BACK WITH YOU
Chapter Fourteen
Jack was left standing alone in the middle of
a dim hallway, dumbstruck and oblivious in relation to the whole situation. The
last thing he remembered clearly was having Jessamyn mention a huge blue
diamond. And by the look on her face and the tone in her voice, he knew she had
been talking about the Heart of the Ocean. The last time he had seen that damn
thing was when that stupid little steward guy had pulled it out of his…well…the
coat pocket that last night on Titanic. He still remembered clearly the look on
Rose's face. She looked so disappointed, so hurt.
But what did any of it have to do with
Jessamyn?
And whose house was he in? Jack looked around
and stared at the simple, yet elegant furnishings. They certainly belonged to
someone with fine taste. Jessamyn had just walked in, so he started to assume
that this was her mother’s home…hopefully. But what were they doing here? What
did her mother have to do with anything?
Jack realized that he didn't even know
Jessamyn’s last name. Her adoptive parents, she had told him, had the last name
of Calvert. But she had also said that she didn’t go by that anymore. And
besides, her mother wouldn't be called Calvert. How was he supposed to address
her?
Wishing that he could just run away and go
back to his apartment, even back to New York, Jack sighed and held his coat and
sketchbook closer to body. He wished that he had known he was going to meet her
family; he could have dressed in finer clothes. Right now all he wore was a
simple pair of baggy khaki colored pants and an old, worn black shirt. Not to
mention his hair was messed up and needed in the worst way to be tamed.
A querulous shouting match suddenly erupted
from another room. It was in the direction Jessamyn had headed off to, so he
tried to listen in, but he couldn't make out a word. The two voices blended
together and then softly faded away. Jack could smell something that smelled
like chicken from that room and he guessed it was probably the kitchen. His
stomach rumbled in response to the thought of food and he remembered that he
hadn’t eaten since breakfast.
Just then, Jessamyn came back into the
hallway, a fatigued and irritated look upon her face.
"Everything okay?" Jack asked her
as she came closer.
Jessamyn nodded. "Yeah, it will
be." She paused and looked around, as if trying to deicide what to do
next. "Why don’t you come and sit down," she suggested, and then
motioned for him to follow her into a room off to the left.
Meanwhile, Rose was in the kitchen,
positively fuming. Her daughter had just informed her that she had brought some
man home that she had met on the train from New York and then re-met down at
the pier. Rose, however, was in no mood for company and hadn't made enough
dinner for another person. As much as she hated to fight with Jessamyn, she had
to tell her it couldn’t be done. Jessamyn had argued back that the man was gravely
important and that it probably wasn't too much matter about dinner. And then
they got into another quarrel over whom it was. Jessamyn wouldn't tell her and
Rose said she wasn't going to let some stranger just walk in and sit down with
them. Jessamyn had mumbled that it wasn't a stranger and then stalked off. Rose
hated fighting with her. They were two headstrong women who both wanted
different things. And besides that, when she got mad, Jessamyn got this look in
her eye that reminded her of the look in Jack's eyes when they were being kept
behind the locked gate by that awful little man. That really scared her. It was
like being there all over again.
"For Christ’s sake," Rose muttered
under her breath when she heard muffled voices coming from the living room.
Looked like their guest wasn't going home anytime soon.
Sighing, she broke out an old bottle of wine
from the cabinet. If they were having company, she was going to use it as an
excuse to get sloshed and try to drink Jack away. She wasn't really concerned
about her reputation at all. Maybe her daughter and her little friend would
want to join her, she thought, so she grabbed two extra glasses and then made
her way toward the living room.
Jessamyn was sitting nervously on the couch,
fidgeting with one of the cushions. She wasn't sure what was going to happen.
But she wished Rose would hurry up so they could bloody well get it over with.
The suspense was driving her mad at it was, not to mention that the excitement
of knowing that she had a father now was going to her head. She wanted to run
over, throw her arms around his neck, and explain who she was. But that might
scare him.
Jessamyn glanced over at Jack. He sat
uncomfortably on the edge of the coach, looking around nervously. She felt a
little bit sorry for him. While Rose really had absolutely no idea, he had at
least had some warning and had to sit now wondering what this whole thing was
about. Ha, she thought. If only he knew.
Jack suddenly jumped up, startling Jessamyn
out of her consuming thoughts. She watched as he walked toward the fireplace
and then stopped in front of it. He peered closer to the mantle and then softly
reached up to touch a picture frame.
It was then that Jessamyn heard a loud crash
behind her and she jumped up, spinning around. She found herself staring at
Rose, who was visibly trembling, a pile of what were once wine glasses at her
feet. Her eyes were wide and she would have dropped the wine bottle, too, if
Jessamyn had not quickly jumped over and taken it out of her shaking hands.
Jack had turned around at the sound of the
wine glasses breaking and now he, too, wore the same astonished expression. He
could not speak and instead slowly started to move toward Rose. His Rose. He
had seen the photograph only moments before and had not believed it. He still
did not believe it.
Rose felt like she couldn’t breathe and was
having a hard time collecting herself. How on earth was this happening? It
looked like Jack. But how? She had watched him disappear beneath the ocean's
surface. He had been dead for eighteen years. How was he suddenly here, in her
living room? Jessamyn, along with everything else, was forgotten as she watched
as he got closer to her. Then he stopped.
Rose burst into tears and threw herself
passionately into his arms, wanting him to be tangible. Sobbing into his shirt,
she wrapped her arms around him and welcomed his return embrace. He, too,
starting crying, and could do nothing else but pull her tighter and tighter
against himself.
"It’s really you, right?" he asked
amidst sobs, his head buried in her hair. He felt her nod, too overcome with
emotion to say a word.
Jessamyn, meanwhile, had moved into the
background and watched as her parents held each other. She even found herself
becoming teary-eyed as she watched them rock themselves back and forth and
mumble incoherent words. It was odd knowing that she was theirs, but at the
same time feeling so disconnected. There was so much she still didn't know.
However, she felt rather proud of herself, knowing that all this was because of
her.
Slowly, she turned and walked back into the
kitchen. They were definitely going to need some time alone. Her part would
come later.
*****
After much of the initial crying and words of
disbelief had been said, Rose and Jack sat down on the couch, wrapped up in
each other’s arms. She was still in a state of shock, but couldn’t stop
smiling. And he felt a sense of relief and completeness as he held her. They
sat for a long time, discussing generic things and dipping into what they had
been doing for the past eighteen years before Jack finally brought up the
subject they were both dreading.
"I looked for you for so long," he
murmured softly. He couldn't stop staring at her, almost as if he were to so
much as blink, she would disappear again.
Rose looked away, feeling guilty as she
looked out the window at the night sky. She had never looked for him one bit,
assuming wholeheartedly that he was dead. She didn't want to say anything
concerning that now, though, and instead asked, "How did you
survive?"
Jack's face became sullen as he finally tore
herself away from her beautiful eyes. "I woke up under the water," he
mumbled, "and kicked to the surface. I don’t remember anything else until
I woke up in a hospital a few weeks later. They explained to me that Lowe had
seen me break above the surface and had pulled me into the lifeboat." He
paused for a few moments, trying to get hold of his delicate emotions. "I
had hypothermia real bad. They had to take off a few of my toes and I can't
read well anymore without glasses. Not to mention thousands of other little
things. But I'm alive."
Rose let his words sink in and when they did,
she felt a pain in her stomach. Pushing him aside, she quickly ran into the
bathroom where she became sick. Jack followed her and watched helplessly.
Usually, she hated throwing up in front of people. But now she didn’t care and
the same thought kept pulsating through her mind.
"You were there, we were right next to
each other," she mumbled once her stomach had decided to stop its antics.
She began to cry again and Jack crouched down next to her and gently pulled her
back into his arms.
"I can’t believe we missed each other.
Jack, you were right next to me," she cried softy to him. "I just got
off that lifeboat and sulked around. I don’t even remember much of that trip
home. If I had just stopped in that hospital, Jack..."
"And if that damn ship had just turned
earlier," he said pointedly, before lifting her chin so she would look at
him. "Rose, there's nothing we can do now."
She wiped her mouth with one hand and her
tears away with the other. "I just..."
Jack nodded as he placed a finger over her
lips. "I know," he said softly. Rose began to cry once again and he
sat down completely, pulling her into his lap and rocking her back and forth.
His mind was muddled with a thousand different thoughts. Why hadn’t he been
able to find her?
"Your name wasn't on the list," he
said, after she had calmed down a little bit. She sniffled and mumbled a soft
yes it is into his shirt.
He shook his head. "No, I looked a
thousand times. No Rose DeWitt Bukater at all."
Rose lifted her head and her lips formed a
soft, but sad, smile. "No, but Rose Dawson is." She watched the
placid look on his face turn to shock and couldn't help laughing a little bit
before she settled comfortably into his arms once again.
Jack grounded out in disbelief, "Are you
serious?" And then without waiting for an answer to the first question, he
asked, "Why?"
"I didn't want anyone to find me. And
besides, I wasn't that DeWitt Bukater girl anymore, Jack."
He couldn't say anything; his heart was so
full of honor and pride. Softly, he closed his eyes and hugged her closer. That
explained a whole lot: why he couldn’t find her name, why the workers had never
recovered a body.
"I thought you had broken your
promise."
All that came from Rose was a sobbing sound
and a swift shaking of her head. "Never," she finally murmured. Her
soft crying persisted for some time as they once again sat in a disbelieving,
wordless tangle of bodies, this time on the floor, not the couch. Slowly,
though, the crying tampered off and then it was just quiet. Jack had quite
forgotten that they were not alone until he heard a door open and then shut
down the hall. It was then that he remembered Jessamyn.
And then the only though was: oh, my
God...Jessamyn!
Until just this moment he hadn't made the
connection. His mind had been too occupied with Rose. But now, as he stared at
the wall in front of him, he realized clearly who and what the girl was.
He had a daughter.
And not just any daughter, a daughter he and
Rose had created together. He feared that he might be sick now as he started to
envision Rose all alone and pregnant at seventeen. And then she had given the
baby up for adoption! How terrible it must have been for her. No wonder she was
so emotional. What she went though had to have been a hundred times more
damaging than what he had experienced. She had to lose someone close to her two
times in nine months. The pain must have been amplified, too, what with the
hormones and such. He couldn't fathom losing a child, much less having to
willingly give one away when it was the last bit of a dead loved one.
Oh, how guilty he felt now, even more so than
before. They could have been a happy family, a real family, if he had looked
harder, if he had considered the last name. But it hadn't happened, and now
there were eighteen years lost. Jessamyn had grown up before he even knew he
had a child, and without Rose there to watch.
"Rose?" His voice broke through the
silence. He wanted to apologize and ask her about her courage. But when she
didn't acknowledge him, he turned his head to look at her.
She was asleep; tear tracks running down her
face and her mouth carved into a sweet smile. Having not the heart to wake her,
Jack positioned his arms around her and then stumbled to his feet with her in
his arms.
Slowly, he made his way down the hall to the
only open door and entered, finding her bedroom. She was lighter than he
remembered her being, and he realized that he could feel her bones more clearly
than he could before. And he also remembered that the last time he had held her
like this was when they were joking around and he had pretended like he was
going to throw her overboard. If only they had known then. If only...
Gently, Jack laid her down on one side of the
bed after pulling away the quilt and sheet. She made a sound but did not wake
up. So he covered her up with the blankets and then stood there for a few
minutes, just watching her sleep. He had never seen her sleep before.
Her face was so familiar, even now, and her
beauty had not faded one bit. She was older looking, but he had to remind
himself that they were not teenagers anymore. It had been eighteen long years,
but nevertheless, he couldn’t believe his luck. He'd always hoped that
somewhere she was still alive and was making a life for herself, even if it
wasn't with him. That past imagining filled him with a better feeling than
imagining her dead, and it also took away some of the guilt of knowing that he
had survived.
That morning, he had woken up dreading the
day, knowing that he would have to face it alone once again. But then Jessamyn
had shown up and eventually led him back home. His daughter had led him home.
He would have to thank her in the morning.