It sometimes seemed to Jen that life was an endless series of goodbyes; that the good and peaceful and happy experiences in between were simply pleasant ways to bide your time until someone else had to go. Her first week home with Amy, surrounded by her family of friends, had been a blur of laughter and tears, emotion-laden glances across the room and reminiscences shared freely among them. They smothered Jen with their shows of support, and she loved them even more for it. She never wanted it to end, this Capeside-in-New-York phenomenon. But Los Angeles awaited, and there were book manuscripts to read, and a restaurant to run … and students to teach.
He isn't a natural, she thought as she stood unnoticed in the nursery doorway and watched Jack with Amy. He's too timid, still, clinging to that age-old claim held by all tough men who fear tiny babies, that he might break her. He puts diapers on backward and forgets to burp her halfway through meals, he panics when she cries, dresses her with clumsy fingers and holds her with all the nervous care one would afford a delicate explosive. No, not a natural—something much, much better was her Jack. The awe with which he regarded Jen's daughter touched her deeply, painfully, and she found herself having to tear her gaze away from the scene on several occasions. It was too easy to build an impossible fantasy on that show of love, a fantasy with white picket fences and beach vacations and quality time between a little girl with blonde curls and a father who would not turn on her the first time she disappointed him. A fantasy rooted in normalcy—as if such a thing existed. So Jen chose to look away instead of entertaining such tempting notions.
But now, standing in the doorway in the early hours of the day he was leaving and watching him watching Amy, she took a few moments to memorize the picture: Jack, rumpled from sleep, sitting in the rocking chair with the baby held awkwardly, stiffly—and securely—in the crook of his arm. His eyes were locked on her tiny face, and that expression of amazement softened his features, a look that said That's it—you got me, little girl. I'm yours.
"She's all you, you know."
Jen jumped and put a hand to her heart. "Don't do that!" she scolded. "I didn't know you knew I was—"
"Spying?" he finished, his gaze not leaving Amy's face. "You're not as stealthy as you think."
"I'll have to work on that," Jen said absently, drifting into the room and leaning over Jack's shoulder to look at her sleeping child. "You think?"
"Oh please. Look at this face. It's an exact replica."
"She's prettier than I ever was."
"So you're gorgeous, and she's ethereally gorgeous. It's all about evolution."
Jen smirked a little. "She's going to have his eyes. They're so blue."
Jack frowned at the rare reference to the unnamed "him." "Don't all newborns have blue eyes?"
"Most. But hers won't change, believe me. He gave her his best feature. Maybe that'll make up for all he can't give her."
Jack shifted slightly to look up at his friend, and his tone was firm, serious. "She'll never need anything from him, Jen. I promise you that. She will never need him."
Jen squeezed his shoulder affectionately. "I know."
Silence stretched out between them as they watched Amy sleeping. The weight of his imminent departure hung heavy on both of them. Finally Jack spoke again. "I could call the school; see if I can get the sub to stay on a few more days."
Jen shook her head. "Absolutely not. You've got to get back. To work, to Doug … to your life. We'll be fine."
"Trying to get rid of me?"
"Always," Jen teased. "Never seems to work."
"You'd have to do a lot more than be perpetually bitchy to get rid of me for good, you know. But kudos on the attempt."
"Language, McPhee."
"She's asleep. Besides, she'll figure out her mom has a bitchy side one day."
"You're incorrigible." Jen kissed the top of Jack's head and straightened up. "I'm going to make breakfast for the troops. Dawson's coming by before he heads to the airport, and Joey said she'll stop in to say goodbye to him."
"Pacey?"
"He's still sacked out on the living room floor. I think I'll trip over him on my way to the kitchen; maybe he'll help with breakfast."
"He's the chef."
She started out of the room, but he stopped her with the question she had come to detest. "Are you feeling okay?"
She put a hand to the incision site on her abdomen. It was healing nicely, but still somewhat tender, and she hoped like hell that was what he was talking about. "Couldn't be better," she lied brightly. "Modern medicine—they gut you like a fish and sew you up good as new."
"Jen? I've got to ask you about something." He didn't turn to face her, and she could tell he was trying very hard to sound casual and curious. But she also knew what was coming, and so she heard the accusation that he was struggling to keep from his voice. "You and Grams, the other day … what was that about? And before you tell me it's none of my business, I want you to remember who you're talking to, and remember that if something upsets you it is my business. I know this was something pretty serious. I've never seen Grams that worked up over anything."
Jen closed her eyes. Damn, this was what she had been dreading. The fight in Grams' living room was still fresh and caustic in her mind, and she had known Jack would ask about it but hoped that he might let it go. He'd walked in at the crescendo of the confrontation, complete with shouting and tears and terrifying implications.
"What is it going to take for you to leave me alone about this? It's my life, I am an adult, and I will handle it my way!"
"How, Jennifer? Because forgive me for noticing that you're not doing a very good job of it. The pressure you're putting on yourself, the help you won't accept, the doctor's orders you ignore… Think of Amy, she needs you to be—"
"Don't you dare bring her into this! It has nothing to do with her!"
"But it does. You're her mother; she needs you to be strong, healthy. How can you care for her when you won't even care for yourself?"
"I'm fine!"
"You're not. Telling yourself that you are is only prolonging the problem. I refuse to sit by any longer and pretend, as you continue to do, that this is going to just blow over without incident. You are in denial, Jennifer, and you're not doing yourself or Amy or anyone who cares about you any favors by refusing to acknowledge the truth. You need help. You and Amy will come here to live. There will be no further discussion."
"Please don't do this. Grams, I'm asking you—no, I'm begging you—not to give me an ultimatum. You know what will come of that."
Two pairs of eyes, both steely in their resolve, fixed on one another across the room, challenging, neither willing to give in. And that's when Jack had cleared his throat from the doorway, and they had torn their gazes away to look at him, standing there in confused, questioning alarm.
"What the hell is going on?"
"Perhaps Jennifer can tell you. Maybe you can get through to her; God knows I've never been able to. Excuse me."
Her final words trembled, and then she had walked past Jen out of the room and left the two friends standing there staring at each other. Jack had opened his mouth to elicit some explanation, but Jen held up her hands in a pleading gesture, effectively cutting him off. And then she covered her face and began to cry in earnest, and he moved to hold her, and any light she might have shone on the situation was lost in a torrent of tears.
"It wasn't as bad as it looked," Jen began now, weakly. "Just, you know, family baggage. She—she's not sure I'm able to raise a baby on my own. Old-fashioned of her, if you ask me, and not a little offensive. I mean, I thought we'd managed to bring her up to speed on the way things work these days, you know, and then she goes and—"
"Jen."
"What?"
"You're lying. If you're not going to tell me, fine, don't tell me. But at least respect our friendship enough not to lie to me."
"I'm sorry." She didn't have the energy to protest.
"You're not going to tell me, are you?"
"Jack, I love you. You know that, right?"
"Yeah, Jen. But—"
"You're leaving today, and I'm going to miss the hell out of you, and if we talk about this we're going to argue, and it will make me extremely cranky if we have to end our time together on a bad note. So I'm asking you to drop it."
"And if I know what's good for me, I will?"
"Something like that."
He hesitated, considering. He knew her too well, so he finally settled. "Tell me you're all right."
The silence that elapsed before her answer was brief, but Jen thought he probably understood more in that short pause than he had when he witnessed the blow-up in Grams' living room. "I'm all right," she said softly. "Now I'm going to go con Pacey into making us a farewell breakfast. Can you put the princess back in her bassinet when you join us?"
She didn't wait for a response, which was okay because he wasn't going to offer one. He looked down at Amy, at Jen's features miraculously imposed onto the angelic little face, and decided not to pursue answers he might not want to know.
