Officer Jones

Chapter 27

I stood as inconspicuously as possible amongst a crowd cheering two fat guys participating in the annual pie-eating contest. It was enough to make me never want to eat again.

After Ethan’s stinging words, I had a sudden urge to find my mother so she could work her magic to ease my guilt. I pulled my baseball cap down as far as I could and slipped out of the crowd. I hobbled down a grass corridor between the exhibit tents. And then time froze.

I couldn’t help but stare at the raven-haired beauty in the distance. I was paralyzed by a tornado of swirling emotions. History would record our relationship as a complex mix of pure greatness at the highest level and the relentless cloud of what might have been. It was similar to the way my father used to describe Mickey Mantle.

Gwen didn’t seem to be afflicted with the same inner turmoil, and began casually strolling toward me. I didn’t notice a twitch of hesitation, nor did I sense that this was a life-altering moment for her.

I never wanted to see someone as much and as little at the same time. Her long legs were covered by a knee-length plaid skirt and high black boots, which were more fairground-appropriate than Lauren’s heels. Physically, she looked similar to the last time I saw her, but this Gwen carried an aura of sophistication.

A camera hung around her neck, and bounced up and down as she approached-like my heart palpitations. My knees weakened, forcing me to lean on my cane for support.

“JP, I heard you were in town. It’s good to see you in one piece after what you went though,” she greeted me affably, and offered me a handshake like we were business colleagues.

I just stared at her. I had thought about this moment for a long time, but never really prepared what I’d actually say. In the daydreams the conversation depended upon my mood. Sometimes I would call her every name in the book for moving on without me. Other times we would rush into each other’s arms and declare that true love really is forever.

I knew touching her hand would be a mistake, so I didn’t. “It’s been a long time,” was all I could manage to say.

“Yeah, it’s been a while. It must be a few years now.”

Must be a few years? The words ripped at me. Her casualness in the wake of such a historic event-our last meeting, well over a decade ago now-was like a knife to my lungs. Could she possibly not have our last meeting burned in her mind, as I had?

We started making chitchat about mundane subjects. This didn’t add up, as in no reunion fantasy of mine was it ever blase. And as the shock of our sudden meeting began to wear off, I started to grow irritated. I searched for any clue that she carried the same devastating scar from our relationship, but found none.

As we continued beating the humdrum, she caught me staring at her ring finger.

“Stephen and I got divorced two years ago, to answer your question,” she said.

Just the mention of his name brought out my inner J-News. “I never know whether to give condolences or congratulations when people get divorced.”

“It was a tough time for both of us. Everyone goes into marriage thinking it will last forever,” she replied, matter of fact.

It shouldn’t have been that tough. In fact, it should have been the easiest decision she ever made … since she was supposed to still be in love with me. I never let myself think that she actually loved the guy, or dreamt of spending her life with him. I’d convinced myself that she’d married him out of spite or youthful naivete, and she eventually realized where her heart stood on the issue. Maybe it would have been best to never see her again and maintain my delusions. But it was too late for that, and I could no longer hold back.

“I’m relieved it was just divorce. I thought he might have died of old age. What was he like, a hundred when you married him?”

Her face turned beet-red-I had hit a nerve.

“The guy I dated before Stephen was an immature child, so it was nice to be with a grownup, no matter how it ended,” she said, her eyes wandering to my cane. “By the looks of it, the more things change the more they stay the same.”

The small dash of anger provided me the hope I needed to continue on. I knew, or at least hoped, that there was no way our epic tale could end with handshakes and bland discussion of the weather. I needed there to be an emotional connection, even if it came in the form of hatred or regret.

I followed Gwen’s eyes-still a radiant green-to my cane. My stare appeared to make her uncomfortable. She looked away as she spoke, an edge in her voice, “It was good to see you again, JP. I assume you’re just on a stopover between exotic countries. So have a safe trip.”

I continued staring at her. I couldn’t stop.

“What?” she finally asked with irritation.

I said nothing. I couldn’t.

“Shouldn’t you be getting back to that news model who has set journalism back a couple of centuries? I think she’s still trolling around somewhere in her supermodel heels.”

My smile came to life. “How did you know Lauren was here today?”

Gwen was suddenly flustered, but recovered nicely. “I’m a journalist, remember? You know, like you used to be.”

“Used to be?”

“Yeah, back in college before you became a bad example of reality TV.”

Reality TV was a low blow. Our relationship had officially hit rock bottom.

“You mean that same ‘back in college’ time right before you kicked me to the curb, and ran off and married Grandpa Warbucks.”

She crossed her arms around her chest like the temperature had suddenly dropped fifty degrees. I remembered it as her trademark move when we fought. “Oh please, you were the one who needed to go off and see the world. You can try to write history all you want, JP, but it’ll never change the outcome.”

The cards were now on the table. I ran off to parts unknown and shut her out of my life. Gwen married someone else. But as much as I might want to rewrite a better ending, she was correct about one thing-it wouldn’t change anything.

“Just tell me something, Gwen.”

“And that is?”

“When those terrorists took me hostage, were you rooting for me or them?”

“Knowing you, JP, you probably staged the whole thing for a publicity stunt. Are you sure you even need that cane?”

She kicked the cane away with her boot, causing me to helplessly fall to the ground. The cane scattered to my right and my baseball cap flew off. A new rock bottom had been established.

She immediately knew she’d stepped over the line. She likely wanted to get things off her chest, not commit assault and battery. And she was sharp enough to realize that it wasn’t a smart move to beat up a handicapped American hero in a public place. Small town gossip could be relentless.

I remained on the ground, playing the empathy card to the hilt. Nothing else was working. Gwen gathered my cap and cane, and reached down to help me up, which I stubbornly refused.

I rolled onto my strong side and maneuvered to a kneeling position, before pushing myself to my feet. I begrudgingly accepted the cap and cane without as much as a thank you.

After dusting myself off, I said, “One of my best friends was paralyzed, and our guide was killed on that so-called publicity stunt.”

“I’m sorry, JP … I didn’t know … I was totally out of line.”

This time I accepted her apology, but wasn’t ready to talk about Byron. I had become an expert at holding stuff in to let it boil and fester. I called it intestinal fortitude, while Christina referred to it as the first warning sign of my inevitable stroke. So I did what I do so well-I changed the subject.

“It’s good to know I still bring out the best in you,” I said, testing the rough waters with a grin.

That’s when I noticed a slight smile escape from Gwen’s lips. It was the smile I had longed to see for all those years.