July 28th, 1984 (continued)
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Jack always considered the 28th of July the day he started his second life. Later, it would become something he and Teri celebrated together—first, as the day of their anniversary, and then later as their wedding anniversary. They had even delayed it – to marry on that specific date, years later. It was their day, a symbol of new beginnings. But back in 1984, Jack couldn't have predicted any of that. All he knew was that nothing was ever going to be the way it was in the years before.
That morning, the abandoned house near the dirt road leading to the oil fields had provided him a quiet retreat. Teri had been there with him, sitting across from him, their conversation flowing easily.
She eventually picked up on the fact that Spanish wasn't his first language, though he spoke it well. Her sharp eyes and quiet nods showed that she was impressed, but there was no judgment, just curiosity. It was in that moment, surrounded by the remnants of a life that no longer held him, that Jack began to feel something stir inside him. A connection. Unspoken, but real.
When she asked where he lived, Jack had answered truthfully. He didn't have a place to call home—not anymore. He wasn't ready to divulge the full story, the layers of his family's involvement in the very company Teri and her friends were protesting. To her, Jack was just another guy down on his luck, cast aside by the corporate machine. She accepted his story without needing details, and in that, Jack found comfort. She didn't ask him for his last name, didn't pry into his history. It didn't seem to matter to her.
The connection between them was immediate, electric in a way Jack couldn't quite explain. It wasn't romantic yet, but it felt destined. There was something in the way Teri looked at him, something certain, as if she knew they would meet again. She didn't need to ask for his number (he didn't have one), didn't need to find a way to keep him in her life—there was no doubt in her mind that their paths would cross again. And Jack felt it too.
Before they parted, Teri had extended an invitation. She and her friends had rented a cabin in Indian Springs, a temporary headquarters for their summer protest, and he was welcome to join them. Jack had no real reason to refuse. He agreed and headed off to take care of his own affairs, though her words lingered in his mind, a strange sense of anticipation building within him.
After leaving Teri, Jack found a secluded spot, far from the oil fields and far from civilization. He unpacked his bag, laying out the few possessions he had taken with him.
There wasn't much. A change of clothes, personal documents, and a handful of notes he'd retrieved from his locker at the oil fields. Among them were the pages of Bill's journal, notes he had copied back in his boarding school days. But now, looking at them, they felt foreign, like the remnants of a past full of pain he no longer wanted to carry. The past was a burden, and Jack wanted to lighten his load.
Methodically, he set the papers aside, dipped one into the fuel tank of his bike and then lit them in packs. The flame caught quickly, and Jack watched as the pages burn.
His retrieved a small wooden box next, a small but meaningful relic from his childhood. Inside were the keepsakes he had taken from his mother after she died. Things no one else had noticed were missing—her Christmas earrings (she said they were very expensive, that's why she only wore them once a year), two rings, and a simple necklace. These were the small treasures that had once meant the world to him, the only memory of her. Jack had taken them in secret, days after her death, hiding them from his father's eyes, hiding them at his locker at the oil fields, far away from Glenn Canyon Drive.
He couldn't have taken anything else, anything larger. The engagement ring Philip Bauer had once given his wife was gone, sold along with the memories of a marriage Jack had no desire to remember in detail. But these smaller items, the ones Jack had managed to hide away, held a different kind of value. They were hers, and given how much she had treasured them, Jack had come to believe she hadn't received them from his father.
He looked up, the sky above him stretching endlessly into the horizon. Somewhere up there, he imagined, she was maybe watching. "I did it," he thought, though no words passed his lips. He had broken free from Philip's control, something his mother had always wanted but never lived to see. It felt like an accomplishment, a triumph over the suffocating grip of the past.
He carefully wrapped the wooden box in one of his shirts and tucked it safely back into his bag. Later, he hiked a few hundred yards from where he had parked his bike, finding a secluded spot to hide the other box with his illegal gun and ammunition. He had no intention of being caught with them, but he wasn't ready to part with them either. They were part of his escape, one contingency plan, just in case the future turned out as uncertain as the past. Who knew.
By late afternoon, Jack found himself back at the protest site. Teri and her friends were packing up, preparing to leave. Jack felt a strange mix of familiarity and distance as he approached. He didn't quite belong in their world, but Teri's presence anchored him.
The group was quiet, tired from the long day, but there was a subtle respect toward Jack. They knew he had worked at the oil fields, that he wasn't one of them. And yet, his actions—the simple act of taking a protest sign into the heart of the executive office—had earned him a place among them, at least for the time being.
Teri remained close to him as they got ready to leave, and when the time came, he offered her a ride on his bike. She accepted without hesitation, and they followed the convoy of cars toward Indian Springs. Jack felt Teri's arms wrap around his waist as they took off, her hold firm and natural. She pressed against him, not out of fear, and Jack noticed how comfortable she seemed. He slowed down, letting the convoy pull ahead before speeding up again, taking a few curves faster. Teri didn't scream like Marilyn would have. Instead, she laughed—a genuine sound that hit him immediately. Jack pushed the bike a bit more, and her grip tightened, her laughter filling the air. He liked that about her, right away.
At the cabin, Jack could feel the difference between himself and the group. They were students—idealists, dreamers, and artists—people who lived in the world of ideas and protest. Teri was studying art, her hands more used to brushes and pencils than the kind of machinery Jack knew so well. She had shown him some of her artwork—detailed and impressive, clearly showing her creativity and talent. Jack, on the other hand, was a man of action. He would drive trucks, fly planes, and handle machinery that few of them had ever seen up close. He didn't tell them.
But despite the differences, they welcomed him. They didn't pry too much into his past, and he didn't volunteer much. He was simply "Jack," the guy who had taken their protest sign to the executive floor. That was enough for them to accept him.
As the evening wore on, the group settled into a comfortable rhythm. They grilled, drank beer, and passed around pot, though both he and Teri declined. The scent of food—barbecued meat, pasta, and freshly prepared salads—filled the air, and Jack allowed himself to relax a little.
The small cabin was clearly not meant for a group this large. There were twelve of them in total, thirteen with Jack, and the only real bed had been reserved for a pregnant girl and her boyfriend. The rest would sleep on mattresses scattered across the living room floor.
By the time the sky had turned completely dark, people began drifting indoors, one by one. Jack and Teri remained outside, though. The air had grown cooler, but neither of them felt the need to rush back in. Teri talked mostly, about her art, her studies, her hopes for the future. Jack listened – he had nothing to add because he hadn't dared to make any dreams or even plans yet.
When they finally moved inside, there was only one mattress left. Without a second thought, they shared it, lying face to face under the only remaining blanket.
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Audrey's voice was calm, though Jack could sense the curiosity she was trying to hide. "What happened then?" she asked, her words carefully measured. He could hear the hint of excitement beneath her tone, a slight tremor in her voice. She knew how those moments felt, the one before a first kiss, before a deeper intimacy, the kind of buildup that lingered in the air.
Jack shifted in his bed, eyes closed, his mind drifting back to that evening. The details came easily to him, more vivid than he expected. He could feel the closeness of Teri's body, the warmth between them, and the slow, steady rise of arousal that had been impossible to ignore back then. Even now, as he spoke about it, that same things stirred inside him, as if no time had passed at all. It was like being 18 again, sharing a moment that felt both innocent and electric.
Audrey asked again, her voice a little softer this time. "How did it go on?"
He knew she was curious, and the playful side of him considered giving her the rest of the story, but he stopped himself. He smiled, almost laughing at the thought. "I'm not going to tell you that," he said, his voice teasing but sincere. It wasn't that he didn't trust Audrey, but this—those memories of him and Teri—were too personal, too intimate to be shared.
His smile lingered as he added, "I think we better sleep now."
Audrey understood, even if part of her wished he'd continue. She could tell the memories were precious to him, and pushing him wouldn't be fair. "Goodnight," she said softly, knowing this was where the conversation had to end. They both said their goodbyes, but the feelings lingered, leaving them both lying in their respective beds, thinking about the tension between the two young people who'd shared a mattress in 1984.
Jack put the phone away and lay still, staring at the ceiling, his thoughts circling back to Teri. He hadn't felt this kind of physical pull in a while, and it surprised him how vivid those memories had become. His body reacted the way it used to, that same sense of urgency rising up. He hadn't been with anyone since that night with Audrey, a month ago. The pressure was there, building, and he knew he could easily take care of it.
But as he lay there, Jack hesitated. It didn't feel right to do this, to a memory of Teri. She wasn't just any memory. She was the greatest love of his life. Was doing this somehow disrespectful to her memory, putting it into the same category as a common dirty picture most guys had in their heads in such moments? Or was it, in a strange way, honoring her?
His mind raced, caught between two conflicting feelings—guilt and desire, both fighting for control. He had done it before. But tonight, he wasn't sure what he wanted.
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Audrey lay in bed, her phone still in her hand, the screen dark. Jack's voice echoed in her mind, and she couldn't shake the feeling that had risen during their conversation. The thought of him and Teri, sharing that mattress in their first night together, it stirred something deep within her, something she wasn't sure she wanted to feel.
Audrey tried to calm herself, to breathe slowly, to let the tension fade, but it wasn't easy. Part of her had wanted him to continue, that part had desperately wanted to hear his voice tell her the rest of that story, even though she could easily guess how this story would go on.
She shifted under the covers, her body restless. Her thoughts raced, and with them, her body responded. The arousal was there, lingering just beneath the surface, a heat she hadn't expected. The last time she had been with a man, that night a month ago with Jack, it had been intense. Probably because she hadn't been with anyone in the months before. Now, that same pull was back, the physical desire.
Audrey's mind wandered, and so did her hands, imagining what might have happened between Jack and Teri that night. It felt strange to be so affected by a story that wasn't hers, by memories that belonged to another woman. But still, the feelings were there, undeniable, and as much as she tried to push them away, they clung to her.
Her hand rested on her stomach, her fingers gently tracing a line across her skin, her breath deepening as she wrestled with the sensations swirling inside her. But her body wasn't listening. It wanted more. The tension was undeniable, and she wasn't sure she had the strength to ignore it.
Alone, in the quiet of her bedroom, Audrey wondered if Jack was feeling the same, lying in his own bed. She could almost imagine him, the way he'd shift restlessly, if he was contemplating what he should do with these feelings, the same as she was. Her mind was drifting further into the story Jack had left unfinished. She couldn't help but fill in the gaps, imagining what must have happened between Jack and Teri that night in 1984. Her thoughts wandered, becoming more vivid with every detail, until it wasn't just Teri and Jack she was picturing—it was herself in Teri's place. She could feel Jack's presence as if he were right there beside her.
Under the thin blanket in that crowded room, Audrey imagined how the warmth between them must have built, making them forget about the cool night outside. Teri's light blouse, still slightly cool from the evening air, and her skirt—the fact that it wouldn't be much of an obstacle in their situation—played through Audrey's mind like a scene she could almost touch. The image of Jack beside her, his hand resting on Teri's waist, pulling her close, felt so real that Audrey's breath caught in her throat.
Her own hands, slowly, instinctively, began to trace over her skin as she lay in bed, imagining it was his touch she was feeling. She ran her fingers down her stomach, over her waist, just as she imagined Jack had done with Teri that night. The tension was so palpable in her mind, the air between them thick with desire but also the need to stay silent, to remain unnoticed by the others just feet away.
Audrey pictured herself sharing that closeness with Jack, their bodies pressed together under the blanket. She imagined his hand sliding up her side, the way their eyes would meet in the dim light, unspoken but clear, until he finally closed the distance and kissed her. The first touch of his lips on hers must have been slow, deliberate, testing the waters but so full of the tension they'd both been holding back. Audrey's lips parted unconsciously, as if she could feel that kiss herself, as if it were happening in real time.
She imagined their kisses growing deeper, more urgent, like they had both surrendered to the moment despite the need for quiet. Jack pulling her closer with each kiss, her own body reacting to his touch, each movement fueling the fire that had been building between them. Audrey's breath quickened as she ran her fingers along her skin, imagining it was Jack's hands, the heat between them growing stronger with every imagined kiss.
In her mind, she saw herself—saw Teri—reach down to unbuckle Jack's belt, the tension almost unbearable now. She could feel the hesitation, the silent decision, two people looking into each other's eyes in the dark. Audrey's own body responded, her skin tingling under her own touch as she imagined Jack with her, imagined being in that room, sharing that moment and the minutes that must have followed, with him.
As she lay there, alone in the quiet of her bedroom, Audrey suddenly got aware of her desire. This was about her, about the connection she felt with him, about the way her body reacted to just the thought of being with him. She could almost feel his breath on her skin, hear the soft, stifled sounds they would have made, trying not to disturb the others, but completely lost in each other.
The intensity of her own thoughts surprised her, the way she was swept into the scene, imagining every detail as if it were happening to her. She knew it wasn't real, knew it was just her imagination running wild, but in that moment, it felt as close to real as it could get. Audrey's fingers lingered on her skin, her breath uneven as she lay there, lost in the past, in Jack's past, but also deeply in her own longing for him to be with her, if just for tonight.