PRESENT TENSE
Chapter Twenty-Nine

Tommy and Helga stared as the front door slammed behind Jack. Another piece of the broken ceiling fell in, showering the table with plaster dust.

Tommy started for the door, but Helga put a staying hand on his arm. "Let him go. Let’s find out from Rose what happened."

"As long as she doesn’t have a knife."

Helga went down the hall to Rose’s room and knocked on the door. "Rose? Can I come in?"

There was a shuffling sound; then, Rose’s door flew open. Helga stared at her. Rose’s face was red with fury, and she was still shaking. Helga had never seen her so upset.

"What happened out there?"

Rose shrugged, crossing her arms in front of her protectively. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing."

"Then what was that business with the knife?"

"Jack made me mad."

"Uh...yeah. We kind of figured that. What were you so mad about?"

"He hit me."

"What?!"

"He hit me." Rose walked over to the mirror and yanked the collar of her shirt aside, trying to see her shoulder in the mirror. Nothing showed. The blow hadn’t been that hard—it didn’t even hurt now—but she was still furious.

Helga shook her head. "That doesn’t sound like something Jack would do." She paused. "Why did he hit you?"

"Because he didn’t like my singing."

"Since when? I thought he did like your voice."

"He doesn’t like anything these days."

"That’s true. He’s not acting like himself."

"Tell me about it. He hasn’t been normal since that piece of concrete cracked him on the head after the earthquake. But that still doesn’t give him the right to beat on me!"

"Has someone beaten you before?" Helga asked softly.

Rose nodded furiously. "My ex-fiancé, who is now in prison. That attempt to kill us wasn’t the first time he got violent."

"Somehow I’m not surprised."

Rose looked at her.

"I’ve worked as a nurse for over a year now, and I was a student nurse before that. I’ve seen a lot of...ah...unpleasant things. Many times, abusive relationships start out calmly enough, and then escalate."

"Do you think that will happen with Jack and me? Everything was going so well, and then the earthquake happened, and he got shot, and got his skull fractured by that piece of concrete..."

"I don’t know." Helga looked at her. "I think there’s something wrong with him, Rose."

Rose sighed. "I think so, too. But I don’t know what can be done to help him."

"A good doctor might be able to help. We both work in health care. One of us might be able to find someone who could help."

"But would he accept help? He keeps insisting that everything is fine."

Helga rolled her eyes. "It’s a guy thing. They can’t accept that anything could be wrong with them. It’s no wonder women outlive them most of the time."

Rose half-smiled. "True. But what can we do to help Jack?"

"I don’t know. I really don’t. You’ve tried talking to him."

"And he pushed me away every time. Maybe he’ll ask for help, but I doubt it. He has so much pride..."

"Sometimes, when things get really bad, pride falls to the wayside. If he’s lucky, that will happen before things get too bad."

Rose didn’t ask what Helga meant by "too bad." In spite of what had happened, she still loved Jack, and she was extremely worried about him. He wasn’t in control of himself, and she knew it. His shocked look after he had struck her told her that louder than any words could.

They looked up as Tommy cleared his throat. He had been leaning against the doorframe, listening to their conversation.

"He hit you, did he?"

"Yes. I don’t think he meant to, though."

"Whether he meant to or not, he still shouldn’t have done it."

"No, he shouldn’t have. However..." Rose paused. "I don’t think he’s well."

"You can say that again."

"I don’t think this is normal behavior for him. Once, last winter, I asked him if he had ever made a habit of hitting his girlfriends. He looked surprised, and told me no. I suppose he could have been lying, but I don’t think so."

"I don’t think so, either," Helga interjected. "I knew him when he and Fabrizio were living in LA, and he never once raised a hand to his girlfriend, Beatriz. I would have liked to slap her silly a few times, but when he got really mad at her, he’d just walk away until he regained control of his temper. Has he ever hit you before?"

Rose shook her head. "No. It’s never happened before, not even when we argued over something."

"I think he loves you," Tommy told her. "Though he has a strange way of showing it."

"I love him, too," Rose replied, "even if I don’t like him much at the moment. I didn’t act so great myself." She winced inwardly, realizing that if Tommy and Helga hadn’t come in when they did, she might well have stabbed him. Her mistreatment at Cal’s hands had made her hypersensitive to abuse, so she had gone too far.

"Well, not with the knife, but I think he deserved the pan of water over the head," Tommy told her, straightening. "I’m going to try and find him. He probably walked up to the hills."

*****

Tommy found Jack about halfway up to his favorite spot in the hills. Jack hadn’t bothered to hike all the way up—he hadn’t been to that hilltop since the May afternoon when Rose had climbed up to see him. He was perched on a rock, shredding some dried grass in his hands, when Tommy found him.

"Jack."

Jack looked up, irritated at having his thoughts interrupted. "What?" he asked sullenly, looking at his roommate.

"Rose told us what happened. What the hell were you thinking, hitting her?"

Jack got slowly to his feet before answering. "Why should that be any of your concern?"

"Because we all have to live together, and we can’t do that if you keep acting like you have been. I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but it had better stop. Helga’s pregnant, and she can’t bring a baby into a house with someone who can’t control himself. You’d better either shape up, or leave."

Jack stared at him for a moment, then slowly turned and walked away.

"Fine. I’ll leave."

"Jack, everyone is worried about you."

"Well, everyone can stop. I’m fine. If I’ve said that once, I’ve said it a million times." He stopped and turned around. "Everything is just fine."

"To quote one of your favorite swear words, horseshit. You’re not fine. Anyone can tell that just by looking at you. You’re sick. When you act like this, it’s even more apparent." They glared at each other challengingly.

"There is nothing wrong with me. Why don’t all of you go find someone who needs your help? You’re nothing but a nuisance to me."

Tommy punched him. Jack tumbled backward into the dust, his hand flying to his bleeding nose.

"You’re a goddamned idiot, you know that?" Tommy told him. "You have friends who are concerned about you, a girl who loves you...and you can’t even be bothered to listen to them. We’d be better off without you around. Just remember what I said—shape up or ship out." He walked away.

Jack sat up slowly, pinching the bridge of his nose to try to stop the bleeding. He wiped the blood off his face and got slowly to his feet, walking aimlessly along the trail.

Tommy’s right, he thought. I am sick. His head ached constantly, and nausea was his constant companion. He had difficulty keeping food down, and he probably wasn’t able to get more than one full meal’s worth of food a day. But those weren’t the only problems. The world, which had once seemed so bright and full of possibilities, had dulled and grown uninteresting. He had little desire to work on his art, and he didn’t understand why. He was still able to hold his own at work, but just barely. He had seen his boss frowning at his work, and he had been asked to redraw things more than once. He just couldn’t concentrate. He had trouble sleeping at night, too, and occasionally dozed off at work. If he wasn’t careful, he would be out of a job, and new jobs were hard to find, especially for someone with his background.

Jack made his way slowly down a brush-covered hill, working his way around dry clumps of grass, cactus, and brittlebrush. At another time, he would have noticed the way the sunflower-like blossoms of the brittlebrush waved gracefully in the summer breeze, or the brilliance of the golden grasses against the brown stems of the buckwheat, but now his thoughts were turned inward, and he didn’t notice the beauty of the world around him.

Rose seemed to be the only stable point in his life right now, but he’d managed to make a mess of that, too. He clenched his fists, angry with himself. Why did I hit her? She’s already had enough of that with Cal. He hadn’t even thought about it. Rose’s singing was usually good, but she had been upset, and her voice got shrill when she was upset. Her loud, shrill, high-pitched singing had made his head ache more, and he taken a swing at her before he thought about it. He wasn’t usually a violent person, unlike Rose’s ex-fiancé, so he had been shocked at his own actions. Rose had been even more shocked, and couldn’t really blame her for chasing him with that knife, or for dumping the water over his head.

It was almost completely dark when he finally turned back toward home, still lost in thought. Tommy’s right about my behavior, too, he thought. They can’t really be expected to tolerate me, not when I can’t control my own actions. They probably would be better off without my. Maybe I should just take Tommy’s advice and leave. But what’s to stop me from getting into trouble somewhere else?

He had been in and out of trouble for years. What were the odds that he would cause trouble for someone else? But something had to be done. Things couldn’t go on as they were.

Jack walked slowly through the darkness, picking his way amongst the brush and rocks until he got back to the street.

By the time he reached home, he knew what he would do.

*****

The house was dark when Jack arrived home, except for one light still on in the living room. He came in, wondering if Rose was still up. He wanted to apologize to her.

Rose was sitting on the couch, reading. She stood up when he came in, tucking her robe more closely around her.

"Jack." Her voice was quiet, uncertain, and she kept her distance from him.

He walked closer, stopping a few feet from her. "Rose, about what happened earlier..."

"Yes?"

He sighed. "I’m sorry. I don’t know why I did that. I guess I just lost my temper."

"I didn’t behave so well myself. I’m sorry I chased you with that knife."

"It’s okay. I deserved it."

"No, it’s not. I overreacted. You just...reminded me of Cal for a minute."

"I’m sorry. I promise, though, that it won’t happen again."

"It had better not." Rose’s eyes hardened. "I’m not as tolerant, or as naive, as I was with Cal. I won’t put up with being abused. If you hit me again, I’ll call the cops. Do you understand?"

"I understand. But you won’t need to worry about me anymore. Neither will anyone else."

Rose frowned, vaguely disturbed at his words, then pushed her concerns aside. She wanted to put the incident behind them. She approached him slowly, still not quite trusting him, but wanting to make amends.

Jack stood stiffly for a moment, then reached out tentatively and pulled her to him. Rose hugged him back, putting her head against his shoulder.

"I’m sorry about tonight," he told her, stroking her hair gently.

"Me, too. Let’s not fight anymore, okay?"

"No more fighting."

They stood quietly for a few minutes, Rose rubbing Jack’s back, feeling his tension, disturbed once again at how thin he had become. She could feel his bones.

At last, they broke apart. Rose stretched up and gave Jack a quick kiss before heading down to her room. "Good night," she told him, heading down the hall.

"Night," he mumbled absently, once again lost in thought.

Chapter Thirty
Stories