PRESENT TENSE
Chapter Seventy-Three

Thursday, September 2, 2004

Jack, Rose, and Emmaline met at a small park the following afternoon after Emmaline got out of school. She wanted to show her cousin and his wife her artwork, but didn’t dare to invite them home. Her father probably wouldn’t be home until at least 5:30, but there was no use in taking chances. William Dawson intensely disliked his nephew and would have been livid had he known that Jack was back in town.

Emmaline brought a sampling of what she considered to be her best work. Her father didn’t approve of her interest, but he rarely interfered, either. He would have been furious if he had known that Emmaline exchanged art information through e-mail with Jack, but she had been wise enough never to tell him. He undoubtedly would have found a way to block Jack’s e-mail without her knowledge.

Jack and Rose were waiting when she arrived. They were sitting on a bench, alternately eating popcorn and tossing handfuls to the grateful birds who had gathered around them, enjoying the unexpected treat. Jack had one hand on Rose’s swollen middle and they were laughing at some private joke.

Jack got up when he saw his cousin approaching. "Emmaline! Over here!" he called, directing her attention to them.

Emmaline hurried over, hitching up the straps of her backpack, where she carried her artwork. Jack moved over, allowing her to sit between himself and Rose, who had also shown an interest in Emmaline’s work.

Emmaline opened her bag, withdrawing a folder containing several drawings. As Jack and Rose looked at them, she also removed an unframed painting wrapped in brown paper and an odd-looking mug she had made in a ceramics class.

"So what do you think?" she asked after a minute, looking at Jack for his reaction.

"These are really good, especially this drawing of the old lady in the bar. How exactly did you get into a bar?"

Emmaline shrugged. "I have a fake ID."

Jack shook his head. "Emmaline, do everyone a favor and stay out of trouble. I had a friend with a fake green card, and he almost got caught a couple of times."

"I just drink a little beer once in a while. It doesn’t hurt anything."

"You hope. Just don’t let your dad catch you. He’ll smack you good."

Emmaline just shrugged, dismissing the subject. "What do you think of the mug I made?"

"It’s...different."

"It doesn’t hold water. I already tried. I called it ‘Cracked’."

Rose laughed at this. "’Cracked’ is a good name for it," she said, examining the mug. It looked almost ready to fall apart.

"It’s modern art," Emmaline defended. "I made it that way on purpose, only it’s more cracked since I tried to put tea in it."

Jack and Rose both laughed, but were interrupted by a sudden, angry shout.

"Emmaline Jane Dawson! What the hell are you doing?"

Emmaline looked up, startled, then shrunk back when she saw her father coming toward them.

"What are you doing here?" William Dawson demanded of Jack, forgetting about his daughter for a moment.

Jack looked at him steadily. "I’m visiting my old town."

"You don’t belong here."

"Says who?" Jack’s voice was growing belligerent.

"You’re nothing but a shitty little punk. You don’t belong with decent people."

"Dad!" Emmaline cringed, looking at him. "Don’t talk like that."

"Shut up, girl! This doesn’t concern you."

"It does, too!" Emmaline jumped up. "Jack’s my cousin, and I was just showing him my artwork—"

"I told you to shut up!" William shoved her back down on the bench. "I’ll deal with you later."

Jack got up, standing nose to nose with his uncle. He was a couple of inches taller than him, though much lankier. The two men were almost evenly matched.

"Don’t you push her around."

"Don’t tell me how to raise my daughter, punk. Get out of town before I make you sorry you came here."

"Is that a threat?"

"No. It’s a promise."

"Don’t threaten me, Uncle William. I’m not a kid that you can push around."

"You’re right. You’re an ex-con who can’t be trusted."

"He can be trusted," Rose interjected, jumping to Jack’s defense.

William looked at her. "Who the hell are you?"

"I’m Rose Dawson. Jack’s wife."

"So, he conned you into marriage. And a few other things, too." He eyed her swollen belly derisively.

"Shut up, you asshole!" Jack was losing his temper. He gave his uncle a shove.

William punched him, sending him stumbling backward a few steps before he recovered. Running a hand over his bleeding lip, Jack was about to retaliate when Rose and Emmaline intervened.

Rose grabbed Jack’s arm and pulled him back, away from his uncle. Emmaline grabbed her father’s arm, only to be shoved away again. She fell hard on the sidewalk, her ‘Cracked’ art project shattering on the concrete.

"Dad! Look what you did!"

"It wasn’t worth anything anyway."

"I worked hard on that, but you never care how hard I work, just because it’s not what you’re into! I hate you!" She burst into tears, looking at the shattered remains of her project.

"Shut up, or I’ll give you something to cry about."

"You’ll smack me anyway. I might as well make it worthwhile."

Jack tried to move away from Rose, but she refused to let go of his arm. A small crowd was gathering, attracted by the disturbance.

"Leave him be, Jack. You’ve barely been in town for twenty-four hours. The last thing you need is to get arrested for disturbing the peace."

Jack finally succeeded in freeing himself from her grip, but did not approach his uncle again. The two men glared hatefully at each other, both gazes filled with loathing.

"You Goddamned little punk," William spat, glowering at his nephew. "They should never have let you out of prison."

"It was juvenile hall, not prison, and I served my time."

"Your sentence was too lenient. Bleeding heart liberals."

"You’re lucky that there are bleeding heart liberals, as you call them, in the world. If I had my way, I’d see you locked up." Jack looked at Emmaline, who was slowly gathering up the shattered remains of her mug. "Don’t hit Emmaline again, Uncle William. I mean it. She might not say anything to anyone, but I will if I ever find out you’ve been shoving her around again. I’m sick of people who think it’s okay to hurt others. It’s no damned wonder Tom and Eric left as soon as they had the chance. I’m glad you didn’t take me in after Mom and Dad died. I was better off in foster care and juvenile hall."

"You belong in prison."

"No, he doesn’t," Rose broke in. "He served his time and stays out of trouble. I heard about you from one of our roommates, Helga. She described you as being unforgiving and thoroughly unpleasant—and that was just judging from a phone conversation. I can see now that she was right."

"And did you know about your husband’s background? Or did he pretend to be some pleasant, charming individual?" William’s voice was sarcastic.

"He told about his past—right from the start. He was never anything but honest about it."

"You’re a fool, then. Do you really think he’s stayed out of trouble all these years?"

"I know he has."

"You don’t know him like I do."

Rose looked at William levelly. "You’re right. You don’t know him at all. You know only what a few old court records say. I know him for who he really is—a kind, caring, loving man. I pity you, Mr. Dawson. You can’t see people for who they are. You’re so narrow-minded that you attack your nephew for visiting his old hometown after eight years away. You can’t even see the worth of your own children. I find it hard to believe that Jack is any relation to you, except for the fact that you look so similar. You’re a narrow-minded, heartless person, and I wish I’d never met you."

Rose turned away, going to help Emmaline clean up the mess. William stared after her in shock. Few people had the courage to speak to him that way. Only his brother, Paul, his nephew, Jack, and now Jack’s wife, Rose, had ever put him in his place that way. His own wife, Megan, had put up with him for years before leaving him and their children. Tom had left as soon as he turned eighteen, and Eric had gotten a girl pregnant and married her at seventeen. Emmaline rarely spoke to him at all, preferring to hide from his bad temper.

He turned and stalked up the sidewalk. To hell with all of them, he thought.

He knew that he was right, that he was justified in his dislike of his nephew. He had never been fond of his brother, Jack’s father, either, and the lifelong rivalry between the two brothers hadn’t stopped with Paul’s death. It had simply shifted to Paul’s son, but William had never considered it that way. He had never stopped to think why he so disliked his nephew—and had even before Jack had gotten into trouble and spent time in juvenile hall.

William Dawson had always succeeded in alienating those around him, but had never stopped to consider that his own attitude and behavior might be the cause. As far as he was concerned, most of the people he knew were against him for no reason besides their own selfishness.

Jack and Rose watched him walk away as the crowd began to disperse. Emmaline started to toss the pieces of her mug into the trash, then reconsidered, deciding to use them for another project.

"Emmaline." She looked up as her cousin spoke to her. "If Uncle William keeps shoving or smacking you around, I want you to tell me. I won’t let him beat on you that way."

"I don’t think you have to worry," Emmaline replied shakily. "He won’t do anything after you threatened to say something. He’s afraid of you, you know."

"Afraid of me? Why?"

"He knows you’ve been all over the place, and he thinks you have some connections. He’s kind of paranoid that way. He won’t hurt me. He thinks you can do something about it."

Jack’s eyes widened in surprise. He had never considered that his uncle might have some kind of fear of him. He had always assumed that William Dawson’s hatred of him was based solely on his imperfect past.

"Be careful, Emmaline," he told her. "Your father has a bad temper."

"I know," she said, looking at the pieces of her mug. "When he starts getting really mad I go and stay with Sarah or someone. I can take care of myself."

"All the same, let me know what happens. Oh, and stay away from the beer. It isn’t good for you."

She grimaced. "You sound like Dad."

"For once, I agree with him. Don’t drink. You’re too young." He handed her the backpack. "You’d better get going before your dad gets any madder."

"I know." She gave him a hug. "How long are you two staying?"

"Until Saturday morning. Then we’re flying back to California. Why don’t you stop by our motel when you get out of school tomorrow? It’s only a few blocks from the high school."

"Sure. I’ll be there. Want me to bring some more of my artwork?"

"Yeah, that sounds good."

"I’d like to see it, too," Rose added. "You’re both very good artists. It must run in the family."

"Grandpa was a good artist, too," Emmaline told her. "He taught me to draw when I was about six, just before he died. He taught Jack a lot of stuff, too." She looked down the street, noticing that it was beginning to get dark. "I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t mind about Dad. He’s never liked you anyway, so what he thinks doesn’t matter."

Swinging her pack onto her back, she hurried down the darkening street. Rose watched her go.

"She’s a lot like you," she told Jack. "A survivor."

"We Dawsons tend to be."

"Yes," she agreed, wrapping her arms around him. "We do."

Chapter Seventy-Four
Stories