The Perfect Weapon Ending 1 Chapter 1004: Part 3 section 3 of 3
Ending 1 Chapter 1004 Part 3 section 3 of 3
“Mine,” they said together.
Jack from memory. Sydney reading the Mine, with dark soil encrusted in the engraved letters.
Staring at it, she remembered her father telling her that Irina had said ‘moya’ in Mexico City. Mine. The connection between the two of them had been a long tether with many knots in its length, but was this ring a sense of belonging or one of possession? She wondered, wincing at her own jealousy over her father. Knowing now that hers anyway sprang from insecurity. Well, knowing that thanks to Susan making a comment about it last night as she was leaving Syd's apartment.
She rubbed her thumb along the circle of gold. Looking up slowly, she saw her father watching her. Lifting her hand up, she held out the ring. “I...found this, Dad.” Then winced, that had been an idiotic comment. “Obviously. But I don’t know, understand how---”
“I dropped it in here the night....the night I got this scar,” he pointed at his lip as he took the ring in his fingers. “The night before I had my breakdown.”
“That’s why your sneakers were muddy in the photograph. The ground here must have been damp.”
“Yes. Good catch. That’s why I asked you to wear hiking boots today, just in case.”
“Dad. Your ring says ‘Mine?’ Didn’t hers say ‘Forever and a day?’ Like in that book inscription? Was that phrase something special between you?’
“The forever and a day was. We promised to love each other forever and a day. It was a little ritual between us. I put that in her ring. To tell you the truth, I expected her to put the same inscription in my ring. But...when I saw this, I had to laugh. Then. Mine.” He shook his head. “I laughed. It was so...her.”
“What do you mean? Her?” Sydney asked, looking at her father carefully. Once again, he seemed okay, maybe slightly surprised at the discovery, but perfectly calm as they sat there in the warmth of the sun that penetrated the grove of mature trees in the area. Staring at him, she thought of that night in the car in the rain, so long ago when she had urged that they search for her mother, remembered her shock at how damaged he had been. And now look at him, she thought proudly, he had come so far. So far.
He had, she looked down at the ring, broken out of the endless cycle of fear and despair and locks without keys that had governed his life for so long. This, this was a cycle, a circle that had been broken, or rather opened to allow light and love and new choices to enter, the way life should be. She shook her head, asked again, “It was so her? What do you mean?”
“That inscription, that ‘Mine’, it was her personality. She was so...possessive. I think part of it was territoriality, part of it was her knowledge that she’d leave and I’d find - in her belief system, anyway - some other tall thin brunette to replace her. And part of it was just...her. She was naturally possessive. Sometimes it was annoying. But most of the time it was funny.” He smiled, remembering how he had occasionally teased her with that issue of hers, used it in one of their little games. Would she remember this, he asked himself, not having planned this memory, but hey, he was flexible, right? Or so, he'd told Judy and Sydney earlier today. He should prove it to himself if nothing else. Well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. “Well, let’s get planting, I’d like to get to the ocean sometime today-“
Sydney laughed suddenly. “Wait. I remember...Mom didn’t like the beach very much. Or she did, but she used to get so agitated from time to time when we went, didn’t she? She always complained about your bathing suit or something....”
“You remember that?" Jack asked in pleasant semi-surprise. "I didn't expect you to remember that."
"Well? Am I right about the bathing suit business?" Sydney smiled.
"Well....” Jack said sheepishly, looking down.
“What?” Sydney asked,
“You won’t remember this,” Jack said with a small smile, shaking his head. “But she never liked it when I didn’t have my shirt on around other---”
“You’re kidding... No, wait I remember this one time.” Sydney thought for a moment. “I remember this. This was funny. The look on her face...Her mouth hanging open, then it snapping shut as her eyes just snapped with anger. Do you remember? This one day, this woman with two kids stopped and asked you for help with-“
“A flat tire. I remember that too. Wow, did I pay for helping that woman out that day.” He sighed and smiled reminiscently then cleared his face when Sydney gave him a quizzical look.
“I remember....Mom was carping at you the whole way home, about why hadn’t you put your shirt on to change the tire....Even I could see it was so silly, she was so bent out of shape for no reason. And you, you just kept laughing and making her more and more mad.”
“Yeah. That was a riot. She could never see that I was playing her possessiveness because she was in so deep, so focused on her own reactions. But that day...” He smiled again. “She was so ridiculous. In every way. As I told her. Why would I put my shirt on just to ruin it with the dirt and grease from a tire, skin is easier to clean---” He laughed, remembering.
“But why didn’t you put your shirt on if you knew how she felt? Why didn’t you just-“
“What would be the fun in that?” Jack asked innocently, looking off toward the horizon, but Sydney could see the grin on his face nonetheless. She sighed happily. He was truly recovering those memories for himself.
“Fun? Something like your little games with Vaughn? You are a bad man,” Sydney laughed and elbowed her father. Jack shrugged and smiled. “But...I should tell you that I think he knows what you are doing with him. Maybe.”
“That’s fine, Sydney,” Jack admitted.
“It is?” Sydney squeaked. Her father kept surprising her.
“Sure. If I’ve learned nothing else, I like to think I’ve learned about the importance of honesty in intentions in relationships.” And Pretty Boy had better make his honest intentions clear soon, or he’d be too old to enjoy his grandchildren. Or Vaughn would be too dead to provide them. There, that was a good euphemism. Wasn’t it?
“So she was honestly possessive, at least on one level,” Sydney said, looking at the ring. “But... Why did you bury the ring here? You burned other things, threw them away....”
“I...felt it was appropriate. I hadn’t taken that ring off yet - even after everything, I couldn’t take it off. And I...felt so dead inside, so lost. And I just wanted it all to go away, the pain, the hurt, the feeling of inadequacy, the shame. I stood here, with Sloane of all people, propping me up to prevent me from falling over....”
“That must have been the worst night of your life,” Sydney suggested when her father stopped talking.
"’It is pointless to say that this or that night was the worst of my life. I have so many bad nights to choose from that I've made none the champion.’"
“Ah. The Life of Pi. Susan’s suggestion?” Sydney asked. Jack nodded, then nodded again as Sydney noted, “Better than Love Story, anyway.”
“Yes. Quite possibly my least favorite book in the world. I mean, honestly. That tag line-“
“I know, Dad. I know. Enough misdirection, okay?” Sydney asked gently, but with a stern glance at her father.
He gave a small smile and sighed. “So, Sloane and I stood here. And I looked at this empty grave. And thought, it wasn’t empty after all.”
“Why?”
“My...heart, my soul were here. And this---” he held the small circle up to the sunlight. “I thought, this connection, this sense of belonging should be here as well.”
“But now?”
“Now? This is the only thing that truly does belong here. I have my heart, my soul back. But this - this symbol of the connection or perhaps,” he said looking at the dirty “Mine” inscription, “Possession - no, this does belong here.” And he leaned over the hole and carefully placed the ring in the bottom of the hole. “With all of the other dead.” As he tamped the earth back down over it, he looked up at his daughter and said, “The past...providing fodder for new growth, if one is wise enough---”
“To choose the best plants, to fertilize, use pesticides when necessary, to prune and water, to pray for sun and rain...?” Sydney added. She reached for the bag with the white rose bush and opened it. “Dad...” She began hesitantly, as she pulled the plant out and handed it to him. Then using her hands, she opened the root ball and her father put it in the hole. “You seem...okay today, with everything that’s happened. But are you, really?” She held the plant in place while her father began pouring dirt and garden soil into the hole around the roots.
Sydney bent close to him, as he said, “You know....it’s odd. Memory is tricky. Especially,” he rolled his eyes, “Drunken memories. I thought I planted that ring much deeper in the ground. But I'm glad we found it to lay it to rest for good.”
“Dad...”
“I know. Sydney, it’s not going to be easy for me to share my feelings. It’s something on which I’ll have to work and I’ll always try and initially-“
“Shy away from it? I know. But I’ll wait. And if I have to wait too long-“
“You’ll push. I know. What did I feel today? Sadness at lost opportunities, lost human potential. So, was today without pain? No. But it wasn’t a sharp, slicing, fresh pain, not the kind I’ve felt for twenty years. It was more...like the dull ache of an old scar, that with time will diminish more and more. And then...one day...”
“You wake up and it’s gone, except for the memories,” Sydney noted.
“Yes. And if you’re lucky---” Jack added.
“And you make good choices.”
“You’ll have new memories,” he touched a red rose peeking over the top of the gravestone. “New memories from a new full, life.”
As Sydney finished mounding the dirt over the hole, she noted, “So much pain over this empty grave.”
“Yes.” Jack poured some mulch on the ground around the plant and they worked it into place. “And we took it with us, carried it with us, like a weight on our backs, thinking we had to support that pain forever. But...it’s time now to leave it, the pain here, where it belongs.” He stood up and wiped his hands together and Sydney did the same. “Leave it behind.”
“Time to replace the emptiness with beauty and life.” Sydney too touched the rose. “To choose life over death. To choose red over white..”
“Yes. The red. The color of those roses. The deep red of the centers which lightens as the petals grow closer to the sun. You did like working the garden. As did I,” Jack said, recalling Judy’s urging that he find a way to garden again.
Sydney took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of the roses calmly this time and nodded. “Yes, I remember. The smell of the flowers. And the soil as you aerate it, work it. The sound of you and Mom talking, me talking, Mr. Greenlaw coming over to talk about his hollyhocks. Laughing. The occasional buzz of the bees.... The heat of the sun, the sharp tart taste of that lemonade Mom always made.”
“She made great lemonade. She would keep glasses in the refrigerator to keep them chilled---”
“I remember that! And then I’d use my finger to draw a design on the glass in the moisture on the outside. I remember....Mom showing me how to make an ‘S’ on the side of the glass when I was in preschool. But real glass for you two and plastic for me. Because I was a klutz.”
“You were a child. And do you remember...” Jack reached a hand out and gently stroked the petals of a rose that bobbed in the warm breeze coming in from the ocean. “How the roses felt, soft and velvety. They always reminded me of your skin when you were a newborn,” he said softly and stroked her cheek with a gentle hand.
“Dad...you are a sweet man,” Sydney said, putting her hand on his cheek.
“No. Just honest. Even if I had to work up to this. But speaking of when you were a baby....” He dropped his hand and dug it into his front pocket. “You asked before about real moments and I told you that you were the most real moment of all, the most important moment in my life. And I want you to have this, to always remember, what you are to me. What you were to both of your parents. The most beautiful flower in our garden. A precious gift.” Putting his hand into his front pocket, he pulled something out. Looking at if for a moment, he held it out to her. “This is for you. Always was, really.”
She stepped closer. Saw a beautiful sapphire ring in a gorgeous gold setting. Taking it carefully from her father, she looked at it more closely, saw the inscription inside and swallowed hard. “Tell me about this ring, Dad. Please.”
“I gave this ring to your mother after you were born. Like newborns do, you had blue eyes and we knew, of course, that odds were you’d end up with brown eyes like both of us. But...I wanted to give her jewelry, as always...”
He paused, saw her thinking, but she shook her head, saying, “I don’t remember her wearing this piece.” Exactly, he thought, that is why it was safe to start giving her the jewelry with this piece that had no connotations beyond what memory they created together today.
“No. She didn’t wear it very often. She said it was too expensive, she was afraid of losing it. But I...think she felt guilty about it. About you. Not that Laura didn’t want you. She did, as I said before. I’ll keep saying it. You can ask her too.”
“She told you that?”
“Yes. And I believe it,” he said firmly. “But this ring,” he continued to draw her attention back to something tangible, real, something that would last forever, his feelings for his daughter. “I had it made, designed it because I wanted to remember that moment myself, when I looked into your little face, your eyes for the first time, and you looked at me. Those blue eyes, that moment...” he said softly, lightly touching the glistening sapphire in her hand. “I want you to have it. It’s yours.”
“I...thank you, Daddy,” Sydney said, staring at it. “It is beautiful. I’ve never had anything like this before.”
“You can put it on right now if you want. I had it sized for the ring finger on your right hand.” Because Pretty Boy had better be putting a ring on that left hand one day soon. A good ring. A rock, in fact.
“It is awfully expensive. And it means so much. I don’t know-“ She said, worrying her lip. "What if I lost it? I’d never forgive myself. You saved it for me all these years."
“Sydney,” Jack shook his head. “As much as I enjoy designing it, giving it, jewelry is just a thing. It’s meant to be worn, enjoyed, lived with. Meant to be beautiful but to please us is the reason why it exists-“
“A thing of beauty is a joy forever?”
“Keats. Ode to a Grecian Urn. Yes, but this jewelry, however beautiful it is, however expensive it is in monetary terms, is at best a symbol. You can, if you choose, always have the sentiment, the real emotion, even if you don’t have the object. Wear it, enjoy it. And if you lose it tomorrow, at least you had one day of happiness with it, which is much better than having it spend eternity in a box never seeing the light of day.”
“How did you know my ring size?” Sydney asked absently, staring at the inscription again.
“I asked someone in the wardrobe department where your sizes are on file for mission costumes,” Jack admitted with a wry smile.
“No substitute....”
“There is no substitute for the truth in this ring, Sydney. The inscription, that tells you that aside from everything else that has passed, I am grateful to Laura for giving me you.”
Sydney nodded, reading aloud from the band, “Thank you for Sydney. Always.” Then on the back side of the stone, on the wide flat base setting, a new inscription. “Beyond forever is always.” Putting the ring between the thumb and forefinger of her left hand she tried to slip it on her right, but her hands were trembling.
Tenderly, Jack took it from her and when she nodded, he slipped it on her finger, determined to give her something positive this day, something that was new and fresh built on the ashes of the old, “This ring....is a circle, endless like the love I have for you, my daughter.”
“I love you too, Dad. So much. Don’t ever forget the way I did, ‘kay?” Sydney asked, burying her face in her father’s neck as she hugged him tightly.
“I won’t. You are my most precious gift in this life. My...bit of grace. Or perhaps my reward then and now for finding faith.”
“You said before that you didn’t understand how I had the grace to forgive you. But what about you forgiving yourself?”
“That will take a long time. I...Sydney. It’s like I said that time you jumped off the roof. When you do something wrong, you deserve to feel bad about it for a while. And even though it wasn’t my choice, still I hurt you. And I feel guilty. And I should. Besides, I can use that guilt.”
“Okay, I give up,” Sydney sighed. “What’s the advantage of allowing yourself to feel guilt?”
“It will remind me to not withdraw again, no matter what may happen. Remind me to.. always reach out to others rather than hiding away.”
“Because, for both of us, that’s easier sometimes, isn’t it? Short term,” she noted. “But not long term. Just as not forgiving yourself forever is not a good idea. Not a good idea to carry that guilt around forever you know---”
“Yes. But I won’t wallow in it. Guilt.”
“You promise?”
“Yes, I promise. But I need to use it as a reminder.”
“Okay, I’ll let it go as long as that’s how you use it. For positive results only.”
“You’ll let it go?” Jack asked with a smile. “I’m so lucky. Pinch me.”
“Sh- Oh, be quiet. I’ll let it go for now. But if I catch you whining or carrying on like a...petulant child, then we’ll be having another conversation and it won’t be pretty.”
“Oh? What will you do?” Jack challenged her, but with a smile.
“Start talking about sex,” she snapped out, crossing her arms over her chest with a triumphant air. “It bothers you a lot more than it bothers me.” Or so she’d keep telling herself, anyway.
Jack stared at her. “Okay, you win! That kind of negative reinforcement trumps any wallowing tendencies I might have.”
“Good. Don’t forget it.”
“Let’s start picking up,” Jack suggested. They both bent down and began packing up the tools and bags.
Turning back to the gravesite, Jack took Sydney’s hand and walked forward. He still had one more memory he wanted her to own today. Just get it over with.
Sydney noted, “These roses are going to look lovely. This was a wonderful idea. And you seem to enjoy being out here, digging in the dirt, like we did before?”
“Yes. I enjoyed it. Maybe....”
“Maybe you should buy a house with a yard that you can rip up and plant a garden.”
“That’s what I was thinking.”
“Marshall can design you a security system.”
“I’m more worried about Japanese beetles. But I think I do want a garden. Judy suggested it--”
“Does it ever irritate you, how often she’s right?” Sydney asked curiously.
“Does it irritate me?" Jack rolled his eyes. "You might say. But her secret is---”
“What?”
“She pays attention. That’s what a good psychologist does.”
“And a good friend,” Sydney agreed.
“Yes. But... I did enjoy gardening for many reasons. It’s creative, challenging. But, it’s also cathartic, digging in the dirt. Digging with the trowel, as I used to, pretending it was my idiot of a supervisor---”
“Now you can pretend it’s Kendall. Can I help?”
“I’d...like that, if you want...”
“Buy a house, Dad," Sydney suggested firmly. "Plant a garden.”
“Sounds like a good idea to me, Mr. Bristow,” a voice came from behind them. “Maybe then you’ll stop giving me free advice on the plantings here.”
Jack turned around and brushed off his hands. Shaking hands with the older man, he said, “Good to see you, Frank. Thanks for meeting me here today.”
“Not a problem. Who’s this?” Frank asked, as he held onto a small pack.
“My daughter, Sydney,” Jack said proudly.
“Thought so,” Frank nodded looking from father to daughter.
“Sydney, this is Frank, the head groundsman here. He’s been here since---”
“Since even before your mother died. I’ve seen you here, Miss, from time to time. But this is the first time I’ve seen you two here together since you were a little girl.”
“Yes,” they said together.
“I saw you two drive in. You’ve been out here a while and it’s a hot day. So I brought you two some sodas from the office,” Frank said, as he bent down and opened his pack.
Jack whispered, “Soda? Do you think he’s related to Vaughn somehow?” Sydney giggled and thanked Frank as they each took a soda and opened it.
“So, what’s up?” Frank asked, as the two greedily gulped down the cold sodas. “What are you two doing with those roses today?”
“They’re rambler roses, Frank. Over time, they’ll cover the stone and move forward across the bed of the grave. Low maintenance, but lots of color.”
The gardener nodded. “Good idea to use these beautiful roses to fill in over an empty grave. It’s a shame, Mr. Bristow, that you could never recover your wife. Her remains.”
“Yes, I wish we could have recovered her,” Jack said calmly, as he put the half-empty soda can down on the ground.
“Seems unfair, always does,” Frank commented.
Jack merely said quietly, “Yes, it is. But life isn’t always fair, is it? As I told you on the phone, I wanted to talk to you about amending the maintenance contract to pay for pruning and care of the roses, so that--”
“So that you don’t have to come out here and do it yourself? You’ve come out here for twenty years. It’s past time to move on, if you don’t mind my saying.”
“I’m growing accustomed to it lately,” Jack said with a wry grin. “Everyone’s happy to give me advice, it seems.”
“That’s what friends and family are for, seems to me. Care for us enough to poke and prod us to do what we don’t want to, but need to do, often. There’s enough time...” Frank said with a wave of his hand encompassing the graves surrounding them. “There’s more than enough time to be alone later when you’re boxed up in here.”
“True,” Jack said softly.
Frank pulled a sheaf of paper out of his pack, handed Jack a set of contracts and a pen. Leaning over the gravestone, Jack signed and handed the items back. Sydney took another long drink from her can of soda and gave Frank a careful look as the two men chatted casually about the type of roses her father had chosen.
“Frank,” Sydney began, getting an idea. “My father used to love gardening. If he buys a house and wants to make a garden, what should be his first step?”
“Well, I’d advise getting a bunch of books, visiting some gardens to decide which type of garden you want. Formal, informal, cottage. Monochromatic, pastel, bright colors. Low maintenance, lots of pruning, lots of annuals, lots of perennials. Whew,” Frank said, taking off his cap, “It’s hot today. But...with a garden, there are so many options. It’s best to take your time and investigate all the possibilities so you know you’re leaving no stone unturned.” He grinned.
“Very amusing, Frank,” Jack said. Tilting his head at his daughter, he said, “Graveyard humor. It’s deadly.”
“Ohhh, Dad. That was terrible. But, so, Frank, do you garden in your spare time or are you sick of caring for the plantings here by the time you get home?” Sydney asked, ignoring the crease on her father’s forehead as he gave her a suspicious look.
“Oh, no. I never tire of it. I just wish my wife shared my interest. I’m always trying to get her to go to the nurseries with me on weekends, but....” He shrugged.
“Maybe one time my father could go with you or to visit a botanical garden for ideas?” Sydney asked, making her eyes big. “For when he’s planning his own garden.”
“Why, sure, that would be great, Mr. Bristow.”
“Call me Jack,” he said blandly. That tone of voice made Sydney wince internally. She’d be in for it later. But...this was too much fun to pass up. And it was for a good cause. So, a doubleplay. Ha.
“Jack. I’d love to have someone go with me to debate endlessly over which type of plant is best for which type of soil. Just give me a call when you get that house. You know where I am. Speaking of which, come up to the office when you’re done. I’ll give you a copy of this paperwork,” Frank said, holding up the contract in his hand. “And you two can use the facilities before you head out. Wash up for lunch. It’ll be time by then. Past time, actually.”
“Thank you, Frank. See you then,” Jack said evenly, although his eyes narrowed as he swivelled to look at his daughter.
“Bye, Frank! Nice to meet you!” Sydney called out cheerfully, waving. Hee, this was fun.
“Did you---” Her father said again in that bland voice that could set anyone’s teeth on edge. But Sydney, no, not her, she just laughed, he thought, grinding his teeth together as he asked. “Did you just set me up on...a play date?”
“Gotcha!” Sydney called out smugly. “Ha! Turn about is fair play, Dad.” She laughed at the look he slanted at her. “It is a lot of fun to meddle, isn’t it? I believe I’m going to enjoy this game.”
He rolled his eyes, while he thought about the best way to broach the topic that was on his mind. How best to access her memories? Would she- He spoke up. “You’re turning into quite the gamesplayer yourself, aren’t you? I mean, you’ve had quite the success rate today, trapping me today, haven’t you?”
He sighed with relief when he practically heard the click in her brain.
“But Dad, did I really trap you with the logic on the roof? Or were you just playing along? Tell me the truth. No more of that ‘no comment’ business.”
“Yes. You did trap me,” Jack said firmly.
“I did?” Sydney said incredulously. “How? It was so obvious, I had to control myself from laughing aloud.”
“How? Easy. I was blinded, blinded by my guilt and could not see.”
“Like you were lost in your relationships with others and now you’re found? Like we talked about on the roof as well?” Sydney asked, her eyes looking inward as she felt something, something just beyond the grasp of her touch. No, her hearing, she corrected internally, as she stared at the grave site, suddenly seeing the trees looking smaller, the stone looking new and....
“Yes, something like that....” He looked at her carefully, wondering if she would remember. Sydney stared hard at the gravestone, then back at him, then back at the empty grave. Silently, she slid her hand inside his and squeezed once. He squeezed back.
“Dad....Mom’s memorial service. I stood next to you. You held my hand,” Sydney said softly.
“No, I believe you held mine,” Jack said quietly.
“Maybe....we held each other up?”
Jack nodded. “Yes. The way it should have been.” He smiled down at her. “And it was holding your hand that prevented me from losing control completely that day, that and Dave’s hand on my shoulder, squeezing me so hard. Both of you, your hands gave me something to concentrate on. And I remember Dave nearly cutting off my circulation with that hand of his when-“
“You were mad at some man, I remember....feeling anger from you.”
“My idiot of a supervisor.”
“The guy you pretended you were digging with the trowel?”
“Him. Jerk. Why he had to come to the service, I’ll never know. He made some comment about seeing me back at work the next day. And I basically told him he’d see me when he saw me, that I needed to stay home with you for a while.”
“And he said something about how I - a six year old - needed to toughen up. You’re right. A jerk,” Sydney spat the word out.
“Yes. Asshole.”
Sydney asked her father, looking at him, knowing him. Payback was a bitch when you were on Jack Bristow’s bad side. She asked eagerly, “Whatever happened to him?”
“I broke his nose for him.”
Sydney burst out laughing. “You did? When?”
“After the truth came out. He made some, shall we say, inappropriate comment about me and your mother. I decided he’d look better with a crook in his nose." Jack grinned. "So, I punched him. Hard. In the nose. He bled a lot. It was good.” He sighed happily in remembrance. “Very good. One of those moments in life you can always remember fondly. The sight of the blood gushing out of his nose is one of them. Perfection.”
Sydney nodded. “It is satisfying, sometimes, to just...pop someone, isn’t it?”
“That’s my girl,” Jack said, smiling at her, giving her hand a squeeze.
Sydney leaned up suddenly and kissed his cheek, feeling, sensing some other memory.... “That memorial service... I know why I forgot that. So much pain that day. For you, for me.”
“Yes?” Jack said quizzically.
“It was almost...like being blinded by pain. Like you said you were blinded by guilt. By your illness, by that curtain in front of you. Blinded, lost.” Sydney noted absently. Or rather, apparently absently. To anyone else it might have seemed a nonsequitur, but Jack understood immediately and breathed a sigh of relief.
“Yes, I was blind and could not see. Blinded by guilt.”
“We sang that song, that hymn, at the memorial service, didn’t we?” She frowned, trying to remember. “But...maybe we - you and I - didn’t sing?”
“No. I couldn’t sing. The words choked me. I...lacked faith. I thought I had been deserted. That the love I had always wanted had been ripped from me in some... form of punishment for the coldness I had always felt within me. I couldn’t feel anything but loss and coldness then. I couldn’t truly feel you. Or our friends around us. I couldn’t truly feel Dave, his hand on my back, my shoulder throughout most of that service.”
“Of course you couldn’t, Dad. You were in shock. We both were.,“ Sydney said, still holding her father's hand.
“You’re right, of course.”
“I’m right? Quick. Let’s mark it down on the calendar. My father admits that I am right about something?”
“You have your moments,” Jack said with a smile.
“But that moment....Neither of us sang the song, did we? I can remember it though, standing here hearing the voices around us...It felt like-“
“Like what?” Jack asked curiously, wondering how she remembered it.
“I remember now... I heard Dave’s voice, Emily’s voice - they were close to us. All those voices singing that song, it was like a blanket covering us. But maybe one we couldn’t pull up to our chins on our own? That was a gift from our friends that day, trying to comfort us, warm us. When we could not do it ourselves.”
“That’s a good way to think about it. I’ve thought about it too, recently, that moment. That I had lost and now I’ve found the faith, hope, love, the gifts of grace that flow from them like water from a hidden spring. But that day, it was... My throat hurt too much. It was so dry, every time I tried to swallow, to speak, I could not. I wanted to sing. I did. But even though that had always been my favorite...I couldn’t. It hurt too much.”
“But you picked it out, right?”
“Yes, because I was trying to close a circle. Like with that inscription.”
“Byron? I always wondered about that.”
“That poem from the night I proposed, that night I also told her how I felt, she told me how she felt... And I felt that loving her had opened my eyes to a different world, as if I had been blind to life before. That I had been lost, searching, but now had found what I needed, wanted. Found my home in her heart. I remembered thinking of that song that night, being so very grateful. So...it seemed like a good way to say goodbye. But...”
“But, then when we stood here at this empty grave...” Sydney prompted softly, remembering looking up at her father from a much-lower vantage point than today.
Remembered seeing his throat swallow over and over, convulsively, realizing with the wisdom children possess that her father was trying not to cry. Remembered automatically reaching her arms up to him and when he picked her up, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding on tight, burying her face in the warmth of his neck, kissing his skin above the collar of his white shirt and black suit, hoping that would help the hurt she knew sat like a hard ball in the back of his throat as it did in hers.
Today, she stepped in front of him and took his hands and squeezed them.
He said softly, meeting her eyes calmly, as he explained, “Then when the time came, I couldn’t sing. And too, it was so final, that song, that piece of symmetry. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye.”
“That’s why we are here. Because neither of us was ready then to say goodbye to Laura Bristow. But now it’s time. That’s why you brought me here today. To say a real goodbye. To do what we could not do then.”
“Yes. To close this circle,” Jack said softly, looking at the grave, then back at his daughter.
TBC at Chapter 1004 Part 4