of entertainment in their isolated location were obviously limited.
Most of the adults used the make-shift golf course when the weather permitted, although there were signs that said "bears have right of way." The 'greens' were made of sand, with a roller to make a path from the ball to the cup, because the grass needed to make proper greens wouldn't grow there. Mark tried to teach Jack to play but he found it frustrating, despite his father's assurance that it was part of the game, and that all players felt that way, seemingly most of the time. When Jack saw the signs he got really scared, but again Mark reassured him. "Only a couple of people have actually seen bears here, Jack. If you ignore them, they'll pretty much ignore you."
Jack wasn't particularly comforted, but he was distracted when they got to the first 'green.' "Why is it called a 'green,' Dad?" There's no grass!"
Mark laughed as he explained the peculiarities of the course to his son, and Jack enjoyed making a path with the roller, although his actual attempts to get the ball in the cup were dismal. "You're doing great, Son!" Mark told him. "This is only your first time out, and lots of adults never get the hang of it. Here, let me show you how to hold the putter."
Jack went with his father a lot after that, and although Jack got better at it he was never happy with the way he played. He showed his frustration, and Mark tried to talk to him about that, too.
"Jack, no one can be terrific at everything. You're a great ballplayer. You're turning into a really good hockey player. If you're not a great golfer, so what? Are you enjoying yourself? That's all that matters."
"Yeah, Dad, I'm enjoying myself. I love spending time with you. It's just that it's so hard to get the ball where I want it. Each time I think I'm doing it right, but I'm not. I just can't get it."
"If we were home, Jack, I'd take you to a driving range, where you could hit buckets of balls and just practice. We don't have that here, obviously, so the only practice we can get is on the course itself. Don't pressure yourself. I want you to have fun. If you're not, then we don't have to play."
As always, Jack didn't want to disappoint his father, and he also wanted to master the game. Ego, again. He wasn't going to let anything get the better of him.
They continued to walk around the nine-hole 'course,' which Mark was glad was mostly flat and not heavily treed. In fact, there were hardly any trees at all, and not much brush; no matter how badly Jack hit the ball he could almost always find it. Losing it in the 'rough' would have just increased his frustration, and might have put him off the game for life.
So the Bauer men continued to play during the nice weather, and it was a good lesson for Jack: he had to learn to cope with the frustration he felt. He never mastered that, certainly; his father was sure he heard his son mutter "dammit" from time to time, but since that seemed to be a normal golfer's response - at any age - to a bad shot, Mark didn't come down on him. Language like that would never be tolerated at any time under any other circumstances, but Mark decided to let it go, and he didn't see any need to tell Janet. This was between father and son.
In a further acknowledgment of the harsh climate the base had an indoor complex that accommodated many different sports for the seemingly endless winter. In addition to a large pool and exercise room, tennis and handball courts, a running track, bowling alley and basketball court and a batting cage, there was a gym which in addition to facilities for volleyball and other sports had room to practice fielding and throwing. All of the families used the facility often, and after the first few times at the rec center the kids understood why their parents insisted that after swimming and showering or just playing they had to spend at least another hour there before going back into the cold. They all found out, the hard way, how chilled they got if they ignored the rule by going into the frigid air before their bodies had returned to their normal temperatures. Just another way of adjusting to one of the harshest climates, they learned, and because they were kids they were adaptable. All the activity made their time there more tolerable.
Jack had never experienced anything like life at the isolated base. The school never had outdoor recess; it wasn't in session during the summer months, and the weather during the rest of the year obviously didn't permit playing outside. So the kids learned how to make the most of their inside gym periods, and their after-school time at the rec center. They played as hard as they worked at their academic assignments, something of which their parents approved, and they found that the weather-imposed restrictions weren't unbearable.
Jack continued to excel at school, rarely needing help with his homework, for unlike most kids he was comfortable in all subjects. Many kids are good at either math/science or social studies/English; Jack enjoyed all of them, possibly because he did well at them all. He was popular with his teachers as well as his classmates, for he was mostly a happy kid, well-mannered, not combative with his peers and polite to his parents, teachers and other adults. He still kept a lot of his feelings bottled up, though, but because on the surface he seemed so outgoing his parents didn't realize this. Things seemed to be going so well that they thought he had come to terms with Mike's death, so his parents relaxed about that.
Jack managed to get into trouble from time to time, of course, but nothing serious, and he was only sent to the principal's office once, for teasing one of the girls. Before he even got there Jack felt terrible, for he saw that he had made the girl cry, and he realized without an adult having to tell him that that was wrong. Even though he didn't think that what he had said was so bad he learned a crucial lesson, that sometimes another's feelings were more important than his own.
When his parents saw that he understood this and that he felt genuine remorse, and that his apology to the girl was genuine, they felt that no punishment was necessary. Jack was harder on himself than they would have been on him; that he had learned the lesson was what mattered.
Jack was horrified, nevertheless, to see that other boys had picked up the teasing that Jack had started. Try as hard as he did to stop it, the situation had gotten beyond his control. The poor girl was tormented, and the teasing didn't stop until she stayed home from school for a week and the principal called a special assembly where he lectured the kids, sternly, about respecting one another and being cognizant of each other's feelings. This was the lesson Jack had just learned, but he realized the part he had played in the girl's suffering, and he hated himself for it. But when the little girl came back to school, strengthened by her parents' support, Jack apologized again and again. She saw that Jack was anguished by his role in the hurt she'd suffered, and told Jack that she forgave him. The relief he felt was so strong that it supported his new-found recognition that his actions could have consequences far beyond his intentions, and beyond his control.
This was one of Jack's first mature life lessons, and his parents noticed the difference it made in him. He was learning appropriate values on his way to adulthood. They were more proud of him than ever.
Chapter 3
Jack awoke, feeling more rested than he had in a long while, for once remembering his dream. He realized that his remorse at the hurt that girl had felt at causing her pain and being unable to stop what had spiraled out of his control was similar to his feelings about the hurt and fear he had caused first Teri, and then Kim, and how he couldn't control that, either. This had been the pattern of his life, he saw with sudden clarity.
He'd known that he was a control freak professionally, in the vernacular, a trait that had stood him in wonderful stead in his chosen line of work, but it was a definite drawback to his personal relationships. He wondered if he could change that, especially at this stage of his life, and further wondered if that would even be a good thing. 'I yam what I yam' he thought, quoting Popeye, wondering why he was trying to make a joke of it, even to himself. This part of him, something he suddenly acknowledged he, his subconscious at least, had known all along, threw him. This had shaped his marriage to Teri, his fatherhood of Kim, his other attempts at relationships, how he had conducted himself throughout his life. It had been a major cause of his problems with Teri, for his need to control had led him to discount her opinions and her needs, while letting him force his judgments, his decisions, his own needs, on her. No wonder Teri was so unhappy, he was finally able to admit. I tried to overwhelm her, and I pretty much succeeded because of my stubbornness, because of my need to impose my will on everything, because I had to be in control. I couldn't acknowledge that maybe I didn't know best.
He bitterly realized that it was a case of better late than never, and the force of it continued to prey on his mind, but most of all he wanted to tell Teri that finally he had learned what he should have known all along. It was one more in the long and growing list of things he wished he could tell her about, to apologize for. He'd give anything to undo the hurt he'd caused her.
Depression overwhelmed him with a speed he'd never before experienced. He'd fallen into this abyss before, and he hated the feeling of not being in control of his emotions. Control, again. Such a major force in his life, and he hadn't recognized how it had shaped everything about him. How could he have missed that? Or if he had known it, how could he have ignored it, sublimated it? What a master he was of self-deception. How he had lied, to everyone, to himself. He was a fake. He was a living lie.
He was totally enervated, unable to lift himself out of his chair. Not that he wanted to.
The memories still fresh from his dream, he again faced his need for control. It was so innately a part of his being that he knew he couldn't carve it out if he tried. That part, at least, he couldn't control. But the grief it had brought – not only to him, but to those he loved - that was hard to accept.
Control – a sign of insecurity? A belief, a deeply held belief, that he knew better than everyone? But why would he even have that belief? Again, a sign of insecurity? That he couldn't stand opposition, to have his opinions questioned? That he hid behind control to protect a fragile ego, as a means of deflecting others' ideas, which might be better than his? These thoughts were destructive, but he couldn't get them from his mind. The self-doubt they raised was new to him; he had had such control over himself, over his thoughts, that he had never let himself have self-doubts. His whole life had been framed by his lack of trust, of faith, in himself. His entire self-identity was a shambles. He had trouble getting his mind around it, for it made him question everything he was. He fought it, but he realized that these self-revelations were true. He wasn't, never had been, the man he'd thought he was, the man he wanted to be. He felt crushed, destroyed. No one should have ever counted on him. He had let down everyone in his life.
He knew he had to control these thoughts – again, control. What a horrible, hellish concept. If he didn't keep it under control – my God, he thought, it's impossible to escape – it would destroy him. He forced himself to draw on his inner strength, perhaps the last of it, to break free. He would force himself to put it out of his mind, at least his conscious mind, at least for awhile. It took every ounce of his ability, of his control.
But he couldn't rely on exercise to distract him, to release the endorphines that had so often made him feel better, for his physical condition was far from good enough to enable him to do much more than walk from room to room in his small house. His interest in his book, one of his favorites, was gone. TV, he knew, would not be able to keep him mentally involved. He was alone, and his only possible company was his thoughts.
He finally forced himself to stand and head for the kitchen. He hadn't eaten since the day before, and despite his lack of hunger he knew that in order to keep – let alone increase – his strength he needed food.
He decided to heat a can of soup, one of the easiest things to do, and he sat at the table with the newspaper while he waited for the microwave to beep. He tried to concentrate on the upcoming presidential race while he ate, determined not to let his earlier thoughts again take control – dammit! – of his mind.
The fullness of his stomach made him sleepy, but he was afraid of nightmares. He couldn't face that, so he headed back to the den where he turned on the hockey game. He would lose himself in that, hoping vainly that the Kings might win, engaging in the magical thinking of a child that their win might somehow enable him to win out over his memories, his thoughts. But despite himself, he soon dozed off. Instead of watching it, he was once again playing hockey.
Chapter 4
Although he realized he'd never be a star Jack had gained a lot of confidence in his ability to hold his own. Hockey was by far his favorite sport, even though he'd been better at baseball, and he was glad for the opportunity to play so often. Jack was thoroughly enjoying Alaska, although he knew Carol hated it. While Jack had a lot of friends because of his outgoing personality and involvement in sports, there weren't that many kids Carol's age, and although she became a very friendly, giving person as she grew up the lack of contemporaries was making her miserable. Their parents knew it, and tried to see that she spent time with those kids who were her age, but the girls had formed cliques and Carol had been excluded. Jack loved his sister dearly and he felt her unhappiness, but like his parents he didn't know how to help her.
Carol too had learned to skate and had become very good at it, but she showed no interest in hockey although there was a girls league, and unfortunately figure skating is a solitary sport. She took lessons and, like Jack, spent as much time at the rink as she could, but it didn't help, in fact it emphasized her feeling of isolation. Jack tried to skate with her as often as possible, but she didn't just want time with her brother. She needed time with her peers, and there was nothing Jack could do about it. All he could do was provide her with companionship, whenever she would accept it.
The sight of the two young blonde heads going around the rink, Carol sometimes doing balletic circles around her brother, he sometimes challenging her to a race that he often let her win, to her total infuriation, was a joy to see. But being left out of the circle of girls her age wore her down, made her withdraw, caused her to pull away from her brother as well as their parents. Her schoolwork suffered, and her grades, which had always been as good as Jack's, plummeted.
Jack's parents made arrangements for Carol to see the school psychologist, an excellently trained, sympathetic woman, who told them that, despite her lonely feelings Carol was basically well-adjusted but depressed due to circumstances beyond anyone's control. She had no suggestions for dealing with Carol's isolation, for no one to this day has ever figured out a way for a girl to break into a clique that girls her age so often form.
One afternoon Jack waited for Carol to get home from school so they could go to the rink together, and he became concerned as it grew later and Carol didn't show up. He thought she must have taken the later bus, but she still should have been home by then. Their mother had stayed at the school preparing for the next day's classes, and she didn't know that Carol hadn't gotten home.
After another half hour Jack called his mother at the school to tell her that he didn't know where Carol was. School had ended forty-five minutes before, and Carol hadn't said anything about going to a friend's house afterwards; she never did, for she had no real friends. Janet told Jack to wait at the house, and after checking throughout the school she hurriedly walked, half-ran the route that her children took on the rare occasions when the weather permitted them to skip the bus and walk to school. There was no sign of Carol.
When she got home Janet called Mark, who immediately left his office. He, too, traced the route from the school, for the bus driver who took the kids home or to the rec center said he hadn't seen her. When he couldn't find Carol either he called the MP's and told them to look for his daughter. The daytime twilight had long since ended and the long Alaskan night had fallen with the temperature below zero, and Carol should have been home more than an hour ago. Jack felt and shared his parents' fear.
Chapter 5
While Janet and Mark called Carol's classmates Jack stood around, not knowing what he could do, but feeling that he had to do something. He told his parents he would check the rec center to see if Carol had gone swimming or skating, but she'd never done anything like that before without telling someone. She'd always told her parents where she was going, she never went out alone, and she was always on time to take the bus back. She'd never been out otherwise before real darkness had fallen. Something was dreadfully wrong, they all knew. Their helplessness was reflected on their faces.
Mark tried to reassure Janet that the entire base was mobilized to look for Carol, but thoughts of Mike, Jack's dead friend, ran through her mind. Like Mike, Carol was a very unhappy child. Could she have...no, Janet thought, there was no way Carol could have tried to hurt herself. She had loving parents and a loving brother. Her life was nothing like Mike's had been. Carol knew she was loved.
Janet again called the base recreation center and was told that no one had seen Carol that day. Nevertheless Jack ran there, covering the ground that Carol would have walked to get there from school, although he knew that in the frigid weather they always took the bus that circled the base. No sight of Carol. No indication that she'd been there.
Jack wracked his brain to think of where his little sister might be, where she might have gone. He thought of her obvious loneliness, and wondered what he might have done to ease it.
He walked slowly home, trying to think of somewhere else where Carol could have gone. He didn't feel the cold as he tried to remember places he and Carol had gone around the base where Carol had been happy, where she might go to ease the pain she felt.
He shivered as he approached his house, and he hoped Carol wasn't cold. He knew that the nighttime temperatures of Alaska could quickly bring on hypothermia and loss of consciousness. If Carol was outside too long she might die, even though Jack was sure that she'd never try to hurt herself. He was as frantic as his parents, and he felt just as helpless. The long, dark Alaska night made a search terribly hard. Yet they had to find her, fast. The alternative was too terrible to contemplate.
Jack wracked his brain to think of where Carol might have gone. He found himself on a path he had walked only twice before. Soon after winter had started he and Carol had gone again to the spot where their father had brought them to see the northern lights. They'd both stood there, mesmerized by the incredible sight. Jack tried to tell Carol what he'd been told about the cause of the aurora borealis, but Carol wanted none of it. "Shut up, Jack," she said good-naturedly. "Just let me look!" As it got colder Jack told her that it was time to go home, but Carol didn't want to. "Just a little longer, Jack, please?"
"Okay, Carrie," he said, using his nickname for her. "But then we gotta go. Mom'll be worried."
After a few more minutes Carol reluctantly walked down the hill with Jack and headed for home. When they got into the house they told their mother what they had seen. Jack, as usual, had done most of the talking. It seemed he couldn't contain himself when he was excited about something. He now remembered Carol not even trying to talk about it. She listened to Jack and nodded, apparently used to her older brother hogging the conversation when it was about something that interested him. She had occasionally complained to her parents that she never got a word in edge-wise when Jack was talking, but that was one complaint they hadn't really tried to deal with. That was Jack's nature, they told her, and Carol would have to learn to hold her own.
He thought of this as he plodded along, all of a sudden realizing how left out Carol felt, not only by her classmates, but by him. Like Mike did? he wondered. Is that what I did to Mike? Am I making Carrie feel lonely like that? Oh, God, he thought. No, not again. Not Carrie.
Jack walked faster as he headed to the hill where they had seen the lights. Please God, let her be there. Please. Let me find her.
It was even colder by that time, and Jack tugged his jacket more tightly around him. When he'd run out he hadn't bothered with a hat or gloves and he regretted it now, but he hadn't expected to be away this long. He'd been so sure she was at the rec center.
Jack wasn't even thinking that his parents would be worried about his own absence. Carrie was what mattered now. The thought that he'd helped drive her away was controlling him. He loved his sister dearly, but he'd been totally insensitive to her. She was his baby sister. She deserved better from him.
As Jack ran up the hill he saw nothing. The nob was as empty as when he'd brought Carrie there before. Dammit! he thought. He'd never felt such helplessness or fear like this since Mike died. No, I'm not going to think like that, he told himself. Carrie's all right. He wished he believed the reassurances he was giving himself.
Jack turned and stumbled over her, sitting in as tight a ball as she could, hugging her knees to herself to keep warm. "Thank God!" he cried out. "Carrie!"
She looked up at him and he saw that she was freezing. He pulled her to him and realized that her skin was awfully cold. She was paler than her blonde hair. He pulled his jacket off and wrapped it around her.
"I'm so cold, Jack," she whimpered. "I want to go home."
He knew he couldn't just leave her while he went for help. Although he was only twelve and not big for his age, he lifted Carol as he struggled to his feet and wrapped his jacket around her before he put her over his shoulder. He realized instinctively that that would be the best way to carry her, and that time was crucial. His jacket slipped off her, though, and he put her back down so he could zip her into it. Then he hoisted her again and headed for the base hospital as fast as he could.
It was a long distance, especially for one child to carry another. As he neared it, though, one of the MP's saw them and grabbed Carol from him and raced her inside. While she was taken into a cubicle in the emergency room the MP called Jack's parents, who immediately rushed there.
Jack had to wait in the waiting room while his parents went to Carol's bedside, and he remembered another time when he'd waited in a hospital for news of Carol. She made it then, he told himself, and she'll make it now.
A nurse came to him and wrapped him in a blanket. Jack hadn't realized until then how cold he was. The nurse applied warm compresses to his ears to try to deal with the frostbite he'd developed while he eagerly drank the hot chocolate that she'd brought him, enjoying how good it tasted as it and the blanket started to warm him. If only they can help Carrie, he thought. Then he started to cry.
He stayed at the hospital with his parents until his dad came to tell him that Carol would be all right. Finally the doctor said they could take Carol home. As Mark bundled a blanket around her when he lifted her into the car Carol looked at her big brother. "Thanks, Jack," she said, crying now. In the back seat next to her he hugged her to him.
Janet prepared hot chocolate for all of them and the four sat at the kitchen table, no one talking, just thankful to be together. After a few minutes Mark said, "Car, what happened, Honey? Why did you go out there alone?"
"I don't know, Daddy," she said quietly. "I wanted to see the lights."
"But why, Carol?" her mother asked. "You know you're not supposed to be out by yourself." Her voice was quiet, quizzical, not scolding. She knew her daughter was badly frightened, and this was not something she would be punished for. They had to find out what had caused it.
"I...Some of the girls said they'd be there. They asked me if I wanted to go with them. I wanted them to include me."
"Oh, Carol," her daddy said. "There was noone else there."
"I know, Daddy," she whispered. "No one came. I think they were just being mean." She sounded totally miserable, and she again started to sob.
Janet got up from the table and walked into the dining room before she started to cry.
Chapter 6
As he went to his room Jack remembered what his father had said, that he was a hero, that he ought to feel proud, but he still felt down. He hadn't realized, none of them had, just how unhappy Carol was. He was her big brother, and her confidant. They had gotten very close, but he hadn't picked up on how depressed she was, how isolated she felt, how desperate she was to be included by the other girls. He had thought he could read her mind, or at least her moods. He had let her down.
Chapter 7
A while later Mark came to Jack's room. "How'd you know where to look for her, Son? What made you go to the hill?"
"Carrie and I went there last month," Jack started. "We saw the northern lights. She loved them. I told her I'd take her back there to see them, but whenever she asked I told her I was busy. So I thought she just wanted to see them again. I'm sorry. I broke my promise to her. I'll never do that again." Jack, too, was crying.
Mark hugged his son and kissed his blonde head. "It's okay, Jack. It wasn't your fault. The girls tricked her. It had nothing to do with you."
Jack pulled away from him. "Son," Mark said as he pulled on Jack's shoulder and turned him towards him. "It's not your fault! Mom and I didn't realize how unhappy Carol is. We didn't know how left-out she feels. None of this is your fault. You saved her, Jack. Without you she would have died. Don't blame yourself. You didn't do anything wrong."
Mark again pulled his sobbing son to him. "Mom and I are going to take better care of Carol now. I'm going to request a transfer, to a bigger base where there are more kids her age. Your age, too. This family's been traveling around long enough. It's time we went home, to a real home. Where you kids won't have to move around every three years. It's a lousy life for kids. We're not going to continue like this."
Jack tried to pull out of his father's hug but Mark wouldn't let him. "Please trust me, Son. Nothing is more important to me than you kids and your mom. Family first. I've always put my career ahead of my family, and I'm not going to do that anymore. If it means I have to leave the army and go into civilian life that's what I'm going to do. You'll have a better life from now on, Son. I promise. Just remember that none of this was your fault. None."
Mark laid down next to his son when Jack got into his bed. He hugged his son and told him again that they'd soon leave Alaska and settle somewhere they could have a normal life. He said softly, "Tomorrow we'll talk about what we're going to do. As a family." Jack realized that it was something he'd always wanted. He just hadn't known it.
Chapter 8
His dream shifted to thoughts of his own wife and daughter, and as he awoke he realized with great regret that he'd never learned the lesson his father had in Alaska. Family first. His dad had given up his dream of ever being promoted to general by asking for that permanent transfer, but he'd shown his priorities to his family. They had spent the next six years at an army base in upstate New York, where Jack gratefully continued to play hockey, and where Carol had many more classmates who happily accepted her as a member of their circle of friends.
For the first time in her married life Janet decorated the base house as though it was really theirs. Jack and Carol selected new furniture for their rooms, while their parents chose their own. The house was painted colors they all really liked, Jack choosing blue for his, Carol pink. There was no surprise there, but the kids loved it. With a darker blue carpet and furniture he'd helped choose Jack put up posters of his favorite hockey players, and pictures his parents had taken of him on the ice in his Rangers jersey as well as family photos. He made friends he knew he'd be able to stay with for awhile, and his grades, which had always been superb, became even better. He would clearly have his choice of colleges.
Carol, meanwhile, was able to join her own circle of friends, but not an exclusive clique. That wasn't her nature, and besides, she still felt the hurt the girls in Alaska had caused her, and she could never inflict that on anyone else. But she reveled in her new-found contemporary companionship, and started to act more like a normal nine year old. She and her brother both flourished.
In all respects the Bauer family settled into a more normal life where Mark would serve out the end of his career. Jack and Carol enjoyed a sense of permanence for the first time in their lives, a place that really was home. Their experiences as peripatetic children had helped shape their personalities, and Jack had learned that he needed a place, a place of comfort and belonging, that he knew was his own, a feeling that carried through to his adult life. Unfortunately, however, as an adult he had not acknowledged early enough that his family had to come first, before his professional needs. They, Teri, Kim and he, had all suffered irreparably from that.
