Authors: L.L. Muir
He’d just have to state his case.
He was imagining what he’d say when he cleared the front of the fence and caught a glimpse of the back of the house and froze. Skye’s car was missing.
“Oh no you don’t.” Jamison took off for the front door, determined to bust it down if he had to.
Beep. Beep.
Skye pulled up, blocking the drive. He thanked God. Really.
“Get in.” She raised her eyebrow. “School or the hospital?”
“School.” He shoved his car keys into his pocket and climbed in.
She spun the car around and headed back past his house and toward town.
“You didn’t sleep.”
“I did. I checked my phone every hour or so. I slept between.”
“You need food.”
“You sound like my mother.”
Her smile said she didn’t mind.
They arrived at school just as the bell rang. Since they had first hour together, he was able to shove the rest of his fast food breakfast down his throat and put off the lecture he’d prepared for making her come to all of his classes.
A new teacher stood by the door, a young geek, probably just out of junior college. He clutched a clipboard to his chest, glaring over at Mr. Evans as if he wasn’t about to share his brilliant teaching techniques while another teacher might listen.
“Mr. Evans!” Jamison walked over to the desk the older man was casually emptying.
“Mr. Shaw.” The older man stood and shook Jamison’s hand. His grin was infectious. There was more color to his skin, more light in his eyes.
“You look like you’ve lost ten years, sir.”
Evans laughed. “At least ten. Thank you.” He sat again and started picking things out of the drawer.
The new sub cleared his throat.
“Give it a rest, Junior,” Evans growled to his replacement. “You can’t begin until after announcements anyway.” He looked over at Jamison and winked, then noticed his and Skye’s hands wrapped together like tree roots. “You should come see me sometime, Shaw. You, too, Miss Somerled.”
The sub cleared his throat and started toward the desk, but Evans whipped his head around and froze the kid mid-stride.
“I am a civilian now, puppy. I can speak to whomever I want. Now go stand in your corner and try not to piss on the rug.”
The sub turned red and stomped out of the class, the laughter of the students drowning out the slam of the door. The guy was either going to go cry or run to the office. Jamison’s money was on both.
Announcements droned on while the class strained to hear, in the background, their new English teacher stir up the office with his complaints about Evans. To everyone’s disappointment, the background noise was moved away from the microphone. They settled for watching their former teacher, now renegade, toss whole books and sheaves of papers into the trash can without so much as glancing through them. He would pick up things too small for most to recognize, smile, and plant them in his coffee cup like precious jewels. One item, Jamison was sure, was a blue butterfly paper clip the man had often fingered while reading his texts.
Evans stood, and as if on cue the final chime signaled the end of the announcements.
“To quote a great contemporary writer, named Evans, ‘Life is short, people. Grab it by the balls.’” Raising his mug of drawer junk, he toasted the class, then Jamison, then walked to the door which was opened for him by the school truancy officer. “Piss off,” he told the uniform, and walked away in the wake of hoots and applause. He couldn’t have timed it any better.
“He’s right, Jamison.” Skye squeezed his hand and looked at his pocket where his phone had begun to vibrate. “Life is short. I’m so sorry.”
Somehow knowing he couldn’t stand to let go of her, Skye grabbed the back of his hoodie and held on while he answered.
“Mom?”
“Jamison. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have sent you to school. You need to come to the hospital.”
“Is he...gone?”
“No, but he won’t last much longer. Can you come?”
“We’ll be there in a minute.” He was already moving toward the door. His phone was back in his pocket and his hand wrapped around Skye’s again when the arrival of a delegation of excited office staff kept them from escaping. It took them a minute to realize they’d missed Mr. Evans.
Mr. Forbes, the principal, was the only body between Jamison and the door.
“Excuse me, sir.” Jamison nodded to the door.
“Not now, son.”
“Look, we’ve got to get to the hospital. My granddad—”
“I said not now. Take your seats.” The man leaned on the door handle and looked over Jamison’s tall head, his eyes wide.
Rachel Phillips was standing on her desk, reading a letter.
“To be read in the case of my dismissal. Since Mr. Forbes didn’t have my back on this one, I think it only fair to share with you, his students, that the young ladies of this school should avoid being alone with their beloved principal at all cos—”
Rachel was physically pulled off the desk by the truant officer. Not smart. Rachel’s dad was a suer.
The Principal flew across the room to take the paper from Rachel’s restrained arms, but Deidre Poulson, the secretary the students called Smiley only because she supposedly couldn’t, snatched the letter from his fingers before he could get a good hold.
Then she smiled.
Jamison realized the door was finally unmanned and seconds later he and Skye were running through the parking lot trying to focus on why they were leaving. It wasn’t easy, with KJFB’s news vehicles screaming into the lot and parking wherever they pleased. The biggest van, with the mini satellite dish on top parked behind Skye’s car, blocking it in.
A man climbed out of the passenger side and slid open the cargo door.
Jamison ran forward and stood in the guy’s way. “Look, dude. This is our car. We’ve got to get to the hospital. You’ve gotta move your van.”
“Sorry, kid. You’ll have to just walk to lunch.” The driver joined in, hauling out a camera.
“I said, we’ve got to get to the hospital.”
The camera man smiled. “What? Is she in labor or something? Those don’t get pregnant, dude, no matter what she might have told you.” His nose lifted on one side.
Jamison’s fist put it back where it was supposed to be.
The passenger was more interested in the camera not hitting the ground.
“Damn you, kid. You’ll go to Juvie for that.”
“And where will you go, sir, for kidnapping two minors?” Skye looked from the passenger to the cameraman, standing on his feet once again, and back to the passenger. “Forcing us to stay is considered kidnapping in torte law, is it not? Like when someone tries to tow away a car while someone is inside. Is the camera on?”
The passenger growled. “Move the van, Jake.”
Skye handed Jamison the keys. When they were blocked by yet another van pulling in, he chose to skip the negotiating and just laid on the horn. After ten long seconds of earsplitting noise, the van driver flipped them off and backed out of their way.
“I don’t suppose you can suggest that they leave Mr. Evans alone?”
“I could try, but it can’t be against their will, and they’re pretty set on getting to him.”
The hospital wasn’t far. In fact, when he looked down the hill from the parking terrace he realized they could have hiked up to it in about fifteen minutes. But fifteen minutes could have made a difference.
They ran through the doors and to the elevators.
“Just a minute, you two.” A mean-looking woman came around the corner of the hospitality desk. The elevator door opened and she hurried toward them.
Jamison jumped inside with Skye. As the doors closed beyond the woman’s reach they shouted Mr. Evans’ parting remark in unison. “Piss off!”
It was a disrespectful, irreverent, and liberating thing to do on the way to see Granddad for possibly the last time.
“Kenneth would have loved that,” Skye said, finishing his own thought.
An hour after they arrived at the hospital, Kenneth’s breathing became sporadic and only Skye heard the singing and witnessed his spirit lift from his body like a fire jumping from its own ashes. Jamison and his mother stood at each side of the bed, holding his clay hands, hopelessly waiting for one last word, one last smile.
“It was horrible, Skye,” Kenneth said, his spirit coming to stand next to her, “what they do to a body to keep it alive.” He shuddered, as if physically trying to shake off the memories.
Skye nodded discreetly.
“But I’d nae change it for all the world.”
Skye looked at him then. “You wouldn’t?” Her voice was barely a whisper.
“Joy’s an addicting thing, aye? I would have suffered anything, ye ken, to have these two back, to have me daughter’s love once more, to see the lad as the man he will be.” He looked at Skye, a frown marring his brilliant brow. “One good swig of joy is worth a hundred sorrows.”
She smiled. He loved pitting one against a hundred, whether in a story of battle, or a kiss of his sweet wife’s lips.
“You’ll tell me two things or I’ll nae go.”
“All right, old man. What two things?” She lowered her head and spoke out of the side of her mouth.
“I want to know they fare well without me.”
“I can’t see the future, but you know they will.”
“Aye, I suppose I do. They were raised by a Scotsman, after all.”
“Aye, that they were.” Skye peeked sideways and smiled when her brogue seemed to please him. “And the other thing?”
“Tell me true. They speak Gaelic in Heaven?”
“Go on and see, auld mon. You’ll nae be disappointed.”
“You answered all me prayers, Skye Somerled. I’ll nae forget it.” His bright image began to recede. “I’ll pray the same for ye, lassie, that ye’ll also get all you pray for.”
He looked lovingly at his family while being drawn up. When the image was gone, and the sound of singing hosts stopped echoing in her mind. Back on the bed, the old man’s body lay still, his arms at his sides. Mrs. Shaw felt her way into the bathroom and closed the door on a sob.
Jamison was crying, silently shaking while water poured down a face twisted in desolation. If Skye were capable of it, she would have sobbed, it was so heartbreaking. Tears ran down his cheeks and dripped onto his sweatshirt as if his jowls were melting. His nose ran, but his hands never left his armpits, as if he were afraid of falling to pieces if he let go of himself.
She freed a handkerchief from her pocket and with her left hand wiped his cheeks, then wrapped an arm behind his back and held on while his frame shook.
There was nothing on earth so rending as a man crying. It made the foundations of the world wobble a bit when its warriors landed on their knees. And that same world sighed with relief when they struggled back to their feet.
Jamison was one such warrior. Skye knew it from the bottom of her soul, and if it was one thing she was fairly certain of, it was the condition of her soul. Her future was scary, but her soul was fine. It was all promised in The Agreement.
Jamison calmed and looked around the room. “He’s gone?”
“Yes.”
“You saw him.”
“Yes.”
“You talked to him. I heard you.”
“Yes.”
“What won’t he be disappointed in?”
She told the truth. “You, your mom. Heaven.” She grinned. “He wouldn’t leave unless I told him Gaelic is spoken there. I told him he wouldn’t be disappointed.” She could see the war going on inside him. “Jamison, he knew you loved him, and he knew how much.”
“If you would have told me he was here, listening, I would have liked to have told him again.”
“He’s heard you all morning. Besides, what would your mom have thought? It will be hard enough for her without wondering about her neighbors.”
Jamison looked at the bathroom door. His mother’s crying paused while she blew her nose, then started again.
“I should go.” She took a step away.
“Don’t leave. You can’t leave.” He reached out, but dropped his arm when she backed another step.
“This is a time for families to have privacy.”
“You are family.”
“I’m not.”
“You will be.” His eyes dared her to argue.
“Jamison. Please. Now is not the time to discuss anything. Let me go.”
Pain scrunched his face.
“I didn’t mean ‘let me
go
’ go. I mean let me leave for now. Let me go home so you and your mom can have time together. If I promise I’ll still be here in three days, can you give me that? Can you give me two days alone, to think? If I promise not to go anywhere? I do promise. And I can’t break promises.”
“Oh yes you can. You can do all kinds of terrible things.”
“Like what?”
“Like break my heart.” He smiled, but his smile slipped away. “I am breakable, you know.”
“I know. I’m beginning to think I am too.”
That got his attention.
“You also told that woman to piss off.” He raised his Kenneth Jamison eyebrow and grinned.
“You’re right. You see? I have a lot to sort out. Let me...go home...for now. I’ll come to the funeral. Let me know if you need help.”
She walked out the door and thankfully, he let her. Leaving him for the final time wouldn’t be nearly as easy.
***
If the grocery stores in Flat Springs were struggling to keep their shelves stocked, it was because of all the food taken to the Jamison farm for the three days before the funeral.
Jamison figured, in spite of the circumstances, his mom was a little happy that “fed” was taken care of for a good while. The fridge was packed, as were the countertops and freezer. They’d even put a cake or two in the deep freeze.
The “warm” was getting there. He’d gotten used to wearing plenty of layers. Chopping wood for the wood-burning stove was something he liked for two reasons; the pure and pungent smell of freshly split logs reminded him of Granddad, and the fire and exercise both kept him toasty warm.
Fed and warm. Check.
These days, a fissure of cold ran up his spine only when he paused to appreciate the beauty of the snow-covered Rockies in the distance. Granddad had chosen his home for the resemblance to his beloved Highlands, since his sweetheart wouldn’t move so far from her family.