BACK WITH YOU
Chapter Thirteen

Jessamyn was up before sunrise the next morning, cooking breakfast for Rose. She herself was not hungry in the least, and after the sleepless night, the only thing she really felt like was coffee. Her mind was still actively occupied with the idea of Mr. Jack being her father, and the reality of what that might mean was astonishing. Had there been no Titanic story? Was Jack Dawson just some random man her mother had slept with? Or was there some deeper, darker tragedy surrounding their paths? A twist of fate, maybe? Jessamyn couldn't shake the feeling that it was the latter, and tried her best to ignore it.

Rose got up around eight and welcomed the surprise from her daughter. She was in a better mood than the night before and enjoyed listening to Jessamyn rant and rave about her date with Charlie, although she did notice that Jess became suddenly reserved when talking about the end of the evening, and she wondered what on earth had happened.

Nevertheless, she ate her pancakes gratefully, enjoying the first hot breakfast she had eaten in years. She decided that Jessamyn's sour mood change must just been hormones or something to that effect and managed to push it to the back of her mind. She was not going to let anything ruin her perfectly good Saturday.

At around eleven, Rose announced that she was going to spend the day down by the shore and asked Jessamyn if she would like to keep her company. Jessamyn declined, saying she had things to do, which was the truth, but lying by saying it had to do with clearing some things up with her family in Maine. She knew that her mother would not press that subject for details and thankfully had been left alone.

Not long after Rose left, Jessamyn started phase one of the plan she had not so carefully planned during breakfast. Cautiously, as if her mother might be there, she crept into Rose's room and started to look around, more carefully this time. It was only then that she really noticed a big chest sitting at the end of the bed. Jessamyn ran over to it and tried to open it, only to find in vain that it was locked. After some time of searching, she finally found a key ring in the bottom drawer of Rose's nightstand. Several of them she recognized, including the house and office keys, but a few were unfamiliar and she wondered excitedly if they fit the lock.

After a couple of futile tries, one of them finally turned and Jessamyn slowly opened up the heavy lid of the cedar chest. It smelled of water and roses, causing her to cough in the dust. But what she saw made up for it all.

Lying on top of a huge bunch of things was the Heart of the Ocean, stashed away in an open topped small jewelry box with some earrings, a necklace, and a few other little things. Gingerly, Jessamyn lifted the box out and set it on the floor. Underneath were some old, yellowing newspapers. These, too, Jessamyn took out and began to look through. All of them were dated from 1912 and there was one prevalent theme: Titanic. Most of them were just articles about the disaster. But the last one shocked her to the bone. It was from May second, and the headline read: Memorial Services To Be Held in Philadelphia Today For Dead DeWitt Bukater Girl. Underneath was a picture of a woman. A woman, who, Jessamyn recognized, was unmistakably Rose. There was no doubt that the face was that of her mother.

Jessamyn felt her breath quicken as she began to read the article. The words astonished her and she felt sick, realizing that someone had held a memorial for Rose when she was really alive and well in New York at the time. How odd it must have been for her mother to see people mourning over her. And yet, she had never told anyone. How amazing.

There was a statement from Rose's fiancé, that Hockley man. I am deeply saddened by the recent events and will continue to love Rose forever. Her memory will remain with me always, as will her spirit.

What bullshit, Jessamyn thought. She knew very well that Hockley had married no less then two years later, and had killed himself over money in 1929. There was no way he was that sad about Rose, except for maybe the fact that he was losing a trophy wife.

Quickly, Jessamyn realized that Rose had indeed been telling her the truth about the Titanic. There was enough evidence for Jessamyn to believe her again and she found more going through the rest of the things. There was an old, water-stained dress made out of silky fabrics that could have only been from that ship and there was also a coat in the same boat. Jessamyn even found a pair of stockings, some shoes, and undergarments. But the most astonishing thing was a folded up note she found need in the inner pocket of the big black coat; a note, clearly in Rose's handwriting, stating something about keeping both locked in a safe. She could make out no other words. Water had damaged too much of it, but the headline read RMS Titanic. It was enough for her.

Her hands shaking, she put everything back the way she found it and stalked out into the living room, completely stuck. Her plan had counted on proving Rose wrong and then confronting her about it. But now what?

Groaning, she flopped down on the couch and stared up at the ceiling, expecting it to give her the answers. When it didn't, she got angry and got up again. Slipping on some shoes, she ran out the back door and towards the ocean.

Jessamyn found Rose sitting on a blanket on the sand, a book in her hands and a huge sun hat atop her head. She sat down next to her mom and waited for Rose to notice her.

"Do you need something?" Rose asked, without looking up from the book.

Jessamyn didn't say anything and turned her gaze toward the Pacific. The water glistened under the bright sun and the waves were calmer than usual. She dug her hands into the sand and sighed.

"What did Dad look like?" she finally asked.

This got Rose's attention as she lowered the book slowly and her head turned toward Jessamyn, who just sat there, her face betraying no emotion.

"Why do you want to know?" Rose asked, her tone more angry than she expected. She sighed and then repeated herself in nicer terms.

"I want to know what part of my looks I get from him," Jessamyn answered, half-lying. She wanted to know that, but she also wanted to know for a different reason.

Rose looked away for a moment and it looked as if she were thinking hard. She knew her daughter had every right to know, but it was things like this that she hated. It just made her relive the whole thing again.

"Um…" Rose began softly, not really sure where to start. She turned her gaze back to Jessamyn and gave her a tiny, sad smile. "He was tall, but not overly so, and lean. He had this…" She giggled unexpectedly. "…really straight, saggy blonde hair that was always falling in his face. And he had the most piercing blue eyes I've ever seen. Well…except for you. That's one thing you definitely got from him." She paused and a happier grin spread to her face. "He had the cutest boyish smile; I loved it. Whenever he smiled, it made me smile. You've got his nose, too. I’ve noticed that. And he had really rough, but really tender, hands..."

Rose trailed off and Jessamyn rolled her eyes. Seriously, what was it that made her mother slip off into that little state where she got the funny grin on her face and the sad look in her eyes? It was freaky; she didn't like it.

Before she had to do anything though, her mother slipped out of the trance and smiled again. "I miss him," was all Rose said before returning to her book, as if nothing had happened.

Jessamyn got up and walked off again, this time in a different direction from the house. She walked the beach until she got to the boardwalk, and from there she started a search for Jack. When she found him, he was busy with his nose in that sketchbook. So Jessamyn sat down on a bench about ten or fifteen yards away and just watched him. He was so serious and he was concentrating so hard. She also noticed that he had the same sort of characteristics as Rose had described. Of course, they were older and tired looking, but they were still there. And she could remember quite clearly how stunning his eyes had been. Were they really the same as hers?

This man certainly fit more than one of the characteristics of her father. He looked the same, could draw, not to mention he had the exact same name. The possibility of it being a big coincidence was slimming quickly. But the question was still there: how? How could this man be her father when Rose had said she had watched him slip beneath the ocean's surface, dead to the world?

When he had finished his present drawing, Jessamyn got up and walked over to him. Quietly, without being noticed, she sat down next to him.

"Hello again," she said softly, so as not to startle him.

His head turned and he smiled gently when he saw her. Yes, same smile Rose had described. Jessamyn grinned back. "Look, I want to apologize for how I acted last night. I was kind of shocked...and I was tired."

The way she remarked about being tired reminded him of her again and Jack instantly brushed the face in his mind out. It was bad enough this girl looked like Rose, but now she sounded like her as well? This could be bad; a sleepless night was surely ahead of him. But nevertheless, he had missed Jessamyn in some way and was happy she had come back.

"It's all right," he said honestly, as he began to put his drawing tools away and then closed up his sketchbook. "It's good to see you."

"Yeah. It's good to see you, too," Jessamyn replied happily. "Have you been in Santa Monica this whole time?"

Jack nodded and leaned against the back of the bench and folded his legs in such a way that his right ankle rested on his left knee. He didn't look at her, but instead out at the ocean. "Yeah," he answered. There was a brief pause, and then he spoke again. "I can't bring myself to leave." And then, to Jessamyn’s shock, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. After lighting up, he turned towards her again. "I rented a place here and called my landlady in New York. She's renting my place out up there until I decide it’s time to go back." Jack turned his gaze back to the ocean and continued his smoking.

Jessamyn registered his information, but was more interested in his lighter. He had set it down on the bench and now it was glistened in the noon sunlight. She picked it up and gently turned it over in her hands.

"Did you always smoke?" she inquired after a minute. She couldn't remember him ever doing it on the train. She peered closer and saw the remain of a sticker on the back, but the letters were all faded away.

"I used to," Jack answered, "and then I stopped for a while. Now it looks like I'm back at it, now that I'm back here." He glanced over at her and then reached over, taking the lighter out of her hands. "Careful with that," he cautioned her as he put it back in his pocket. "It’s been through a lot. Hell, I'm surprised it still works."

They continued with small talk for a while, until Jessamyn announced she ought to be getting back to her mom. But for the next week she came back. Sometimes she would just sit there for hours, watching him. Other times she would talk to him. A few times she had tried to get him to talk about the past, but that was, as she was beginning to see, a closed door. He was neither interested nor willing to talk about it and Jessamyn left it at that. She wasn't going to rush him just yet.

Late one afternoon, about a week after the smoking conversation, Jessamyn sat on the same bench again with him. He was always in the same general area: close to the pier, but never on or by it. They were talking about some pointless and superficial thing when a pair of men walked by. Jessamyn was unaffected and quite unaware of their conversation until she heard something that made her ears perk up. Softly, she turned around.

"He should have known better. That God damned plan was doomed to sink like the fucking Titanic from the very straight. Straight to the bottom. Eh, William?"

The other man, William, laughed. "You got that right. Brought as many people down with it as well."

Both of them started laughing and continued on their merry old way, oblivious to Jessamyn and Jack. She turned slowly toward him again and was immediately shocked at what he saw. Jack's face was so pale that it could have been mistaken for a bed sheet. His eyes were unfocused, just sort of staring off into nowhere. And he held a look somewhere between very angry and just wanting to throw up right there. It was at this moment that Jessamyn knew she had found him. This was indeed her father, Jack Dawson. She was this man's daughter.

"You were there, weren't you?" was the only thing she could manage to say as her breathing became irregular and her heart sped up. This was way too huge to fathom and now she felt like she was going to be sick. What one earth had happened between her mother and him? There had to be more to this story than Rose was saying...or knew. Jessamyn's mind finally locked onto the possibility that maybe she really did think that Jack was dead...and that he thought the same about her.

Jack hadn't heard Jessamyn's question and was broke from his trance only when she jumped up and grabbed his hand.

"You have to come with me," she demanded, pulling him up from his seat. Frantically, she tried to remember if Rose was home right now. Of course, she had to be. Rose never went anywhere besides work.

"What's going on?" Jack asked, his voice strange because he was so confused. Before she could drag him away, he remembered to grab his sketchbook and his light jacket, and then followed her. She dropped his hand only when she was sure he was going to come with her.

"Listen to me," Jessamyn said breathlessly, not only from the fast walking, but also the adrenaline rush. "I know who you are, and you have to trust me."

Jack stopped abruptly, in the middle of the sidewalk, which made her stop and turn around. "What do you mean you know who I am? What’s going on here?" His voice only got higher in pitch with each word he shouted.

Jessamyn sighed in despair. "Look, I know," she said, stressing the last word.

"What?" Jack asked again. He was so confused that it wasn't even funny anymore. Either this girl knew things that she couldn't possibly, or she was just insane. He was beginning to think it was the latter.

Jessamyn stayed where she was, which was a couple yards from him, and gave him an exasperated look. "I'm not going to shout it, but does a God damned huge blue diamond necklace ring any sort of a bell in that clouded, shut off little mess of a brain of yours?" She waited for his reaction, somewhat impatiently.

This time it was a quiet, shocked version of what that escaped from his lips. He paled again and Jessamyn was beginning to wonder if he would suffer a heart attack if she made another reference to Titanic. So gently, she walked over and looked him in the eye.

"Just...come with me...please."

Jack nodded numbly and began to follow her again. His mind was, as she had said, a clouded little mess. He didn't know what to think.

Jessamyn was having the same bit of a problem. She didn't know what to think. And that was the problem. She wanted to explain it all to him, but she couldn't. She didn’t have any of the answers. Only he and Rose did, but they didn’t know it yet.

Her head felt dizzy as they finally rounded the corner to Rose's block and she saw the house down the street, bright within the context of the darkening sky. A storm was brewing again. She could even smell the rain coming.

Jessamyn stopped in front of Rose's house and turned, watching Jack as he caught up with her. The poor guy was in for the shock of a lifetime, as was poor, unsuspecting in the least Rose. It was going to be very interesting. And their lives were about to turn upside down, yet again.

Chapter Fourteen
Stories