Chapter 3. Never The Twain Shall Meet

By the time they'd sealed his father's grave, Jack was sick of having to talk about him, so he decided to skip the wake and go in search of Kate instead. He wanted to make sure he hadn't imagined her appearance at the church, and if possible, find out why she'd left so abruptly.

He wasn't afraid anymore, but he didn't want to have to deal with Wayne, so he didn't go by her old house. Instead, he managed to learn from one of the mourners, a friend of his mother's, and one of the town's biggest gossips, that she worked at the same diner as her mother, so he decided to approach her there. When he'd seen her, she wasn't dressed for a funeral, in tennis shoes, socks, and a coat that covered what was presumably her pink work dress, so he guessed she'd been on her way to work. It made sense. The funeral had gone on for longer than expected; if she'd been hurrying to make her shift, she wouldn't have had time to wait.

As he crossed the sleepy streets to the centre of town, Jack considered this piece of information. Kate worked at Joe's. So she hadn't left, even after twenty years. Was that because she'd finally learned to be happy, or because she'd given up? He hoped it was the former, but he wasn't sure. She wasn't married, he knew that much, because her last name was still the same, so that probably took the kids out of the equation too, unless she was a single mother. He was pretty sure she wouldn't like working at the diner, because she'd always complained about having to help her mother there after school. She hated serving people, taking orders and delivering burgers; though she'd never said as much, Jack knew by the proud look she'd get on her face when she argued with a customer that she was convinced she was better than that, and she was. She was smart. He'd been sure she would go to college, somewhere far away, like New York. When he was thirteen, and missing her fiercely at his new school, he would tell himself it would be in L.A., with him. Some days at Berkeley, he'd still expected to see her crossing the quad, her chestnut curls shining in the California sun, her green eyes dancing with delight at finally being free.

Whatever her situation, she hadn't looked happy when he'd seen her. She'd looked eerily like her mother, tired and trapped. He hoped that was just his imagination embellishing on the little he knew of her life.

When he reached the diner, Jack pushed open the door, smiling at the familiar way the little bell tinkled overhead. Once, he'd heard that sound every day, rushing into the kitchen to find Kate as soon as his mother released him from homework and afternoon chores. He'd help her refill the ketchup, or wash the dishes, or whatever task her mother had assigned her, and then they'd go down to the creek, or the road leading out of town, to watch the cars disappear over the horizon, waiting for the day when theirs would be among them.

She was supposed to meet him there the day he left, but she never showed up. For months, he'd worried that Wayne had finally put her in the hospital, or worse, until he'd come to the painful realisation that she was mad at him. He wrote to her every day, but she never wrote back. By the time they reached high school, his letters had become less and less frequent, until he met Marc. Once they started hanging out at each others' houses, his letters to Kate ceased completely. She hadn't returned them, but he'd never received confirmation that she'd read them either. He convinced himself that she'd burned them, like she had the love letter James Ford had given her in the fourth grade, when Jack and Kate had already been "going out" for close to two years. Since their version of dating wasn't all that different to being best friends, they'd never officially broken up, even when Jack left.

But that was in the past. She couldn't still be angry with him, twenty years later. It was too long to hold a grudge, especially when it wasn't his choice to leave.

She was pouring coffee for another customer when he sat down at the counter, but she didn't come over when she saw him, even to take his order. Jack watched as she walked right past him, conferring with another waitress, before heading into the kitchen. The other waitress, a matronly woman in her forties, approached him instead, her pen hovering over her order book as she curtly asked him what he wanted.

Jack wasn't hungry after the morning's events, so he just ordered coffee, asking, as politely as his growing irritation would allow, if he could speak to Kate.

"This isn't a night club," the waitress, whose name, he read, was Margaret, said. "It's a place of business. And she has a boyfriend. If you're looking to pick up, I suggest you try the bar down the road."

So Kate had a boyfriend. That was something, Jack supposed, though he was dubious of her chances of meeting the kind of man she deserved here, after all the decent ones had gone off to college, and like him, stayed away. "I'm not trying to pick anyone up," he stated for the record, wondering what she'd told this woman during their brief conversation to lead her to such a conclusion. He had tracked her down, yes, but it wasn't like he was stalking her. He just wanted to talk. "I'm an old friend," he added, hoping this would lend his words credibility.

Margaret sized him up warily as she poured his coffee. She must have believed him, because she softened as she said, "Yeah, well, she doesn't want to talk to you, so I suggest you drink your coffee and leave."

So she was mad at him then. Jack had to admit, he was surprised. He'd always believed the cliché, that time healed all wounds, but it obviously hadn't healed whatever pain he had inadvertently inflicted on Kate.

A lesser man would have walked away, chastened but this response, but Kate's resistance only strengthened Jack's resolve to see her. He wanted to smooth over the differences between them, to explain his actions, and walk away with a clear conscience. "Please, just five minutes, okay?" he said, appealing to Margaret with the same charming smile he used on the nurses at St. Sebastian's when he needed a favour. "You can even listen in if you want."

Margaret still looked unsure, but she disappeared into the kitchen after Kate. There was a brief, heated conversation, of which Jack heard only snatches, and then she returned with the younger woman in tow.

"Hi," Jack said when he saw her, feeling himself revert back into his shy, awkward, twelve year old self now that she was standing in front of him. It had been almost twenty years, and she still had that affect on him.

She crossed her arms over her chest, determined not to give him the slightest bit of encouragement, as she asked, "What do you want, Jack?" in a clipped tone. Her poker face had improved considerably; Jack couldn't tell what she was thinking, or whether she was really angry.

"I just wanted to see you," he said, keeping the smile to himself this time. He didn't want her to think he was kidding, that this was some kind of game.

"Well, you have. Twice." She reached for his cup, trying to hurry him out of the diner, but he wasn't ready to go yet. Not until he knew she was okay, with him, and the path her life had taken. "So unless you want your coffee refilled, I don't have to talk to you."

The words were out of Jack's mouth before he could stop them. "So refill it."

Kate looked shocked, her hand hovering uncertainly over his coffee cup. "What?"

Jack could understand her surprise. Until now, he hadn't known he was capable of standing up to her either. "You said you didn't have to talk to me unless I wanted my coffee refilled," he explained, "so refill it." He threw a handful of dollar bills onto the table to show that he was serious.

Margaret cracked a little smile, but she didn't say anything as she headed to the other end of the counter to check on the other customers.

Kate watched her go helplessly, then turned back to Jack, searching his eyes with her careworn green ones. "Stop it, Jack. You're being childish," she softly, but she refilled his cup anyway, setting the coffee pot down as she added, "You have your life, and I have mine. Never the twain shall meet." Again, Jack was reminded that she was meant for more than small town life. "Just drink your coffee and go, before James sees you. If he finds out you've been here…" She trailed off, either unsure, or unwilling to consider, what "James" would do if he saw her talking to Jack.

"James?" he repeated, wondering if he was supposed to know who she was talking about. He hadn't known anyone called James since the seventh grade.

"Yeah. James Ford. My boyfriend."