Leaping (6 page)

Chapter
9

The
thing that made something true…was proving it to you…again and again…and again…until
you knew.

It
took work…seeing…searching…facing…challenging…admitting. It took effort.
Courage.
Commitment.

He
knew that. Behind him she was in the house cooking their breakfast.

He'd
wanted to do this, to help, and he'd seen her…in that way…like God grabbed his
face and made him pay attention…he'd seen her, her hands graceful, her arms
willowy, her heavy hair piled and pinned carelessly on her small lovely head….

She
wanted to be with him…wanted to take care of him in a way that made every idea of
serving…well she knew more about it than he ever could.

He'd
opened himself, or been opened…and he felt her sorrow…its depth…and he'd gotten
overwhelmed. She was just poaching eggs. But she'd come to him…holding nothing
back…making it true.

Well
the cork was out of the bottle, the plug out of the drain, and the great
whirling vortex had been created, the vapors of freedom were rising…the new
baby lying screaming in the bassinet…he was feeling.

He
went for wood then, so they could keep the fire going, so he would have a job,
an excuse to turn his back on her, to hide what he knew…what he didn't.

She
was setting the plates, food on them. She smiled at him. She'd taken care of
them, her men, he could see that. The ex-Weston…Jordan needed more information.

She
smiled and he went to the fireplace and piled the wood and poked around like it
took a Ph. D. to figure it out. Then he stood and wiped his hands on his jeans
and turned to face her and she waited, seated now, and he went and sat across.

Normally
he'd pray, and she gave him time, but he tucked in. "I like my eggs this
way," he said, but they'd already established that.

"When
you look at the ocean," she said, toast in her hand, "I see it
differently."

"What
do you mean?"

"You
have a way…you observe…it's in your body. You make me look…question…."

She
seemed to run out of words and shrugged and took a bite of her bread. She was
embarrassed.

Why
was it like this now? Why did it feel new when they'd shared…everything?

She
had stood with him in the ocean hours before….

"You should be in
my head when I look at you," he said.

She
was so
thrown,
he regretted blurting something so
ridiculous. There was no taking it back so he ate.

"Would
I see myself differently?" she asked, stuck there, and he realized she
didn't have appetite.

"I
guess that's the thing with…," he gestured between them. "Two
people…you live in your head and then someone else…well you get pulled out…see
yourself…hear yourself…I don't know."

"No
one…you say things…in a beautiful way," she said.

He
didn't think so. He didn't know. "You're…you're beautiful," he said,
trying to keep it light, but of course, it fell like lead.

She
grinned at him…like he flipped her switch. He wasn't going for that…but
damn…she was beautiful.

"You
can't just say that," she laughed.

He
shrugged like it was no big deal.
"Why not?
It's
true.
Surely someone…your ex-husband?"
Oh, smooth
segue-way, he thought. Now she'd think he was manipulating her.

"No,"
she whispered. "No you don't."

"What?"

"You
think I'm beautiful. Don't bring him into this. This is us…remember?"

Oh
boy. It was getting way too complicated.

"I
think you're beautiful. To me, like Joe Cocker said.
Yeah…to
me.
But the rest of the world isn't blind…is it? Surely I'm not the only
one to ever tell you that. What about your mirror?"
Over
talking here.

"Then
I'd have to find myself…beautiful. And I don't. I never have. Beauty is…in the
eye of the beholder. It's the beholder…you. You think this about me? It's all
that matters." She took a drink of her coffee now. She had flushed a deep
red. Yeah, she was beautiful. No question.
Truth.

"Beautiful,"
he repeated and smiled, god he needed to get off it, he was being…romantic.
Wasn't he? He'd been trying to make it more topical, but she wasn't a fool. She
knew things. The beauty wasn't one-dimensional. She had it on all fronts.
The Joe Cocker song?
That was the damn point. Shit.
"And these poached eggs are perfect. No easy thing," he said sounding
like a monkey's butthole.

"Yeah,"
she laughed a little. "Seth…," she stopped, as though she'd said the
wrong thing, eyes searching again.

"You
can talk about him," Jordan said. He felt like a son of a bitch having to
give her permission. "Cori…you can talk about them." He thought he'd
include her father while he was at it.

"It's
just…that's not what…I didn't want you to think…. I don't know. I can't say I
didn't want to talk about them with you. I can't say that." Her hands were
on her lap now.

He
reached across the table and held his palm up. She was quick to slip her hand
in his, to hold it with both hands.

"Seth
was already shot when you tackled James. But do you know he had a sense
of…being saved? Somewhere in there…he had a sense of it."

Jordan
didn't know that.

"And
the boys…I've heard it described…how you stopped him."

Jordan
kept looking at their hands. His were so much larger than hers, but he used
both of his now to smooth over her palms to feel how tough hers were, how
hardened from work.

"Cori," he
said, taking on her eyes now, their beauty, their favor, "an ordinary
person can do something…heroic. I'm just…a very flawed man who did…an obvious
thing that had to be done."

"The
true measure of a man shows in adversity."

"Maybe…inside
the broken-self there are moments of…getting it so
right
you seem to be more…than you normally are. Sure. But…it would be grossly unfair
to forget we're still talking about a human being. Me."

"You're
afraid of it?
Of being…wonderful?
Like
I'm afraid of being…beautiful?"

"No,"
he said quickly. Then he laughed. "I'm not…
believe
me I'm not…wonder…." He couldn't finish it. Maybe he was afraid. Well he
was. He wouldn't call it fear, he wasn't shaking in the damn corner…but he was
cringing at the thought…of being a hero. No new revelation there.

"How
have you processed it?" she asked. "What conclusions? Can you share
them?"

Now
he wasn't hungry. "I guess you could say I was still processing in the
ocean last night. I guess you could say I'll be processing this until I die or
lose my mental faculties." He didn't know where the sudden anger was
coming from.

"The
books," she said. He didn't feel comfortable with how much she knew, had
seen. He had told himself it was alright he'd taken her flesh, it wasn't love.
That had been his consolation.

But
for her quite the opposite.
Her consolation was the love. For her it was that, or at least she tried to
make herself believe it was so. But that didn't give her the right to just dig
through him like he was a trunk to be opened and…sorted.

He
was starting to care, he knew it. But she was stopping him cold now.

"I'm
sorry. You're so private," she whispered, sensing with that unnerving
instinct

of
hers.

"I
just…I can't just spout on command…."
Hypocrite.
He could barely stop spouting around her.
Beautiful?
Shit.

"I'm
so sorry. Of course you can't."

"You
of all people should…."

"I
do. I do understand. I'm just so desperate to know you," she finished,
pulling back her hands, covering her face, standing quickly and turning away
from him, rushing to the sink, turning on the water, splashing her face.

He
had to blink some, but he got up and went to her, curved over the sink she
looked like a bird, gasping for drink.

"Are
you alright Cori?" he was alarmed. He didn't even know if she had a
medical condition. Even panic disorder. There was so much he didn't know.

"I…,"
she shut off the water then and straightened her back. "It's been so
long…."

He
took her by the shoulders and turned her to him. "What has? What is
it?"

She
was shaking her head, having trouble looking at him. "I'm not very good at
this.
Being with someone."

He
picked up the towel and wiped her face like a good big brother. Then he pulled
her in to a tender embrace. He patted her back. "You're fine. It's me.
I'm…it's me."

"I'm not
fine." She pushed away and he gripped the sink and watched her walk away
some. "Oh God…the real
me
is catching up…to this. I'm sorry. I'm
really not…I can't sustain it. I knew I'd ruin it. I'm not really the woman who
unties her dress in a man's bedroom…I can't keep it going…not even for three
weeks. I'm pathetic."

He
loved her for this admission. He didn't know why. He meant he loved the
admission. He knew the feeling. He knew it. "Good thing it hasn't happened
yet…the dress…dropping. You'll get there." He meant the backwards thing.
He thought he was rather inspired to remember it.

Her
hands flew over her red face, but she laughed. She whipped her hands down.

"My
skills," she laughed sadly, "it was Seth for so long. Coming
here…this was a first. Alisha helped me. She said…this place…she told me about
it.
About you.
She told me you were coming here."

He
resented that still, much as he was glad to be with Cori, but if it weren't for
Alisha he wouldn't know about Cori and he could have continued in his fog…his
isolation that was so much easier.

She
went to her abandoned chair and pulled it out and sat. Her shoulders were soft,
her hands gripped between her knees. She looked at him and he felt that jolt,
like always. "I'm sorry. My pain isn't bigger than yours must be. I'm so
sorry."

He
thought they were past this…sorrow toward each other at least. "I'm
fine," he whispered, not imagining his pain was anywhere near her own.
"I'm glad you're here," he said with complete honesty.

For
a thing to be true…you have to prove it. You have to keep proving it. Or let it
prove itself to you. Or you'll never really believe it. You might pretend to,
but you'll know…deep down…you're a hypocrite.

But
this…it was true. He was glad she was here. He wanted her here. That was
established. And he'd take what came with it.

For
the next two weeks. But that was the part that slapped at him now.
Hypocrite.

What
if two weeks weren't enough?

Chapter
10

They
jogged to the pier. It was empty. The wind was strong, the clouds hanging low. The
wind was cold. They jogged on the boarded floor, their steps like the ocean's
heartbeat muffled by its own thrashing.

At
the end they turned around and headed back, and she started to pull ahead and
he got caught looking at her…her body calling to him and he tried not to let
that be first, but he'd had her…he knew…he wanted her again. She made him
forget. She was her own world and he liked it. Wanted it…wanted her…ached to
feel that alive.

He
refused to justify it. After the incident…boundaries had shifted. He became
liberal in what he allowed. He'd started to curse. Immoral acts became
redefined by assault rifles and attacks on
innocents…innocent…young…soft…trusting…innocent….

He
yelled into the wind and he bent over, hands on his knees and him heaving.

She
was still ahead but she'd heard him and she held up and jogged back to him.

He was heaving there
and he saw her feet and them stepping, and for all the feelings in him right
now, he had to laugh at the way her one foot toed-in some.

He
straightened up.

"Leg
cramp?" she said, and he kept looking at her, talk about innocent,
just…pure.

She
was just a good person.
Just good.
She didn't deserve
a bad thing…and she'd had this…so much.

"I
don't usually ask why," he said. "I usually think…well why not?"

Yeah
she looked confused, and she left off jogging in place, and she was standing
there in her pink workout pants and her black jacket zipped and the hood
puckered around her face, and her cheeks red and long strands of hair whipping
around her face and he could see the, 'what the heck,' in her eyes, but she was
all in.

"I
figure…why should it be someone else? Sometimes…it's my turn. Sometimes I get
picked, my car runs out of gas…my checking account gets overdrawn…three things
break all at once…my dog dies…sometimes it's my turn. I'm not dead. And part of
not being dead is the occasional kick in the ass…for the sake of
character."

"You
said that to people?"

"I
made it a bit more theological…but essentially…I did."

She
resituated her little feet and nodded, very serious.

"But
the cruelty…we unleash on one another…as if it's not hard enough.
The war dead.
Yeah we had some of that. Small town kids fill
a big number of those spaces. One year it's a graduation cap…then
it's
dress greens. They're trying to launch…to make a
place…an opportunity. Their dads went…their uncles…grandparents. So yeah it's
tough when they don't come home…a car accident…we have our share, right? The
sixteen
year
old who drank and drove or the sixteen year
old mowed down because someone else drank and drove…it's senseless, but we can
get it…somehow. We did that stuff too, right? We've all been reckless
somewhere. Most of us get away with it.
Cancer.
The
indiscriminate killer, but people rush to help, doctors…there's support. We're
sad…but we're held…and there's a chance. The cancer is cruel…it can be…but
sometimes it's a
wake up
call…sometimes it deepens us
as a human being…there's a chance at least.

"But…willful…slaughter.
It's another category. In war you see a
wholesale motivation.
Even with Hitler…an ideology that you
can rail against, stamp out…eventually defeat, not that it ever goes away.

"But
terrorism without even a deceptive cause behind it, a perversion of religion,
or politics, a terrorism where the self is the country and the self writes the
ideology which becomes the justification, only it's not based on anything
beyond fantasy…an idea that you are god, you can be god, and everyone else is…a
target.

"And
to explode this self-deception, to execute your right to be god in a place
where the other God's name has been held up for so long.
It wasn't an accident he picked a
church."

"But
he'd worked there," Cori said. "He did his community service there
for spraying graffiti."

"Yeah.
That got him familiar with it."

"You
knew him. Surely you did."

He looked at her.
"No one knew him, Cori. If I had…oh God…the fantasies I've gone through. I
figure out what a threat he is. I get it. I see what's right in front of my
face, right there, and I turn him in.
Just one realization.
Maybe…maybe I could have stopped
him."

"You
know that's futile thinking, right?" she said, and her teeth were
chattering, and this was a hellacious place to have this conversation.

"Yeah.
Sure. I mean…it's done. It's all
futile. But I have to ask myself…what have I learned?"

Well
she had asked him that…and he'd gotten mad.

"I'm
gonna
make you crazy," he said. He was one thing
then another.

"Go
on," she said, grip on his arm.

"One
of my fantasies…I kill him before. I just come up to him in the hallway and I
kill him. I use…the rug scrubber he would run…I mean…while that thing was
droning and he was leaning on it, those earphones in his ears…he was planning
it then, and what did I do when I walked by, say, "How you
doin
'?" I remember one day I invited him to youth
group. I can imagine how he must have laughed. There were times it was just him
and I…and I'd take my pompous ass over to him and ask if he wanted a
soda…."

She
was rubbing Jordan's arm, rubbing the story right out of his mouth.

"I'm
sorry," he said suddenly. He grabbed her and looked deeply into her eyes.
"Cori…I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Her
hands were on his face. She was shaking her head. "You couldn't know. You
already know this…you couldn't know."

"What
kind of bubble was I living in? I was talking to troubled people all the time.
What good was I doing? I stopped him…killed him…it was the least I could
do." He pulled her closer to the rail while his words worked their way up.

"When
I dove for him, he shot two more kids. One of those died."

She
was shaking her head.

"Look,"
he said more calmly, before she could tell him it didn't matter. "I know.
I get it. I know. But it's the truth. It's the truth. That's why…you and I…it
can't be some weird form of worship or something screwed up like that, Cori.
Some white knight thing. Or you thinking I'm like your dad. You get it?"

"Don't
blame
yourself
like this Jordan," she said.
"No one could have imagined…."

"I
know that. I know that," he kept saying. "I'm telling you there are
facts. They just are what they are. It's a balance. It's the truth. I'm one of
the ones who might have stopped it…so when I did…when I really did stop him…it
was about time. It's just a fact, Cori. It's just the way it is."

To
his surprise and relief, she looked at his chest and nodded. He realized again
she was freezing. He put his arm around her and he felt hers come around his
waist as they walked the long pier.

"Thank
you," he finally said, "for just…listening." He meant for letting
him tell it his way. For not trying to change it or fix it or make it better.
It was a lot of things to a lot of people and would be debated endlessly, but
it was what he'd just said, too. And this was the first time he'd said his
piece on it, and he was grateful she'd allowed him to.

When they got back to
the house he ran the shower, and this time she came in the room and they
undressed and under the hot spray he held her to him. He didn't want to use her
to get somewhere else. He wanted to love her. He wanted to tenderly kiss her
and touch her and show her with his hands and lips and eyes and breaths that he
knew he was alive and he appreciated, he treasured…her.

When
he could pull back from her he turned her to the wall and he reached over her
head and took the spigot off the handle and shot hot water on the wall. Then he
put the showerhead in place and leaned her on that warm stain, and he let the
water sluice over his shoulder and down her chest and he had his hands on the wall
either side of her and he rested his forehead on hers.

They
stayed this way for a while. He loved that she would just be with him. She
didn't perform, she didn't fill every silence she let things be messy she let
them be real.

She
made the first move. Her hands ran up his slick sides, over his chest and she
cupped his face. He kept his eyes closed but he moved back so she could touch
him wherever she wanted to. She spent some languid minutes on his eyebrows, his
hair, his lips. He smiled when she touched his lips.

The
smile was wiped when he felt her lips on his neck. He couldn't hold the shaky
breath that burst through his mouth then. But he kept his hands on the tile,
and she dragged her lips on his chest, and she walked around him, behind him
now, and her arms around him, his waist because she was short, and her skin
against him, and her face pressed against him, and he felt the shaking in her
then, the racking tears, that mixed with the warm spray, and he let her use him
then, wanted her to use him anyway she needed to, and she held him that way and
she cried until he felt her still, until he'd leaned his elbows on the tile and
his face on his hands while she cried it out. And she rested her face against
him, but her hands moved along him, across his chest, digging along him, her
fingers, clutching him, moving over him quick and needy, but he knew to stay
still, to let her work it out, until she dropped to her knees and he felt her
against him, and he turned to her then, grabbed her arms and pulled her to her
feet and held her. And the water tapped down, tapped him like tiny pellets of
realization and he felt like someone finally breaking the surface of the deep
and taking in a gasping breath.

He
was present.