Eighteen months after the
Coronavirus first invaded the U.S., Jack Whitcomb kissed his wife
goodbye at the front door as she left for work, then he grabbed his
son’s muddy tennis shoes off the “Welcome” mat and
shut the door behind him. After losing his job during the economic
downturn in the early stages of the pandemic, he had evolved into the
role of “homemaker.” Now that he was fully vaccinated,
he hoped to return to the workforce and start fresh next year so,
2022 would mark a resurrection for him, of sorts.
“You guys ready
yet? The bus will be here in five minutes. Let’s get a move
on.”
“Yes, Daddy,”
called Angie from her upstairs bathroom as she brushed her hair in
the mirror. Angie was eight years old and had very long hair. She was
quite proud of it as no one else in the entire third grade had hair
as long as hers. The kids were excited to be back in school with
in-person classes after a year and a half of remote-learning at home.
Jack was excited too. Things were definitely looking up now.
“Come on! Hurry
up!” called Lizzie from the hallway. “You’re
hogging the bathroom again. I need to go.”
Jack headed up the
stairs, relentless in his morning duty as bathroom monitor. “Lizzie,
go use my bathroom. Angie’s fixing her hair right now.”
Lizzie planted her hands
on her hips in protest. “But she’s always fixing her
hair.”
A year younger than her
sister, Lizzie was a tomboy, and she rarely ran a comb through her
curly red mop. She had no patience with her sister’s primping.
“Don’t argue,
Lizzie. Where’s Brian?”
Lizzie turned and headed
down the hallway towards her parents’ bedroom. “He’s
downstairs watching cartoons.”
Jack grabbed his son’s
jacket off the doorknob on his bedroom door then hurried downstairs.
“Brian, turn off
that TV,” he called as he approached the family room.
“Oh, Daddy, this is
the good part. Can’t I just see the rest of it?”
“No. It’s
time to go. You can watch it when we get back.”
Brian grabbed the remote
from the coffee table and turned off the TV. He then marched up to
his dad who stood in the family room doorway holding his son’s
jacket up for him. Brian turned his back to his dad, slipped his arms
into the sleeves one at a time then turned around to face his father.
“I can do it,”
said Brian, trying to zip up his jacket all by himself. Brian was
four and a half years old. He attended preschool at the Friends
Private Academy six blocks away. Each morning Brian and his dad would
accompany Angie and Lizzie to the bus stop and wait with them on the
corner for the bus to pick them up, then father and son would walk
the remaining five blocks to Brian’s school.
Afterwards, Jack would
return home, clean up the breakfast dishes, load the dishwasher, then
settle into his office to begin his daily ritual of scouring Indeed
and LinkedIn for employment opportunities. It had been fifteen months
since Jack lost his job. His wife, Tina, was now the breadwinner.
After seeing his kids off
to school, Jack returned to the kitchen and pried the
magic marker from its
Velcro holder on the message board attached to the refrigerator door
and added MILK, PEANUT BUTTER, VITAMINS, to the running grocery list.
He poured himself a second cup of coffee then grabbed the San
Francisco Chronicle from the kitchen counter and ambled into his
office. He sat down at his desk and found a post-it note that his
wife had left on his computer monitor. In her tidy, precise script
she had written:
Just remember what Abe
Lincoln said, “That some
achieve great success is
proof to all, that others can
achieve it as well.”
I believe in you. Love, Tina.
He took the post-it from
his monitor, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the trash can. Being
a professor of American history at the University of San Francisco,
Tina loved to quote presidents. Jack was tired of her optimism and
persistent positive thinking. He was tired of the housework, and the
grocery shopping, and “nesting.” What he wanted was a
real job.
He turned on his laptop
and checked the weather: sunny and 72 degrees was today’s
predicted high temperature, another beautiful day in Marin. He had
three hours to look for work, tweak his resume and contact that
headhunter he’d been meaning to call for several weeks now
before time to pick up Brian from preschool; then put him down for a
nap before father and son had to go meet his daughters at the bus
stop.
Jack checked Indeed for
new postings. He found two that looked promising. He composed a cover
letter and emailed it along with his resume to the first one, then
called the phone number on the second. After waiting on hold for
seven minutes, he finally spoke with an office manager who told him
in no uncertain terms that the position was entry level and that he
was way overqualified.
Jack hung up the phone,
folded his arms on his desk and laid his head down on his arms. He
felt like running away. He lay there for fifteen minutes, trying to
convince himself not to lose hope of finding gainful employment soon.
He made a mental list of all the reasons why he should persevere and
not let his emotions give way to depression. When he lifted his head
to check the time, his forehead had an imprint left by his
wristwatch. He could feel the indentations in his soft skin above his
eyebrows as he ran his fingers over his forehead.
He
picked up the paper and flipped quickly through the Business section
then proceeded to work the crossword puzzle. After forty-five
minutes, the phone rang. He grabbed it on the first ring.
“Hi,
Tina,” he said, quickly folding up the newspaper and putting it
away as if his wife could somehow see through the phone line that he
was slacking, and not spending his time in a more productive manner.
“Okay, I’ll
pick up the dry cleaning. And tonight’s your late class,
right?”
He reached down and
plucked the wadded up post-it note from the trash can. He smoothed it
out and placed it back on his monitor.
“Anything special
you’d like from the supermarket? Low-fat strawberry yogurt?
Okay. Great, see you tonight.”
He hung up the phone,
switched off his laptop and then went into the kitchen and took a
picture of the grocery list on the fridge with his phone.
After picking up the dry
cleaning, doing the grocery shopping, and returning two overdue books
to the San Anselmo Public Library, he came home and raided the cookie
jar. He took a third Oreo then put it back. He knew he should go for
a run, but lately he felt too depressed to exert the effort. He had
gained fifteen pounds since he lost his corporate sales job, and this
made him even more depressed.
****
That night after dinner,
Jack helped the girls with their homework while Brian watched
animated shorts on Disney +. At 7:00 p.m. Jack started the bathwater
and commenced the nightly bedtime preparation routine. After all
three children finished their baths, they gathered around Jack in his
king size bed as he read them a bedtime story.
Just as he finished
reading the story, their pet chocolate lab, Claire—short for
Chocolate Éclair—began barking at the back door. Jack
had forgotten to let her out after dinner, so he hurried downstairs
and opened the door. She never ran off; she simply took care of
business in their backyard then scratched on the door when she was
ready to come back inside. Claire was by far the most
maintenance-free member of their household.
When Claire returned to
the back door, twenty minutes later, Jack heard her scratching and
let her inside, surprised to see that she had brought him a present.
The dog hurried into the kitchen, tail wagging, and dropped a mass of
bloody fur on the kitchen floor.
Stunned,
Jack bent down to examine the body and discovered that Claire had
just presented him with the next-door neighbors’ pet bunny,
Mopsy. The bunny was quite dead. Jack cringed. He wondered how
Claire had gotten the bunny out of the pen in the neighbors’
backyard, but he didn’t stop to think, he simply flew into
action. He grabbed the bunny and rushed into the laundry room where
he proceeded to wash the dirt and blood off of Mopsy’s white
fur. Just as Jack was elbow deep in suds, Brian stepped into the open
doorway.
“Daddy,
we forgot to say my prayers.”
Jack
panicked. He couldn’t let his little boy see what he was doing
so he kicked the door shut behind him and yelled through the door at
his son.
“You’re
supposed to be in bed. Go upstairs and say your prayers, I’ll
be up in a minute.”
Brian pushed the door
open, peeking inside. “But Daddy, you have to hear
my
prayers.”
“Don’t argue
Brian! Go upstairs now!” Jack glanced over his shoulder and
seeing the look on his son’s face was worse than knowing that
his dog had murdered a defenseless bunny, and that the neighbor
children would surely cry real tears when they discovered their
beloved pet was dead.
“I’m sorry
son. Just go upstairs and wait for me like a big boy. I’ll be
up in a minute. Please do as I ask.”
Brian shut the door and
went back upstairs to his room. Jack rinsed the bunny, wrapped a
towel around it, and left it in the sink. He washed his hands then
hurried upstairs and hesitated just outside his son’s bedroom
door where he could hear Brian crying softly. Jack opened the door,
went inside, and knelt beside the bed. Brian pulled the covers up
over his head.
Gently
pulling the covers down so he could see his son’s face, Jack
smiled at Brian. “Did you say your prayers?”
Brian turned away and
faced the wall, wiping his face with the back of his little fist.
Jack sat on the bed beside his son.
“Please don’t
cry,” Jack said. “Daddy’s sorry he yelled. He
shouldn’t have done that. Let’s just say your prayers now
and go to sleep.”
Brian pulled the covers
back over his head. Jack sat there a moment then said, “Dear
God, now I lay me down to sleep.” He hesitated then pulled the
covers down off Brian’s face.
“Say it with me
Brian, like you wanted to.”
Brian said, “I pray
the Lord my soul to keep. If I should die before I wake, I pray the
Lord my soul to take. God bless Angie, and Lizzie and MOM.
And
God Bless Grandpa and Grandma, and Mimi. And be with Pops in heaven.
AMEN.” Brian rolled over and faced the wall.
“I’m sorry I
yelled, Brian. Please don’t stay angry at me.”
“Good night,”
said Brian.
Jack leaned over and
kissed his son. “Night night.”
When
Jack stood to leave, Brian rolled back over to face him. “Did
Pops die because he was careless?”
Jack hesitated.
“Absolutely not. Did someone tell you that?”
“Karen Wright said
her mother told her that people who die from COVID were careless.
That it’s not all that serious, so we don’t really need
the vaccine.”
Jack kneeled beside his
son’s bed, looking him right in the eyes. “COVID is
serious. It kills older people and those who have conditions which
weaken their immune systems. Pops was not careless. It wasn’t
his fault. Millions of people have died, and none of them are to
blame. It’s just something that happened. But we are taking
precautions to keep you kids safe, like wearing face masks, and
staying six feet away from other people. And when Pfizer approves
their vaccine for children this fall, all of you kids will be
vaccinated. You will be safer that way.”
Sighing heavily, Brian
shut his eyes tight. “Karen Wright said the vaccines are
dangerous.”
“The risk of
getting sick with COVID-19 is much greater than any risk of side
effects from the vaccine. Don’t listen to other people who are
ignorant of the facts. We do what the CDC and doctors worldwide
suggest. We are ALL getting vaccinated. It’s safer that way. I
promise you that.”
Brian nodded. He rubbed
his eyes and said, “I miss Pops.”
“I’m sure he
misses you too, son.” Jack kissed his son on the forehead. “Try
not to worry. You are safe.”
Brian nodded. He shut his
eyes and sighed.
Jack headed to the door,
then paused in the doorway, glancing back at his son. “Sweet
dreams,” he said softly. He turned on the blue moon nightlight
and left the door ajar as he exited.
He stood in the hallway
outside his son’s room and took a deep breath. He’d
underestimated how his father’s death was affecting his son.
That he hadn’t allowed himself ample space to grieve was one
thing. He was an adult. He and his dad had a history of
misunderstanding one another. But it was different with his son. He
knew Brian was frightened, and hearing rumors from classmates wasn’t
helping the situation any. He shook his head and tried to convince
himself that his children were okay. He’d talked to each of
them about it repeatedly, individually, and then together as a
family. He knew that he’d told them the truth. He’d done
his best to keep them healthy and hopeful. But somehow, his son’s
fears kept resurfacing and reminding him that perhaps he wasn’t
as successful at assuaging his children’s fears as he thought
he was.
Feeling
rotten, Jack hurried into his bathroom, grabbed Tina’s hair
dryer, and then went back downstairs and retrieved Mopsy from the
laundry room sink. He turned on the blow dryer and let the hot air
stream over Mopsy’s wet fur. Finding a gash on her neck where
Claire had bitten her, and lacking any clear plan of action, Jack
checked his watch and wondered if anyone would see him if he carried
the dead bunny next door and placed it back inside its pen.
Jack turned to go, and
found Claire sitting behind him, staring up at him. He stood there,
briefly exchanging a conspiratorial glance with the dog until Claire
raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to one side.
Jack took the dead bunny
and went next door, placed it in its pen, and hooked the latch on the
door. He ran back home and hurried inside to the kitchen. He went
straight to the fridge, took out a bottle of beer and went into the
living room. He plopped down in front of the television to watch
reruns of Biggest Loser on YouTube TV. He sat
there, drinking
his beer, and thinking about the neighbor children’s certain
anguish when they found their dead pet the next day. Maybe he should
just go next door, get the bunny, ring their doorbell, explain the
situation, and apologize profusely. It wouldn’t bring their pet
back, but it would be a more noble thing to do.
He thought about the time
when he was six years old and upon entering his father’s
workshop behind the garage, he’d asked his father if he could
help him build something. His father, a carpenter, was busy building
a bookshelf. Whipping his folding ruler out of his back pocket, his
father measured the wooden shelf then turned to Jack and said, “You
can help me most by staying out of the way.”
To this day, Jack
remembered how he felt the sting of his father’s comment as if
he’d been slapped in the face. In tears, he had gone to his
room, climbed up on his bunk bed and buried his face in his pillow,
sobbing. He’d sworn, many times since that incident, that he
would never treat his own children so callously. And now in his haste
to protect his son from seeing something which might upset him, he
did the same thing his father had done to him so many years ago. Jack
felt awful.
Longing to have an adult
conversation, Jack silently rehearsed his apology to his next-door
neighbors and to his own son, hoping to absolve his feelings of
guilt. He wanted to tell Tina what happened so she would tell him
that he did the right thing, even though he knew she more than likely
would be angry with him, and resort to quoting presidents, saying
something like: “Honesty is the first chapter in the book of
wisdom. - Thomas Jefferson.” Or “It is better to offer
no excuse than a bad one. – George Washington.”
Tina quoted presidents
for all kinds of situations. She constantly recited quotes to the
children, especially when arguments erupted between them during
lockdown when they were forced to spend so much time indoors playing
together with limited opportunities for any other type of diversion.
Just last weekend she admonished them all to be sweet to each other
instead of bickering over who got to play with which toy. Tina sat
them all down at the tea party table in the playroom and made them
write out, over and over, the following quote from Thomas Jefferson:
“Whenever you do a thing, act as if the world were watching.”
If the world were
watching Jack, would he be so quick to sneak a dead pet back into its
cage? He took a sip of his beer and squeezed his eyes shut. At 10:41
p.m., Jack turned off the TV and went upstairs to get ready for bed.
He knew Tina would be home soon, and that she would be tired after
teaching her night class from 7:00 to 10:00. Jack brushed his teeth
and put on his pajamas. He climbed into bed and turned off the lamp.
Six minutes later he
heard the automatic garage door opener switch on downstairs as Tina
pulled into the driveway. He turned the lamp back on and sat up in
bed. He heard Tina come in, drop her keys and briefcase on the
kitchen table, then climb the stairs. When she entered the bedroom,
her dress was already unbuttoned.
“Hi honey,”
she said breezing into the bathroom, shedding her dress as she walked
through the room. She turned on the shower and popped her head back
into the bedroom.
“How are you? How
are the kids?”
Jack smiled. “Just
fine. And you?”
“Tired beyond
belief.” She slipped off her shoes and pantyhose as she spoke.
“I’m never teaching another class on Tuesday morning
after a Monday night class ever again. It’s just too much. Next
semester I’m putting my foot down.” She returned to the
bathroom, shutting the door. Jack heard her humming in the shower. He
turned off the lamp on his side of the bed, reached over and turned
on the lamp on Tina’s side.
When she came to bed, she
wore flannel pajamas with anti-wrinkle cream under her eyes and on
her forehead. She snuggled up next to Jack and closed her eyes. “It’s
so good to be home,” she yawned. “What a long day.”
She reached over and turned off her lamp.
Jack lay there for
several minutes, trying to decide how best to tell his wife about
Mopsy, until her breathing slowed into the steady rhythm of sleep.
“Tina?” he
whispered.
She did not answer.
He continued, “Today
Claire killed Mopsy, and I bathed the bloody bunny, blow dried her,
and put her back in the pen. I don’t think anyone saw me.”
Tina began to snore
softly.
“That’s nice
dear,” said Jack, mimicking Tina’s voice.
“Thank you for
listening dear,” he said in his own voice.
“You’re
welcome. Thank you for being such a devoted husband and father,”
he said in Tina’s high falsetto voice. He then rolled over onto
his side, listening to the steady gentle snoring of his wife beside
him. He lay there, unable to sleep, and kept imagining how it would
be if Brian discovered Claire in the morning, dead, in their
backyard.
He panicked. Jumped out
of bed, threw on his robe and slippers, and ran next door to retrieve
the bunny. He went to the pen, but Mopsy was gone. He opened the pen
door and leaned down to look inside. Yep. Mopsy was definitely gone.
He
glanced over his shoulder and ran quickly back to the safety of his
warm home and climbed into bed next to his sleeping wife.
He
shut his eyes and willed himself to fall asleep.
****
Two days later, Dan
Dillon, the next-door neighbor, spotted Jack taking the garbage cans
out to the street in the morning before walking the girls to the bus
stop. Being a dentist, Dan wore his white medical coat as he carried
his trash cans out to the curb. He waved to Jack.
Jack waved back. “Hi
Dan, how are you?”
Dan wiped his hands on
his thighs then said. “I’m fine. But the strangest thing
happened the other day.”
Jack held his breath,
feeling a huge surge of guilt sweep upwards through his body from his
toes to his stomach.
“Mopsy died,”
said Dan.
“Oh no,” said
Jack. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thanks,”
said Dan. “But the weird thing is, I buried her in the back
yard, but then she inexplicably appeared back in her pen. All
sparkling clean.”
Jack shoved his hands in
his pockets wondering if Dan suspected him. He suddenly felt an
overwhelming urge for a giant piece of chocolate cake.
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“That is strange,”
said Jack.
“Yeah. Well, see
you later.” Dan took his keys from his pocket and got in his
car. Jack hurried back inside his garage and shut the door. He went
into the kitchen and pulled down Tina’s grandmother’s
Betty Crocker cookbook from the shelf and found a recipe for
“Colossal Chocolate Cake” hand-written on a note card and
stuck between the pages.
****
That evening when Tina
arrived home from work, she found Jack sitting at the tea party table
in the playroom with all three children sitting around him. They were
eating chocolate cake. Brian had chocolate frosting on both corners
of his mouth. Jack wore a dunce cap since Angie had given him the
option of having a ‘time-out’ or wearing the dunce cap
because he was talking during class. Angie loved playing school. She
was always the teacher and was constantly assigning ‘time-outs’
to her father and siblings.
“What’s this?
Why are you guys eating cake before dinner?” demanded Tina.
“Oh honey, do you
want a piece? I made it from scratch with your grandmother’s
recipe.”
Tina shook her head and
folded her arms across her chest. “Honestly, Jack, you
shouldn’t give them so much sugar.”
“Come on, dear,”
said Jack. He took off the dunce cap and placed it on the tea party
table beside his plate. “Life is too short not to eat dessert
first, right kids?”
“Right,” said
Lizzie. Angie concurred. Brian grinned in chocolate-rimmed approval.
Jack wondered if his son had forgotten about being yelled at the
other night or had simply taken the high road and forgiven his
father. He wondered if some day, years from now, Brian would remember
the incident and swear to himself that he would never treat his own
children the way that his father had treated him.
Exasperated,
Tina left the room.
“And now it’s
time for our history lesson,” said Angie. “Take out your
books and turn to page 44.”
Jack, Lizzie, and Brian
pretended to open their schoolbooks. Angie continued, “Who was
the first president of the United States of America?”
Lizzie raised her hand.
Jack smiled as he noticed chocolate frosting under her fingernails.
Angie
nodded at her sister. “Lizzie?”
“George
Washington,” said Lizzie.
“Correct.”
Jack sighed. He knew Tina
was probably right. He really shouldn’t feed the kids cake
before dinner. He thought of Tina’s favorite Thomas Jefferson
quote – “Delay is preferable to error.” He decided
to wait a little while longer before telling his wife about bathing
and returning Mopsy. He watched his eldest daughter as she wrote 2+3
on the chalkboard and he picked up his dunce cap and put it back on
his head.
Angie said, “Who
knows the answer to this question?”
Brian raised his hand.
Jack watched his children
playing school. Comforted by their innocence and their belief in him,
he smiled warmly at his kids.
“Yes?” Angie
said to her brother.
“Five,” said
Brian.
“Correct! You get a
gold star!”
Jack shut his eyes and
tried not think about the neighbor’s dead bunny, or his
unemployment, or his son’s fears about COVID. He took a deep
breath and exhaled slowly, then kissed each of his children and went
into the kitchen to prepare dinner.
As Jack cut up the
cucumber and tomato for the salad, he decided to call the headhunter
in the morning at 10:15. He’d read in a book called Closing
that Sales Call, that the optimal time for closing any deal
was
usually on a Thursday morning, around 10:15 am—still close
enough to the day’s beginning to be fresh, but not near enough
lunch to be hurried, and still one day before week’s end.
Perfect timing for closing the deal.
He went to the kitchen
desk and wrote on a post-it, “Call HEADHUNTER 10:15 Thursday.” Hurrying
into his office, he placed the yellow sticky-note on his
laptop then quickly returned to the kitchen.
He opened the
refrigerator to grab a beer. Hesitating, he thought of Tina, scolding
him for serving cake before dinner. He shut the fridge and grabbed a
bottle of Merlot from the wine rack. He took two wine glasses from
the cupboard and uncorked the bottle. He would take Tina’s
glass upstairs to her where she soaked in her bubble bath. He would
sit on the edge of the tub next to her while she lathered and shaved
her legs. He would even offer to shave her legs for her, the way they
used to do when they were first living together before their wedding.
Before the kids. Before their lives became so predictable, and so
troubling for Jack while Tina earned the salary that kept them living
comfortably in the style to which they’d all grown accustomed.
Jack would redeem himself for his misguided meal plan for the kids.
He
would ask Tina about her day, her lectures, and the outline for her
new book. And tomorrow? He would finally make that call in the
morning and climb his way out of this gilded cage he’d found
himself in as a house husband. Rising victorious from the ashes, like
a Phoenix from the flames of suburban lockdown, soaring up to the sky
with wings ablaze, conquering death and unemployment, he would
finally elevate himself, back into the career which the pandemic had
“stolen” from him. And all would be “right”
with the Universe.
Jack poured two glasses
of Merlot and headed briskly upstairs. His fragile ego having been
washed, rinsed, and blow-dried; then safely restored to its cage,
with the hope that no one would ever notice that it had died, been
buried, and resurrected by a curious, yet sweet dog—then
finally put back in the pen to start fresh in the morning;
revitalized for a brand-new day.
As he climbed the stairs
to the master bedroom, he recalled a quote, not from a president but
from Benjamin Franklin, the most prominent founding father who’d
never achieved the role of Commander in Chief. He whispered the quote
to himself, rehearsing the words before reciting them to Tina as she
soaked in her bubble bath: “A right heart exceeds all,”
as quoted from Franklin’s “Poor Richard’s Almanack,
1739.”
Opening the bedroom door,
he smiled, imagining how Tina would laugh, make a toast to him, and
tell him that she loved him, adored him, and above all else, she
respected him now more than she ever had before. He told himself
these “truths,” holding them to be self-evident like a
founding father penning the Declaration of Independence—Jack’s
independence—without once considering that they might not
actually be true. At least, not anymore.
Jack approached the
bathroom, repeating the words in his mind, “Whenever you do a
thing, act as if the world were watching.” He knocked on the
bathroom door, and stepped inside, impervious to the nagging feelings
of guilt that trailed along behind him like contaminated droplets
from a COVID-positive sneezer in a crowded elevator. Tina looked up
at him from the bathtub as he proffered her the wine glass, and she
smiled. She needed to believe her own version of Jack’s truth.
The truth she held to be self-evident.
At
that exact moment, Jack decided he could never tell her the truth
about Mopsy. It would crush her. He had to protect her from the worst
parts of himself. He owed her that much. He watched as she raised her
glass to him, smiling warmly at the love of her life. He took a deep
breath and smiled. So much for self-evident truths.
As he
sat on the edge of the tub, listening to Tina tell him about her day,
it hit him just how reprehensible he’d been—as a dad, and
as a human being. All he could think about was coming clean with his
neighbor and his wife.
He
felt sick with morning-after guilt. What he wouldn’t give for a
Do-Over. But life rarely gives those. He wiped the wine from his lips
with the back of his hand and wondered how he could have been so
stupid. How would it feel if his own kids had found their pet,
resurrected in such a cowardly manner, and placed back in its pen by
a man too shallow to own up to the truth?
Jack
hung his head, knowing he’d never be the man he should be. His
father was right. He’d never amount to anything.
Dammit!
Why did he always let his dad haunt him like this?
Jack
told Tina he had to check on dinner and hurried downstairs, turned
the oven off so the roast chicken wouldn’t burn, then he put on
his jacket and headed next door. Walking up the sidewalk, he mentally
rehearsed the story he would tell his neighbor— his confession.
His apology.
No
amount of childhood trauma was worth the continual denial of his
self-worth. The buck stopped here. Right now. Today.
He
rang the doorbell and waited.
When
Dan answered the door, Jack took a deep breath, then dove headfirst
into the deep end. Finally outswimming the stranglehold of all the
trauma and abuse he’d suffered from his father. The dam broke
and a massive flood ensued.
When
it was over, Jack stood there with tears flowing down his face.
Don
eyed him slowly, then he reached out and hugged Jack, surprising him
completely with an enormous capacity for compassion and forgiveness.
.
Jack
held his breath, grateful at last to be free from his father’s
clutches—free from the nightmare of his childhood and all its
trauma. He sighed and knew now he could tell this same truth to Tina,
and she too would forgive him. He shook hands with Dan and headed
home. It felt empowering somehow to be utterly resolved to let his
wife see him for the man he truly was—a man capable of owning
up to his mistakes and earning her forgiveness and respect.
