PRESENT TENSE
Chapter Thirty-Three

They drove home in silence. Rose tried to speak to Jack a few times, but he ignored her, looking out the window, giving her only short, half-hearted answers. He kept his hand over his injured wrist, hiding it from anyone who might be looking.

Rose felt her temper boiling over, but she tried to remain calm. She had to drive, and it wasn’t a good idea to drive while upset. The last thing either of them needed was a car accident.

Traffic was backed up several miles, making the normally forty-five minute trip take two hours. Rose sat at the steering wheel, her irritation growing by the minute.

By the time they reached the source of the traffic jam—a big rig that had gone the wrong way on the freeway and collided with a pick-up truck, destroying the smaller vehicle and its driver with it—Rose was ready to burst. They had been on the road for an hour and a half, the car overheating and Jack making a concentrated effort to shut her out. She clutched the steering wheel angrily, casting a baleful look at Jack. He ignored her, staring out his open window.

Has the whole world gone insane? Rose wondered as she moved slowly into the one lane of traffic that the police and tow truck had managed to open. When someone tried to cut her off, she slammed her hand on the horn, moving the car to block them and ignoring the enraged look other driver gave her. Jack ignored the whole thing.

Rose stared out the window at the accident scene. The remains of the pick-up truck had been moved over to the side. The big rig was still blocking all three lanes, forcing traffic to move around the scene on the shoulder. Traffic was slowed further by people who stopped and stared before moving on. Rose just wanted to get home.

It must be full moon, Rose thought as someone ahead of her stopped and got out to take a closer look. Everyone is acting like they’ve lost their minds. First every client in the mental health clinic decides they need help right now, then Jack, who I never thought would be capable of such a thing, tries to commit suicide, and now this. One would think that the trucker would know better than to drive the wrong way on the freeway, but apparently not, just like people don’t seem to understand that you can’t stop in the one open lane of traffic and take a look. It’s like the whole world has gone insane.

They finally got past the accident and headed for home, still a half hour’s drive away. Rose set her jaw, not looking at Jack, vowing that as soon as they got home, she would get to the bottom of things.

*****

They finally reached home at 5:30. Rose pulled into her usual parking space and had to run to catch up with Jack, who seemed determined to avoid her. She followed him into the house, barely acknowledging Helga’s greeting, and followed him toward the back door.

"Where are you going?" she demanded, stepping in front of him as he tried to open the door.

"Out."

"We need to talk."

"No, we don’t."

"Yes, we do."

"Rose, get out of my way."

"Why? So you can go find something rip those stitches open with?"

He walked away, heading toward the front door. Helga had stopped her work and was staring at them. Rose grabbed Jack’s arm, inadvertently getting hold of his injured wrist.

"Ow! Fuck! Let go!"

"Not until you talk to me!"

"We have nothing to talk about."

"Oh, yes, we do." Rose let go of his wrist, but didn’t move away. "There’s something wrong, and we both know it. Maybe if you’d gotten it out in the open sooner, it wouldn’t have come to this." She gestured to his bandaged wrist. "Killing yourself is not the way to solve anything."

"Why don’t you talk a little louder, Rose? I don’t think they heard you in Mexico."

"You...you..." Rose stammered, unable to find the words.

"Why do you care, anyway? Haven’t you done your good deed for today? You saved me today. Maybe tomorrow you’ll—"

"My good deed? My good deed? Is that why you think I came home today?"

"I don’t see any other reason. You don’t need me around. Why don’t you go find someone else to save and leave me alone?"

Rose’s temper boiled over. She was already furious, so his attitude toward his own life and toward the feelings of others was enough to send her temper spiraling out of control.

She slapped him across the face as hard as she could. "Because I love you, you idiot!" she shouted.

"This is one interesting fight."

They both looked over to see Tommy coming through the garage door into the kitchen. Glaring at him, Rose shoved Jack in the direction of the hall.

"Come with me!"

"No!"

Rose grabbed his wrist again as he tried to head for his own room. "No, down here." She headed toward her room.

"Let go!"

"Then get moving!" Rose shoved Jack into her room, following him in and slamming and locking the door behind her.

Tommy stared after them, dumbfounded. "What is going on around here?"

Helga turned to him, a shocked expression on her face. "Jack tried to commit suicide today."

Tommy could only stare at her, too stunned to say a word.

*****

Rose locked the door behind her and braced herself against it, glaring at Jack as he tried to push her aside. "I’m not moving," she told him. "Neither of us is leaving until you tell me what’s going on."

"Nothing’s going on."

"The hell it isn’t. Suicide isn’t nothing. And don’t tell me you’re a cutter like you told the doctor. I know damned well you aren’t."

"You stopped me, remember? Everything’s fine now."

"And if you believe that, I’ve got a bridge to sell you." She took a deep breath, trying to control her temper. "Did you ever even stop to think about how this would affect other people?"

"You shouldn’t have stopped me. It was for the best for everyone."

"No, it wasn’t!" Angry tears ran down Rose’s face, but she didn’t bother to wipe them away. She glowered at him. "How could you do something so stupid? Did you even stop to think about who might have found you if you’d succeeded? There’s little kids behind us, and they’re always climbing that fence and looking over it. What if they had found you? Do you really want to put them through that trauma? What if Helga had found you? The shock could have been too much for her in her condition. Do you want her to lose her baby?"

Jack rubbed his aching head, knowing Rose was right but unwilling to admit it. When he had made his plans, he had thought he was doing what was best. The things Rose had just mentioned had never occurred to him. "Fine." Jack glared back at her. "Next time, I’ll go out where no one will find me for a while."

"There won’t be a next time!" Rose approached him, half-expecting him to lash out at her, but he just turned away. She put a hand on his shoulder. "Jack, believe it or not, I do understand what it feels like to think you have no way out."

He pushed her hand away. "How would you know? You’ve never been in this position."

"Have you forgotten how we first met? You talked me out of jumping off the staircase landing."

"That was different. You didn’t really want to kill yourself."

"Neither did you, or you wouldn’t have handed that knife over to me."

He sat down on the edge of her bed, looking at the bandage wrapped around his wrist. "You had other choices, other options. You might have felt trapped, but you were able to break free. I don’t have any options."

Rose sat down next to him. "Why do you say that?"

"You’d all be better off without me." Rose started to speak, but he went on. "I’ve caused nothing but trouble for everyone here. I can’t seem to go a day without causing some sort of trouble. Just look at yourself. If I stay, I’ll probably wind up hurting you again. I don’t want to do that."

"If that’s the way you feel, why don’t you just move out?"

"It would be the same anywhere."

Rose reached for his hand. The shell was finally starting to crack. "No, it wouldn’t." She paused. "Believe it or not, you really haven’t caused much trouble, even if it feels like you have. I do think that you’re not well, and that’s what’s been causing all these problems."

He was silent for a moment. Finally, he sighed. "You’re right. I have been sick. I have a constant headache, I have trouble keeping food down, and I feel so nauseous most of the time that I don’t want to eat anyway."

"I noticed that you managed to eat last night."

"I was forcing myself to do so, so that you wouldn’t worry. And most of it came up later, anyway."

"Yuck." Rose wrinkled her nose, then went on. "You haven’t been acting like yourself, either."

He sighed. "I’m not even sure what ‘myself’ is supposed to be."

"You used to be a lot more cheerful, and have a sense of humor. But you haven’t been like that in a long time now."

"No, not since..."

"Since shortly after you came out of the coma. You seemed to rally for a few days, and then started going downhill."

"Maybe I caught something in the hospital."

"Maybe, but I have a feeling that it has more to do with that head injury. I’ve read some stuff about head injuries—"

"Couldn’t be. The doctor said that I was healing just fine—and you’re not a doctor."

"I think you need to get a second opinion." She looked at him. "Does the headache start in any one particular spot?"

He nodded. "Right here." He gestured to a spot at the back of his head, taking care not to touch it. Touch made the headache worse.

"That’s where you got the skull fracture."

"Which I was told was healing."

"They may have missed something. I think you should see a doctor."

"I don’t know that I can afford that. I don’t have any health insurance yet, and I’m too old now for Medi-Cal."

Rose paused, remembering something she had heard about at work. "Jack, there’s been emergency funds given to the hospitals by the state to help pay for the cost of treating people injured in the earthquake. It was just passed. If it turns out that this is related to the head injury you got when that concrete fell on you, it will probably be covered. It can’t hurt to get it checked out."

He looked down, clenching and unclenching his hands. "All right."

"There’s something else I think you should do, too."

"What?"

"Visit the mental health clinic."

"No. I’m not going there."

"Jack, you know that your behavior hasn’t been...normal. They specialize in finding out why and treating these problems."

"I’m not crazy."

"Neither are most of the clients. Most just need a little assistance. Some get completely better, some don’t. But things can’t go on the way they have been." When he started to protest, she hushed him. “That’s why you told the emergency room doctor that you were a cutter, isn’t it? So he wouldn’t commit you.”

Jack clenched his jaw, then sighed, nodding slightly. Even though he’d seen enough to understand that mental illness wasn’t the fault of the person suffering from it, that the brain could be injured or diseased just like any other part of the body, he had grown up with the feeling that it was a sign of weakness—and he hated seeming weak. "I don’t know that it’s such a good idea. I have enough trouble without something like that in my background," he argued, knowing even as he said it that Rose wouldn’t accept it—and Rose was nothing if not strong-willed when it came to getting her way.

"It’s entirely confidential, unless you say otherwise, or unless you’re a threat to yourself or someone else. And even then, the information only goes to certain people, and they have confidentiality laws, too. We make an effort to ensure that no one outside the clinic has access to your information. The chart room is locked at night, and all of the charts are kept in locked file cabinets. There are computer files, but they’re protected by passwords and firewalls and access levels. There’s probably quite a number of Jack Dawsons in the world, so someone who hacked into those files wouldn’t be able to be sure it was you. You can even use an alias if you like. Some people do."

He looked down, considering. "I’m still not so sure it’s a good idea. My criminal records from before I turned eighteen are supposed to be confidential, too, but those are constantly getting uncovered."

"These records are a little different. You don’t have as many identifying items listed. You don’t even have to give your real name."

Jack ran his fingers over his bandaged wrist, still thinking. "All right. I’ll do it. Just...when I go in there, don’t let anyone know that you know me. Okay? I don’t want any more people to know about this than necessary."

Rose nodded. "I won’t tell anyone." She put her arms around him. "Jack, I’m glad that you’re finally trying to do something about this. We’ve all been worried about you."

"I know. My boss even asked if it was something new or the same thing when I asked for the afternoon off."

Rose hugged him tighter. "Your boss is smart.” She turned Jack’s face to look at her. “Jack, I think you’ve had more than your fair share of stress these past couple of months. Not just the head injury, but getting arrested for something you didn’t do, the earthquake, getting shot, losing some of your best friends...it’s a lot to deal with."

"You’re right, it is." Jack’s voice cracked. He tried to pull away from her, looking around the room, at his hands, anywhere except at her.

Rose pulled him back to her. "Jack, it’s all right," she told him, putting a hand to his face.

A tear slipped down his cheek. "No, it’s not," he told her, wiping quickly at his eyes.

"Yes, it is." Rose pulled him close, embracing him tightly.

Jack put his arms around her, putting his head on her shoulder. “Help me, Rose,” he whispered. “I…I don’t think I can survive this alone.”

Rose rubbed his back gently, feeling his body shaking with quiet sobs as he finally released some of the built-up tension. She didn’t say anything, but only held him close, letting him cry.

At last, he calmed down. "I’m sorry," he told her, lifting his head.

"Don’t be." Rose looked at him. "Sometimes it helps to let it out. I’ve been overwhelmed a few times myself."

"I know you have." He rested his forehead against hers. "Thank you, Rose."

"For what?"

"For...for finally talking some sense into me. And for stopping me this afternoon." He kissed her softly. "I love you, Rose."

"You’re welcome." Rose’s eyes softened. "I love you, too, Jack."

They embraced again, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss. After a moment, they broke apart, still holding each other close.

"Dinner should be ready by now," Rose told him, glancing at her clock. "Do you want to try to eat something?"

He hesitated. "I’ll try. A little bit, anyway."

Rose got up. "Hold on a minute." She disappeared into the bathroom, coming out with two small glass jars.

"Mari gave these to me," she told him, handing him the jars. "She bought these on sale and decided to share. This one is ginger. It’s very good for calming an upset stomach. It’s been used that way for thousands of years, at least according to Mari. Take two of them when your stomach starts to get upset. It might help. And this," she pointed to the other jar, "is valerian. It calms you and helps you sleep. I used it right after the earthquake, when I was exhausted but was so upset that I kept having nightmares and trouble falling asleep."

"How do you know I’m having trouble sleeping?"

"You fall asleep on my shoulder almost every night. Also, sometimes I’ve heard you pacing the hall." She paused. "Take two of these before you go to bed at night. And don’t bite them. Mari says they smell like dirty socks."

"Okay." He stood, holding onto the two jars. Rose turned to pick up something else.

"Here’s your portfolio," she told him, handing it to him.

He refused to take it. "It’s yours, Rose. I gave it to you."

"Jack..." Rose shook her head. "I don’t have much artistic talent. I really can’t use this. If you want to give me something, why don’t you make me another one of your drawings? I could even pose for you, if you like."

"Maybe later." He took the portfolio, opening it and pulling out the drawing he had made of her in her car. "At least keep this."

Rose took it, nodding. "Thank you, Jack." She set it carefully on the table, then turned to him, hugging him again. "It’s going to be all right. I know it is."

Chapter Thirty-Four
Stories