Jack Who?

CHAPTER 15

     “So how about you? What do you want?” Jack questioned.

     “Oh, thanks, but I don’t want anything,” she assured and a warm glow radiated to every cell because he had asked. Silly, but it happened.

     “Yes you do,” he argued like a big brother, best friend, or…a boyfriend.

     “I don’t. Really.”

     “Did you eat today?” The mindful question completed the devoted feeling.

     “I ate.” In answering, she reassured him that on this floor, an extra food tray for the parent accompanied the patient’s tray.

     Jack stubbornly insisted on getting a food preference from her and even threatened he would pick at random from the menu if she didn’t choose.

     “Besides, how will it look if I come walking in with Tristan and me something and not you?” he teased.

     “Alright, alright!” Relenting, she blocked out the carbs and calories and requested a slush latte. Only once or twice had she ever allowed herself this treat, so she did not know the specific flavors. Before he could ask, she went on, “Surprise me.”

     Tristan said nothing when she disconnected but continuously studied her similar to the way he would around Christmastime, or his birthday, when she came home and sneaked straight to her room to hide presents.

     Nervously, she fiddled with her day old hair in the mirror.

     This morning, she had showered in the room’s tiny connecting bathroom and changed into jeans with a comfortable pullover shirt. Now, she took in her appearance, wishing she had packed with the foreknowledge of Jack making this trip.

     Easing beside Tristan’s tiny form, she settled on the bed to wait, her mind reeling with the odds and ends she needed to do this week, and as always today’s recollection…

     …Jack’s kiss…

     The slight rap on the door yanked her from this reverie. She looked down, seeing that Tristan was dozing again. Jumping up, she pulled open the door and gave herself over to the familiar flutter in her stomach when Jack’s dark eyes hit her face.

     Both disappointment and relief crossed his face when he observed Tristan sleeping. Handing off her frozen drink, he set the other on the stand at the side of the bed and eyed the stuffed animals at the footboard. Finally, his gaze moved back over Tristan’s sleeping face and tenderness filled his eyes.

     Initially, seeing the natural paternal instinct in Jack’s expression swelled her heart, then like before, abrupt fear constricted her insides.

     Suddenly, she was wishing Tristan were not such a perfect miniature of his father, as if that would stop some of the closeness Jack already felt. A good mother would have robbed a bank for the money, not risked custody.

     “What’s wrong?” Jack wondered, concern weighing his words.

     Immediately jumping to the conclusion that her consternation related to their son, he asked about the doctor’s earlier visit. Forcing a smile, she related the positive things Dr. Millosky had to say during his examination this morning. Tristan would only be hospitalized a couple more days, and once they were home, a physical therapist would come to work with him three times a week.

     “Is he the one, Momma?”

     Both of their gazes whipped to Tristan, and obviously wondering what Tristan was speaking of, Jack spared a quick glance to her.