1983 – March 1984
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As Audrey got home that evening, she couldn't wait to shut the door behind her, finally free from the constraints of the day. The moment the door clicked closed, she kicked off her high heels, watching them skid across the hallway tiles. She stripped out of her business clothes in record time, tossing them aside as she made her way to the bedroom. All she could think about was getting her hands on the secure phone.
The entire afternoon had passed without a single message from Jack. It wasn't surprising—he'd told her his daughter was visiting him in rehab today. Audrey's anticipation built as she thought about their conversation. She hoped the visit had gone well. Jack had been hesitant to invite Kim, feeling ashamed of his situation, as if the rehab itself was a symbol of his failures.
She had noticed how his voice had softened every time when he spoke of Kim. Yesterday, he'd mentioned reconnecting with her, and Audrey could hear the happiness beneath his words. A few days before that, he had shared stories of when Kim was younger—those rare moments when his guard dropped, and a genuine smile could be heard in his voice. Despite everything, Kim had always been his bright spot, even though he had lied to her about his addiction, about getting clean, about rehab.
Audrey paused in front of the mirror, catching a glimpse of herself. She felt a pang of longing, sharp and familiar. A child. Jack's entire demeanor changed when he talked about his daughter. The love and happiness were unmistakable. Audrey sighed, her eyes lingering on her reflection. She had thought about having children. She had tried. Twice. And after two miscarriages, the pain of losing what she wanted most had been too much to bear. She'd turned forty last year, and the thought of trying again felt like chasing a dream that was slipping further and further away.
She stepped back from the mirror, trying to push the thoughts aside. It wasn't just the age; it was everything else. She didn't have a partner who wanted the same thing. Paul certainly wasn't an option. For a fleeting moment, she imagined Jack as the father of her child. He would be a loving parent, no doubt. But then reality crashed back in. His past—his addiction, the constant danger—was a package that would weigh heavily not just on him, but on anyone close to him. Dr. Stevenson's words echoed in her mind. Jack's burden wasn't his alone; it would eventually affect everyone around him.
Audrey shook her head, trying to dispel the fantasy. It was a bad habit, letting her mind wander down paths that led nowhere. But when the biological clock was ticking as loudly as hers did some nights, it was hard not to. Every man she met seemed to get filtered through the lens of 'could he have been a good father?' She'd caught herself doing it at work, with colleagues, even with distant friends—wondering if they might have been a better choice than Paul, someone who could have given her the family she wanted.
She sighed, pushing the thoughts away again, and grabbed the secure phone. With a deep breath, she dialed Jack's number, eager to hear his voice, to know how his afternoon with Kim had gone.
He picked up quickly. "Hey."
"Hi," Audrey replied, a wave of relief washing over her at the sound of his voice. She glanced at her watch. Just after eight. "How did it go?"
"It was good." There was a lightness in his tone, a relief that she could almost feel through the phone. "We had a really nice afternoon."
He began recounting the visit, how he'd waited for Kim downstairs, in the lobby, outside the small, confining space of his room. They had coffee at the small restaurant, and then wandered through the sprawling parks that surrounded the rehab facility. Jack described how Kim talked about Angela, the child who had so suddenly become a part of her life. That didn't really take Audrey's thoughts of her failed pregnancies.
Within just a few weeks, Kim had gone from working at CTU to being a full-time mother, rearranging everything for this little girl who needed her. He told Audrey that she was great with kids – even that she had worked as an au pair a few years ago.
When he offered her help, at least money, Kim had gently refused. She told him that the house was already more than she could have ever asked for. They'd manage, she assured him. Chase was still on CTU's payroll, under sick leave for now, and he'd resign later, when they officially offered him a medical discharge due to his injury.
As they strolled through the park, Kim filled him in on what had been happening at CTU since he left. Chloe, ever loyal, had kept Kim in the loop, sharing details she wasn't supposed to. Tony had been transferred to San Francisco, where they planned to put him on trial, far from the usual jurisdiction. Jack made a mental note to visit him there and to reach out to Michelle. There were too many people he had let down when he'd disappeared, buried in the haze of drugs. He couldn't change the past, but he could at least try to make things right now.
He told Audrey how he was planning to get in touch with Tony's lawyer, see if there was anything he could do to help. It felt good to have a plan, to take action instead of just thinking about what he'd done wrong. For the first time in a long while, he felt like he was moving forward, even if just a little.
Audrey listened, her heart warming as she heard the resolve in his voice. This was what she had hoped for, weeks ago—something positive, something that would give his life meaning. It wasn't just about the guilt or the past anymore.
"Sounds like a good day," she said quietly, trying to picture Jack smiling, his face relaxed for a change.
"It was," he agreed, and she could almost see his smile on the other end of the line. It was a rare tone of contentment in his voice, and she wanted to keep him in that moment for as long as possible.
"How was yours?" he asked, genuinely curious.
"Boring. I was tired all day." She felt the fatigue catching up with her now that she was home, but the sound of his voice made it easier to ignore.
"Sorry about that." He knew he couldn't ask more. He'd be forcing her to share details that were most likely way above his clearance level – if he even still had one. Suddenly the roles seemed reversed. The 'how was your day' question had usually come from Teri, and he had been the one to answer with a few syllables only, bound by confidentiality.
"Don't be. Sorry for falling asleep." She winced slightly, feeling the embarrassment creep in. She didn't want him to think she wasn't interested. She wanted him to keep talking, to continue where they'd left off. "You said something about motorcycles."
"What, you still haven't heard enough of the 500cc?" He teased her lightly, the same playful tone he'd used in the morning, reminding her that she had drifted off. "I stopped riding bikes soon after."
"Why?" She asked, expecting a story about a girl, maybe his first love. She was eager to learn more about his past, the parts he rarely shared.
"I started flying."
"What?!" She was caught off guard, both intrigued and disappointed. It was interesting to learn he was a pilot, but she had hoped for a more romantic twist to the story.
"What what? Why is that so surprising?" he asked, amused by her reaction.
"You were fourteen."
"Fifteen. You can fly solo and get the private license when you turn sixteen. A year before you can drive a car." He explained it so matter-of-factly.
Audrey imagined him as a teenager, taking to the skies with the same intensity he brought to everything. She thought back to when he told her about flying the plane with the nuke out of Los Angeles. Of course, he would have needed some sort of training. It was impressive, yet unsurprising, that he'd learned to fly so young.
"Why did you start flying?" she asked, curious about the motivation behind it.
"It was..." He paused, as if sorting through the past, picking out the moments that had led him there. "... I think it was my father's fault." He started to recall the events of his third year in junior high, the way his father's success had pulled them all into a world Jack had little interest in.
"Dad's company ran really well back then. He spent more and more time at the golf clubs and with other entrepreneurs, doing business in the club and not at his office. He made me and Graem join him, said we needed to learn how to play golf because we'd need it one day, for business." He laughed lightly, but there was an edge to it, the memory of those dreaded sweater vests and stiff leather shoes still vivid. Do you still have sex or do you already play golf?, he remembered Teri's favorite joke, when they used to drive by the golf course, years later, spotting the Mercs and the other thick cars, while they drove an old station wagon. Back when he was fifteen, he would have given anything to trade it all for his worn-out, oil-stained motorcycle gear.
But Philip Bauer's word was law, and so he and Graem had dutifully followed, awkwardly swinging golf clubs and sitting through tedious dinners with their father's business partners. That's where Ron Williams came in.
"He introduced me to one of his business partners. Ron. He was a private pilot and he offered to take us for a ride."
Audrey felt a flicker of connection. Jack's life maybe wasn't so far removed from hers after all. She, too, had been dragged through golf clubs and forced into conversations she had no interest in. And her father had flown as well. There was something familiar and comforting in that parallel.
"So he was the reason you started flying?" she asked, feeling a surprising sense of closeness to him through this shared experience.
"Yeah. He owned a private Cessna over at Van Nuys. Graem got sick after ten minutes, and we had to land again." Jack recounted how Philip and Graem had opted to stay on the ground while he went back up with Ron. It was clear to Audrey that Jack had been thrilled by the experience, eager to fly again. It was one of those rare times when he and his father had seemed to want the same thing. But Philip had to stay on the ground with Graem, who still felt unwell from the short ride. Yet one more thing that didn't add to Philip's respect for his younger one.
"What kind of business did they do?" she asked, wanting to understand more about his situation.
"Oil pumps. He was a major supplier, and Dad bought half his produce each year. They were in some kind of need-need relationship. And that I started to go out with Ron's daughter wasn't too bad for him either." Jack's voice held a mix of nostalgia and bitterness. It was only now, looking back, that he could see how much of his life back then had been orchestrated by his father, how even his friendships had been laid out like chess pieces on a board.
"Wait a minute, mister," Audrey interrupted as he started to drift back into telling her about the Cessna he'd learned to fly on. "You're not going to talk technical details again while you mentioned your first girlfriend in a subordinate clause."
He laughed, and it was a sound that made her heart skip. "I was afraid you'd say that. Shouldn't have mentioned her at all."
"Too late, Jack," she teased back, the familiar banter between them growing with every word.
"So what do you want to know?"
"What was her name?"
"Marilyn."
"How old were you?"
"I was sixteen. She was fifteen."
Audrey hesitated, wondering if she should push further.
"Come on, ask," he urged, sensing her hesitation.
"Ask what."
"What you wanted to ask. When we did the illegal stuff," he said with a playful, almost daring tone.
"Okay. I wasn't going to ask, but you forced me to," she laughed, feeling a bit of heat rise to her cheeks, thankful he couldn't see her.
"We waited over a year," he admitted, confessing to what many teenagers in California experienced. It was a publicly known secret, a small rebellion against the rules that didn't really care about the reality of sixteen-year-olds, who were eager to get their first intimate experience. Just like anyone had already been drunk at least once before turning 21.
Audrey felt a strange mix of emotions—curiosity, amusement, and something else she couldn't quite define. She pictured Jack as a teenager, not the man she knew now, but someone younger, carefree, with his whole life ahead of him. And beside him, she imagined Marilyn—a faceless figure, her mind conjuring an image of a tall blonde, maybe someone who resembled a younger version of herself. But even though they were talking about something that had happened nearly thirty years ago, the thought of him with another woman felt unexpectedly unsettling.
"How did she look like?" Audrey asked, wanting to fill in the gaps, to paint a clearer picture in her mind.
"Long brown hair. Green eyes. Probably 5'4'', she was a beautiful girl," Jack said, his voice warm with the memory.
It stung in Audrey's chest, sharper than she'd expected. Not only had she imagined Marilyn wrong—she had pictured someone like herself—but to hear Jack describe her so fondly, it almost felt like a betrayal, even though she knew that was irrational. Marilyn wasn't anything like her. Maybe that was Jack's type. Maybe he preferred women who were petite, who didn't tower over him in high heels, like she knew she would. It hurt a little to hear him say Marilyn was beautiful. Audrey found herself feeling jealous of a woman who most likely hadn't been in his life for decades.
"How long were you together?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady, casual, as if the answer didn't matter.
"About three years," he replied, but the lightness from earlier had faded from his voice. There was a hint of something else there, a hesitation, as if speaking about Marilyn's beauty was easy, but delving into their relationship was harder.
"Why did you break up?" Audrey knew she was pushing, but she couldn't help it. She wanted to know what had happened, why something that seemed so perfect to a sixteen-year-old had ended.
Jack hesitated. It was complicated, more complicated than he could easily explain. Those three years with Marilyn hadn't been the worst of his life—far from it. They had been good years, filled with the kind of innocence and excitement that only first love brings. But like all good things, they had come to an end. He couldn't pinpoint one single reason for their breakup. "It was complicated," he said finally, hesitatingly.
"Why?" Audrey's voice was still curious. She was prepared for a typical teenage love story, but Jack's past had never been that easy.
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1983
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It was Sunday evening, and Jack had just returned to Glenn Canyon Drive. The house was still not what he called a home (because some rare days, he still missed his mother, then he'd still stop to look at the portrait of hers that hung in the hallway). It was just a place where he had a room to sleep in—a place that, on rare nights when his father was out and his brother eager to go to parties alone where Jack was actually supposed to take him, he could even share it with Marilyn. Just the thought of it made him want to drive back to her house for just ten more minutes together.
He knew it was a silly idea. He'd only just dropped her off after they'd spent the entire weekend together. Ron had lent them his plane again, and Jack had seized the opportunity to take her up to San Francisco. They'd left on Friday, stopping at small airfields along the way, which rented decent rooms and a car. Flying in a private plane, they had effortlessly blended into the upscale crowd. The golf club attire—pressed slacks, collared shirts—had served him well. No one questioned their age, not at the airports, not at hotels, and certainly not when he ordered beer. Everyone assumed he was at least 21, while he actually was 17.
He parked his car—technically, a company car from his father's business—and entered the house. He noticed the lights still on in his father's office. With a sigh, Jack headed in that direction, wondering what kind of mood he'd find Philip in tonight.
"I'm back," he said, lingering at the doorway.
Philip barely glanced up from the table, his eyes still fixed on rows of numbers spread across sheets of paper. "Alright," he muttered, his tone distracted.
Jack waited, expecting the usual lecture about wasting time or neglecting his responsibilities. But instead, there was nothing. The silence felt off. His father's quietness made Jack uneasy.
"Everything alright?" he asked, stepping cautiously into the office. He couldn't remember the last time he'd seen his father this absorbed, this subdued. Over the years, their relationship had changed. The fear and resentment Jack had felt as a child had transformed into a wary acceptance, a kind of detente. They had an understanding now: Jack was no longer a target. The boy who had once cowered in this house had grown into someone Philip could no longer push around. Jack was strong, confident—a young man whose physical presence alone was enough to keep his father's temper in check.
As he stood in the office, he didn't consciously remember the night ten years ago when he'd lain bleeding and unconscious on this very floor, his father's rage spilling out in violent blows. Only a small part of him, deep down, always carried that memory, a scar on his soul that no amount of training or accomplishments could erase.
Philip glanced up briefly, the hard lines of his face illuminated by the desk lamp. "How's Ron?"
Jack could see the bookkeeping sheets spread across the desk, the glaring red ink marking losses. It wasn't the first time he'd noticed the financial strain. Parker Drilling had been gaining ground during the last months, taking over oil fields near Palmdale and Sun Village. It was becoming a problem.
"Fine," Jack replied. He hesitated, then added, "And his beloved 182 still doesn't have a scratch, if that's what you're worried about." He knew his father's lectures on the plane. Philip never missed an opportunity to remind him that borrowing Ron's Cessna was a privilege, not something to be taken lightly.
Philip grunted, his focus drifting back to the sheets in front of him. "We need to call him tomorrow. Maybe set up a meeting. He's supplied Parker." He looked up, his eyes boring into Jack's, as if probing for any signs that Jack might already know this.
Jack blinked, taken aback. "Really? Who said that?" He couldn't hide his surprise. Ron supplying Parker? It didn't make sense. Ron had always been loyal, or at least, that's what Jack had believed. Supplying Philip's biggest competitor would be a betrayal, especially considering how much Ron's business depended on Philip's, too. The high-quality drilling equipment wasn't easy to come by, and Philip had funneled expertise and resources to Ron's company for years to ensure he make Ron produce exactly what he needed. There had been an unspoken agreement that Ron wouldn't sell to Parker.
Philip leaned back in his chair, his expression hardening. "I have my sources."
Jack's mind raced. He'd spent the whole weekend with Marilyn, but there hadn't been a hint of this. Ron hadn't mentioned anything, and Jack had been too wrapped up in their time together to notice any tension. Philip knew that Jack wasn't even aware of what he was: his spy. He was supposed to be the eyes and ears in Ron's household, the insider.
"Well, I didn't hear anything about that," Jack said, his voice tight. He knew it was going to be a tough conversation. He could already picture the confrontation with Ron, the awkward dance of accusations and defenses. He was caught between two worlds—his father's expectations and the personal loyalty he felt toward Ron and, by extension, Marilyn. His father would expect unwavering support, but the mere thought of facing Ron filled him with unease. How could he possibly look Ron in the eye and challenge him?
When the meeting finally happened, it played out exactly as he feared. Philip was tense, his tone sharp, as he reminded Ron of his expectations for business ethics and the investment he'd made in Ron's company by sharing his expertise. He emphasized how much his engineers had contributed to Ron's success, and how he counted on Ron's loyalty in return. Jack could almost see the words hanging in the air, the unspoken ultimatum: betrayal would not be forgiven.
Ron, to his credit, kept his composure. He didn't try to deny it, but he navigated the conversation carefully, emphasizing the pressures his company was under, the necessity to keep production going, and the difficulty in turning down lucrative offers. Somehow, they managed to reach an agreement—a new exclusive deal for Philip's company. Jack should have felt relieved, but somehow it felt like Philip had pulled Ron over the barrel.
When the meeting ended, Jack walked Ron to the door. There, away from Philip's earshot, Ron's demeanor shifted. Then he made the sudden offer.
It wasn't just a casual suggestion—it was the offer. Ron offered Jack to leave his father's company and come work for him. He was aware that Jack only had a few months left until his high school degree. He laid it out plainly, the respect clear in his voice. Jack had grown up in the industry, knew it inside out. He had spent summers on the oil fields, learning about the equipment, the daily challenges, and the quick fixes that kept everything running. Graem might have the business acumen, but Jack had something far more valuable: practical knowledge. Ron saw that and wanted him on his team.
Jack's heart pounded as Ron spoke. It was an opportunity to break away, to build something on his own, separate from his father's shadow. But it also felt like a betrayal. There was no way Philip would ever forgive him if he left now, especially for Ron. The idea of walking away from everything he'd been working toward, everything his father had pushed him toward, felt impossible.
For a moment he even thought about Marilyn. Working for her father would tie them closer together, but Jack wasn't sure this was what he wanted. It felt like a risk. He wasn't ready to make such a kind of commitment.
"I can't," he said finally, the words catching in his throat. He saw the disappointment in Ron's eyes, but also a flicker of understanding.
"Just think about it, Jack," Ron urged. "You don't have to decide now."
Jack shook his head. "I can't. It's not that simple."
Ron nodded slowly, accepting his decision but not letting go completely. "At least promise me you won't mention this to your father," he said quietly, a hint of concern in his voice.
Jack felt torn. He owed Ron so much—Ron, who had always been generous, who had trusted him with his plane, who had treated him like family. Well, Ron as Marilyn's father was his family as well, somehow. He couldn't refuse him this small favor. "Of course," he said, and he meant it.
Ron clapped him on the shoulder, a gesture of camaraderie and maybe a little regret. "If you ever change your mind, just tell me."
Jack watched as Ron walked away. He was caught between two worlds, two loyalties, and no matter what he did, it felt like a betrayal to someone. For the first time in a long while, the path ahead suddenly felt uncertain.
During the past years, it had always been clear to him that he'd someday take over the company. Nobody had ever said it aloud, but nobody had questioned it either. He had worked in his father's company all the time, growing up, shifting more and more away from the dirty jobs at the oil fields, towards the white collar jobs in the main office. He had even earned decent money in the past years, which he had mostly spent on flying and his new Yamaha YZR500.
This night, he imagined how everything would turn out if he left the company. For the first time ever.
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Jack sat on the edge of his bed, as he held the phone to his ear, his connection to Audrey. Her voice grounded him in a way that made the rest of the chaos in his life feel distant.
"You wanted to tell me about Marilyn," Audrey's voice was playful, but there was a tinge of curiosity. She had a way of asking questions that made it hard for Jack to deflect.
"I'm getting there," Jack replied, trying to keep things light. But deep down, he knew he was stalling. He had been talking about Ron and the business, skirting around the real subject of Marilyn, though not intentionally.
"Right now, it seems to me you loved her dad's Cessna more than her," she teased, and Jack could hear the smile in her voice. She had just compared the number of words he'd spoken about Marilyn to the number of times he'd mentioned the plane.
Jack chuckled softly, shaking his head at himself. "I was an asshole, right?" His voice had a self-deprecating edge, and a faint smile tugged at his lips. "I was sixteen."
"That's your excuse?"
"Yep. That's my official excuse," he said, a small laugh escaping him. "But I did like her a lot."
"Not even love?"
Jack paused, the question hitting him harder than he expected. "Oh, come on, Audrey. What does a 16-year-old know about love?" His words came out more bitter than he intended. He thought back to that time, to Marilyn. She was a part of his youth, but what he felt then wasn't love. Not like what he'd experienced later in life. His love for Teri, for Kim—it was something totally different.
"You wanted to tell me about breaking up with her," Audrey prompted. What he had told her so far—about the business relationship between his father, Philip, and Ron—seemed distant, impersonal. She wanted more.
Jack sighed, realizing Audrey wasn't going to let him dodge the personal part of the story. "Want a shortcut?" he asked, knowing she probably wouldn't settle for one.
"Yeah," Audrey answered, her curiosity piqued.
"Okay. I said it to her face that I'm breaking up with her. That's it."
Audrey's laughter came through the phone, quick and sharp. "That shortcut is definitely too short."
"You interrupted me," Jack teased. He leaned back against the bed, closed his eyes, dove into her voice. Talking to Audrey had that effect on him. It was so easy with her. No matter how deep the conversation went, there was always room for humor, for that lighthearted banter that made him feel... human. It had been a long time since someone had made him feel that way.
He thought back to Marilyn, how carefree everything had seemed at the time. "She used to make me laugh," he said, his voice softening. "Life was just so easy and carefree with her."
"Wasn't it just easy because you were sixteen?" Audrey asked, her tone thoughtful. She knew Jack well enough now to understand that this wasn't just about Marilyn—it was about the simplicity of youth. Something she doubted Jack had experienced much since.
"Maybe," Jack conceded, shrugging to himself.
"Would you want to be 16 again?" Audrey's question hung in the air, more loaded than she probably realized.
"Hell, no," Jack answered without hesitation. He surprised even himself with how quickly the words came out. The thought of going back, of reliving everything, sent a chill down his spine.
Audrey was silent for a moment, caught off guard. She had expected him to want a do-over, to say he wished he could go back and change things—make different choices, avoid the pain and trauma that had marked his adult life. But no. Jack had been so sure.
"Why not?" she asked quietly, her voice filled with genuine curiosity.
Jack didn't respond right away. He thought about her question, about the life he had led since those teenage years. There had been love, loss, addiction, and so much violence. He wasn't proud of everything, but it had shaped him. "Would you want to be 16 again?" he threw the question back at her, deflecting a little.
"I don't know. Maybe," Audrey mused. "Maybe marry a different man. Or not at all. Or..." She paused, reconsidering. "Or maybe I wouldn't want to go back and do high school again and university... urgh." She laughed, but there was a truth behind it. "Maybe I'd just want to be 16, nothing else."
Jack smiled at her honesty. It was refreshing.
"You were so quick to say no," Audrey added, almost as if she was trying to understand him better. "So determined."
Jack took a deep breath, knowing his answer would sound strange, maybe even a little morbid. "This might sound silly now."
"What?" Audrey's voice softened, inviting him to open up.
"Even though the last 25 years weren't easy... I'm glad where I am right now. I wouldn't want to live through them again." His words hung heavy in the air. It felt strange admitting that. After everything—Teri's death, the drugs, the scars—there was a part of him that had accepted his life as it was. He didn't need to relive the pain to change it. Who knew if it wouldn't even come worse.
Audrey didn't say anything right away. She let his words sink in, trying to piece together the parts of Jack's life that she didn't yet know. But hearing him say he was glad where he was now... it gave her hope. He wasn't completely lost. He was fighting, moving forward. And maybe, just maybe, he was finding peace with his past.
"How did we drift off that far, huh?" Jack asked, trying to bring them back to the present. Marilyn. They had been talking about Marilyn.
"I don't know," Audrey replied, laughing. "You were talking about why you loved that airplane so much."
Jack laughed too. "Right. Bad news: I soon traded it for a helicopter. Much better."
Audrey paused, not quite following. "So you cheated on her?"
Jack blinked, confused for a second before realizing she was talking about Marilyn. "On who? Marilyn? Or Ron's Cessna?"
"Marilyn," Audrey clarified, her voice carrying a hint of frustration. "Men," she muttered under her breath.
Jack grinned. "No, I didn't. But I switched over to flying helicopters, and that made the Cessna quite boring."
He was just about to dive back into the story of how things ended with Marilyn when Audrey suddenly interrupted, seemingly out of nowhere. "My dad used to fly helicopters as well."
Jack raised an eyebrow, surprised by the sudden shift. He hadn't heard much about Audrey's father. She kept that part of her life pretty close to the chest. "Military or private?"
"Military," she responded. "He flew in Vietnam but got shot down. Then he returned and worked as a flight instructor for the army."
Jack realized that this was probably the first time he and Audrey might have something in common. He didn't know much about her, just that she was way out of his league and walked in a different world. Was that finally at least one thing, one connection? "Did you like flying with him?"
"He quit flying when I was really young," Audrey explained. "And he never got a civilian license. Said that time was over when he quit."
Jack could hear the quiet longing in her voice. It sounded like she would have loved to fly with her dad. That it was – even not the biggest – a small point on her bucket list. "That's the point where I'd usually invite you. To take a ride with me," Jack said, his voice soft.
Audrey thought about it, and for a moment, she imagined herself in the air with Jack. It felt... right. "But?", she asked, having sensed that he wanted to say 'but'.
"But I'm in rehab, I've been clean for only 15 days, and my drug test most likely still comes back positive. I have no current biennial flight review, no medical certificate, and I'm sure nobody who knew about all that would ever give me their helicopter," Jack listed, humor masking the sadness behind his words.
"Okay," Audrey said, a small smile forming on her lips. "Then I'll keep waiting for my first ride in a helicopter."
"What, you never flew on one?"
"Nope. Never. Why should I have?"
Jack chuckled. She had a point. Most people didn't fly helicopters. His life had just never been normal.
"Tell me about Marilyn," Audrey reminded him, bringing them back to the story.
"Okay," Jack said, taking a breath. "Marilyn."
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1984, March
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Jack covered the 30 miles between Burbank, where their head office was, and Palmdale, where the oil fields began, in just over 35 minutes. His street bike roared under him. He had no intention of respecting the speed limits. That was the point of the bike, wasn't it?
It was a hot Saturday afternoon. His father had sent him out to the fields to deal with some issues they'd been facing. A few decisions needed to be made, and his father trusted Jack enough to take a look and report back.
The oil pumps, installed by his Uncle Jack a decade and a half ago, were showing their age. They were outdated, and hydraulic fracturing—HF, as they called it—was the new technology being tossed around to get more out of the old boreholes. Jack wasn't exactly thrilled about it. It meant getting new equipment, new licenses, new approvals, that came with a lot more controversy than their regular business.
As Jack took the exit from the main street, the dust from the road swirled in the evening air. Up ahead, he saw them. Greenpeace. A bunch of protestors who thought they could save the world by waving signs and chanting slogans. They were standing at the driveway that led into the oil fields, their banners bright against the dusty backdrop. Jack shook his head, amused by their persistence and their presence: why here? Why didn't they protest over in Sun Valley, where HF was being used by Parker drilling?
As he approached, he revved the engine harder, sending a cloud of dirt and dust in their direction as he passed them by. He laughed under his helmet when he saw them coughing and swearing in his rearview mirror. "Tree-hugging morons," he muttered to himself.
Arriving at the fields, he was greeted by the familiar sight of the horsehead pumps churning in the distance. The workers showed him the problem: bearings that had run out of life, a crankshaft that was dangerously close to snapping. It was clear that they needed to make some big decisions—replace major components of the pumps or invest in newer, more efficient technology. Jack took down notes, knowing this would require a conversation with his father later about budgets and upgrades.
After the formalities, Jack made his usual stop by Sergio's station. Sergio and his team were like family to him—at least, as close as family could get in a place like this. He had grown up around these men, and even though his visits had become less frequent over the past couple of years, he couldn't come out here without saying hello. Marilyn was part of the reason for his absence; she pulled him into another world, one with less grease and more formality. His responsibilities had shifted too, from blue-collar to white-collar tasks. Still, being out here reminded him of simpler times. Sometimes, he even helped out, his pristine clothes ending up smeared with oil and dirt by the end of the day. Not that he minded.
On his way back, Jack saw the Greenpeace group again. This time, they were blocking the exit, standing defiantly at the stop sign where the dirt road met the main street. Jack slowed for a moment, sizing them up. They were determined, but he wasn't about to let a few protesters get in his way. He waited just long enough for a truck to pass, then twisted the throttle hard. His bike shot forward, kicking up dust as he took the corner onto the main street without stopping. The protesters scattered, jumping back as they realized he wasn't slowing down for anyone.
Later that evening, Jack sat in his father's office, going over the notes he had taken. Philip Bauer sat behind his desk, his presence always looming large over any room he occupied. They discussed the state of the equipment, the cost of replacing the pumps.
Jack leaned back in his chair, asking incidentally, "I saw the tree-huggers today in our driveway. Why aren't they over Parker's?"
Philip took a deep breath before answering. "The Consortium got an HF license for our fields."
Jack frowned. The 'Consortium' owned the oil fields where their company did all the drilling work. "HF on our fields? We don't even have the equipment. Who's gonna do it?"
Philip set down his glass, then beckoned Jack closer. He pulled out a set of plans and laid them on the desk. "I'm thinking about getting the equipment."
Jack's eyebrows shot up. "Ron finally switches to HF?" Ron was their major supplier of equipment.
Philip's expression darkened. "No. Ron doesn't." There was a bitterness in his tone, a clear sign that this was a point of contention between the business partners. "Have a seat, Jack."
Jack sat down, and to his surprise, Philip poured him a glass of Scotch. It was a rare gesture, and Jack couldn't help but feel a strange mix of pride and discomfort. He was only 18, that made Scotch special, but this was his father's way of pulling him deeper into the family business. He clinked glasses with Philip, taking a small sip and doing his best to hide the grimace that followed. Scotch wasn't something he enjoyed, but this was a rite of passage, and he played the part well.
After discussing more about hydraulic fracturing and the state of the pumps, Philip suddenly changed the subject. "Are you planning to get engaged with Marilyn?"
Jack nearly choked on his drink. "Engaged? Why?" The thought hadn't even crossed his mind. Sure, Marilyn was a big part of his life, but they were both young. The idea of marriage seemed absurd. For a fleeting moment, a pang of worry hit him—had he gotten her pregnant, maybe? Was this Ron's way of telling Philip that his son needed to step up?
"You're 18. She'll soon be. I married your mother when I was twenty," Philip reminisced, as if trying to impart some fatherly wisdom.
Jack squirmed in his seat. The last thing he wanted was to follow in his father's footsteps when it came to marriage. "Well, that gives me two more years," he said lightly, hoping to sidestep the conversation without committing to anything. He wasn't ready for marriage. Not with Marilyn, not with anyone.
"You'll have to make that decision someday, Jack," Philip said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "Better sooner than later. At some point, you'll need to think about who's going to take over your legacy. The family business, your life's work."
The thought of having children—of raising them in this world, in this family—made Jack's stomach churn. He glanced around the room, his eyes drifting toward the old carpet where he had once been beaten down by the same man who now shared a glass of Scotch with him. The memories flooded back: the fights, the bruises, his mother's tears. Jack's gaze flicked toward the kitchen, through the open doorways. His mother had usually been over there, when these evenings started to go bad. A victim of Philip's temper, just like Jack had been.
Why had he allowed himself to fall into this life, to be molded by his father's expectations? Why had he accepted this role, working at the company, drinking Scotch with the man who had caused so much pain? Jack felt a wave of guilt. He had let his mother down. The memories of what had happened in this house had faded too much, and he hated himself for it.
"I don't think I want to get married at all," Jack said quietly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "I don't feel like ever having kids." The thought of bringing children into this world, with Philip as their grandfather—it was unbearable.
Philip laughed, waving off Jack's words. "Don't be silly, Jack. Of course you will."
Jack stood up, his decision made. "I'm going to bed," he muttered, finishing the Scotch in one quick gulp. He hated the taste, but he downed it all the same. As he reached the doorway, Philip's voice stopped him.
"No word to Ron about fracturing," his father commanded.
"Of course not," Jack replied. He was used to this game—keeping secrets, playing both sides. It was a delicate balance, but he was good at it. Loyal to both his father and Ron, yet never fully trusting either.
Before heading upstairs, Jack stopped in front of his mother's portrait. He stared at her face, remembering the strength she had shown in such a miserable life. He made a silent vow: He wouldn't marry, not Marilyn, not anyone. His life wouldn't be like Philip's. Not if he could help it.
He remembered Ron's offer – to work for his company instead of his fathers'. Jack dismissed the thought as soon as it had come. That wouldn't be freedom either: working for Ron would only work out if his and Marilyn's relationship turned into something serious. Everything else would be mighty awkward.
As he walked up the stairs, Jack realized that he was caught in a dilemma.
Downstairs, Philip stayed in the living room, swirling the Scotch in his glass. He watched the ripples in the liquid as if they held answers. Jack's resistance to the idea of marriage had been clear. The boy wasn't going to progress his relationship with Marilyn anytime soon. Philip sighed, the Scotch warming his chest as he took another sip, thinking about his next moves. Jack's refusal closed a window—but Philip saw it differently. Where one window closed, another door opened. He just had to walk through it.
"If you can't marry it, buy it," Philip mused darkly, the wheels turning in his mind. Ron and his company had always been an asset, more useful as a partner than a competitor, but that didn't mean Philip wasn't eyeing the bigger picture. He needed fracking equipment at a reasonable price.