Page 98 of Bursting With Love
“No. I guess you wouldn’t. When your mother came back inside, she didn’t say a word. She didn’t have to. The light in her eyes was gone. When I saw what you had done, I was livid. I knew your mother was devastated to have lost the clay she relied on, and I knew the idea of her hard work in the garden being for naught was even worse, because she’d grown them for us. For you kids. I laid into you, Jack. As I believed I should. I told you how irresponsible you were being, and I made you work for the next month doing anything your mother asked—in the garden and in her studio.”
Jack shook his head. “Dad, I don’t even remember that.”
“Maybe not, but I remember every second of it. You said you hated me, and I thought”—he raised his eyebrows and smiled—“that’s okay, because you’ll learn from it and it’ll make you a better, more responsible man.”
“Dad, how does this have anything to do with what’s going on now?” Jack leaned forward, trying to understand.
“Because I remember that like it was yesterday. And I did more of that, pushing, instilling harshness upon you, trying to strengthen your resolve and make you understand the importance of being a responsible man. Jack, you were my first child. I had no experiences to fall back on or learn from. I know now that kids do silly things all the time, and I know you didn’t make that sculpture out of anything other than a child’s curiosity or wanting to do something you thought your mother might be proud of, and I’m sorry for pushing you so hard.” He looked away and clenched his jaw, and when he looked back, his eyes were damp. He blinked away the dampness, and Jack lowered his eyes, ashamed to see his father as a weaker man. No. He raised his eyes and met his father gaze. You’re not weak at all. You’re human.
“Jack, when you turned your back on your family and on everyone, I took that as a personal affront. I saw it as my fault, because I taught you how to be a man. And the only way I could diffuse my own guilt was to thrust that guilt back on you.”
Jack swallowed past the growing lump in his throat. He sat back and clutched the armrests of the chair, not out of anger, but as a way to gain control of the emotions that were seeping out of his heart and swelling his chest, working their way out of every pore of his body and threatening to tear him apart.
“You’re more of a man than I could ever be, Jackson, and I’m here to tell you that I’m sorry for how I treated you and for how I raised you. I’m ashamed of the way I thrust on you the things my father thrust on me.”
All the air in the room dissipated. Jack could only stare at the man he’d looked up to and disliked all at once. He couldn’t think about the words he’d said or the way his eyes reached for forgiveness. He could only rise to his feet, cross the floor, and embrace him. His father’s large hand pressed against his back, and at that very second, Jack was sure he heard his mother’s voice whispering, He’s a good man, Jack. Just like you.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
SAVANNAH PACED THE bedroom floor, dying to know what was going on out in the living room. She hadn’t heard any yelling and assumed that had to be a good sign. She jumped to her feet when the bedroom door cracked open.
“Hi, angel,” Jack whispered.
The concerned look on Jack’s face and the way every muscle in his body tightened had her thinking the worst. She ran into his arms. “Are you okay? You’re shaking. What happened?”
“I’ll explain it all tonight, but first, there’s something I want to do. Would you be okay if we stayed at my house tonight?”
“Your house? What about—” Her mind spun in fifteen directions, and she couldn’t hold on to any coherent thoughts.
He pressed his finger to her lips. “Please?”
“Yes, yes, of course. Jack, I’m happy to do anything you need or want.” She pulled a bag from her closet and began packing clothes for the night.
“There’s something I need to do, and I want you and my father there.”
Savannah stilled. “Is your dad still here?”
Jack nodded. “He’s going to follow us out.”
“Jack, you’re worrying me. What’s going on?” She tried to read his expression, but it hovered someplace between happy and scared, and again, she felt lost.
“We’re moving forward.”
Chapter Forty
THEY’D BEEN DRIVING for more than an hour, and Savannah had been a good sport about riding on his motorcycle, though he’d have liked to have had a safer vehicle to share with her. Just another thing on my “New Life List.” He was thankful for the motorcycle on one level, though. He’d had enough time to think on the way over to know he was doing the right thing, and he hoped that Savannah would think so, too.
