Write Your Own Song

Chapter 30

The door swung open and Jack's hand froze, the fork poised right in front of his open, waiting mouth. Evelyn was on the other side, wearing a pink bathrobe over her nightgown, a frown on her face and baseball bat in her hand.

"Jackie?" She looked confused and he gulped, feeling guilty for obviously waking her up and probably scaring the shit out of her.

"Ma." He gave a weak, half-assed grin, like it wasn't strange for him to be in her kitchen in the middle of the night.

"What are you doing here?"

He shoveled the pie into his mouth, not letting the awkwardness get in the way of food. "I was um … hungry," he said through the mouthful.

"Hungry?"

"Yeah. For your apple pie." He took another bite to demonstrate, raising the fork in a salute.

She arched an eyebrow. "They don't have apple pie in New York?"

"Not your apple pie."

Evelyn sighed. "Honey, that's Mrs. Smith's."

"Really? She a new a neighbor or something?"

Without another word, she went to the refrigerator and pulled out the milk and eggs. Shuffling about the kitchen, she grabbed a bowl and flour and a few other things, reaching over him to get to the cabinet that held the measuring cup. He ducked to make it easier. "Um …" he started.

"I don't have apples," she said and he squinted, confused.

"Okay."

"Chocolate cake okay with you?"

He grinned, suddenly understanding what she was getting at. "Chocolate cake would be awesome."

She measured out the flour. "In exchange for the cake, you're going to tell me what you're doing in my kitchen at two o'clock in the morning, hundreds of miles from where you should be."

He looked down, tracing that crack that ran through the counter top, a scar from that time Bobby tried to open a can of baked beans with a sledge hammer. It was a bet. Bobby won.

He didn't want to unload his problems and worries on his mother – the fact that the band wasn't doing shit-all when it came to becoming famous; the fact that he sucked at keeping a steady job and was having trouble making his half of the rent each month; the fact that drunken, stoned one night stands were becoming so frequent that he was afraid he was losing a part of himself with each faceless girl; the fact that he was so homesick his chest ached at night when everything was silent and he only had the dark and his thoughts to keep him company. He was like that crack in the counter, only it was getting wider and deeper and he didn't know how to make it stop.

Evelyn obviously knew he was having one of his inner monologue moments and she walked over to him. A gentle but forceful hand on his shoulder made him turn to face her. She smoothed his ragged hair back from his forehead. "Oh, Jackie," she said softly and suddenly he was a twelve-year-old kid again and she was comforting him over some "my world is ending" bullshit that was ruining his life.

"I miss you," he admitted, wishing for all the world that life's problems could be solved with chocolate cake.

She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek, rubbing his back like she used to do when he had nightmares. "I miss you too, sweetheart."

XxXxXxXxXx

Jack fidgeted with the rosary he'd wrapped around his hand. The nurse let him hold onto it when they wheeled him into the emergency room, probably taking one look at him and figuring he could use a Hail Mary or two.