Chapter 7. Why Didn't You Wait?
Jack sank to the bed, disbelieving. "Me? I've barely been in town twenty-four hours. Today was the first time I've spoken to you in twenty years. What could I possibly have done to make him jealous?" He felt a stab of guilt, remembering his parting comment at the diner. That couldn't be it, could it? He'd implied that there was more to their relationship than there actually was, that he wanted more. Had James believed him and taken it out on Kate?
"You didn't have to do anything," she said, alleviating at least some of his fears, though this didn't make him feel any less guilty. "He's been jealous of you for the last twenty years, Jack."
"Why?" he asked, finding it hard to believe that someone could hold a grudge that long. It was one thing for Kate to have been angry with him all these years, he'd hurt her, badly too, but James?
"Because he knows he can't compete with what we had, what we should have had. That the only reason he and I are together is because you left. He's loved me as long as you have, Jack, but I never loved him. Not in the same way."
Jack dropped his head into his hands, trying to digest this information. All those years he'd spent trying to get over her, and she'd been in love with him the whole time. "If that's how you felt, then why didn't you return any of my letters?" he asked.
"Because I hated you for leaving," she said, her expression hardening again. "Why didn't you wait?"
Jack jumped to his feet, his own temper flaring. She couldn't keep blaming him the decision his mother had made. "I was twelve years old, Kate. I didn't have a choice."
"Yes you did. The day you left, you were supposed to meet me by the road, to say goodbye…"
"I went there, but you never showed up."
My Mom wouldn't let me! Wayne passed out… we had to take him to the hospital. When I got there, you were gone. Why didn't you wait?" She broke down, her hard exterior crumbling, exposing the wounded child Jack had left behind all those years ago. "You left me alone with that monster," she cried, launching herself at him, flailing harmlessly at his chest with sloppy, uncontrolled blows. "Do you have any idea what he…?" Jack tried to soothe her, but she pulled away, trailing off, her shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.
"What he what, Kate?" he asked, terrified of her answer. "What he did to you? What did he do to you? How did you get to be like this?"
"It doesn't matter," she said, drawing herself up to her full height, proud and as stubborn as ever, though her eyes were swollen now, her pale face marred by the angry red wound on her cheek.
"Obviously it does," he pressed, but she stared him down defiantly as he searched her eyes for an answer.
When he turned away, unable to stand the sight of her looking so wretched, and yet so determined not to let him help, she headed back towards the door, murmuring, "I have to go."
He wasn't there to stop her this time, so he grabbed her wrist, anchoring her to him. "Not until you tell me what he did."
Her whole body froze at his touch, and he felt a slight tremor go through her. She was afraid of him. He dropped her arm, horrified.
She didn't answer; she didn't have to, because it was all there in her eyes: the pain, the fear, and above all, the shame. She didn't have to answer, because he knew, just by looking at her, the knowledge nearly bowling him over, forcing him onto the bed again.
"Oh God, Kate…"
"Don't," she said firmly, anticipating his next words.
"Don't what?" he asked, amazed at how calm she was, that she was still able to function. He couldn't even imagine what it must be like to be her.
"Don't look at me like that, like you feel sorry for me. It makes me sick."
She was doing her best to hold herself together, and he was making it worse. He wanted to snap out of it, for her, but the horror was still too fresh in his mind. As hard as he tried, he couldn't channel his thoughts elsewhere. "I didn't know…" he said, realising how stupid that sounded.
She did too, laughing sardonically, and suddenly all the bitterness he'd seen in her made sense. "No one did. Isn't that the point? Keeping it in the family?
"It was just my Mom, Wayne and me. She didn't believe me at first, but… I guess the knowledge started to rot away at her after a while, because she got sick not long after it started. She died when I was sixteen."
She didn't have to tell him how this made her feel, because Jack finally understood. First her stepfather, Sam, had abandoned her, then him, then her mother, emotionally, then finally, physically, leaving her alone in that house with Wayne.
She must have sensed his train of thought from his expression, because she added, "Don't worry. He didn't last long after that. He was coming home from the bar one night, and he wrapped his truck around a tree. There was barely enough of him left to bury." The sardonic grin returned as she added, "Karma's a bitch, isn't it?"
Jack thought about this for a moment, doing his best to push the horrific images she'd given him out of his mind as he asked, "Why didn't you call me then? I would have come for you if you'd asked."
By the look on her face, she'd thought about it, at the time, and many times since. "I hadn't gotten a letter from you in more than three years. I figured you'd lost interest." She shrugged, a little too casually. "It's not like it would have made any difference anyway. I may have been just a kid, but I wasn't stupid. I know your mother never liked me. She never thought I was good enough. Do you really think she would have let me come live with you?" Jack didn't, but he didn't say anything. "I bet she was glad I never bothered you after you left."
"I wasn't," he told her, relieved that he was finally getting a chance to set her straight, to remind her that she'd given up on him long before he'd given up on her. "I waited for months, worrying about you, but when I didn't hear from you… I didn't want to move on, but you didn't give me a choice. I couldn't keep having a one-sided relationship with you. I needed to be around people who actually acknowledged me." He looked up at her, waiting for her reaction as he added, "I never even knew if you read them."
Jack hands were hanging between his knees, as he sat on the bed, his elbows resting on his thighs. Kate sat down on the mattress beside him, pulling a bundle of worn and faded papers from her purse, and pressing them into his open fingers. He stared at her for a moment, then turned his attention to the paper in his hands, the paper she had given him.
His letters. Every one of them, tied together with a faded blue ribbon. He loosened the bow, letting them rest in his lap as he picked up the first one, the most recent. It was carefully folded, still in its envelop, but the paper was crumpled and water-marked, the ink running together in places. As he skimmed over his childish handwriting, smiling at the clumsy phrasing, she touched his arm gently.
"I read them."