But the regularity of the fatal mishaps to Gateways residents, the steady three-month intervals between them, bothered Jack. Especially since his father had almost bought it at the end of another three-month cycle.
Something might be going on, but it sure as hell wasn’t the Everglades seeking revenge.
Jack feared something less substantial but far more real might be behind it.
9
Tom awoke from his nap and looked around. Where was Jack? Or had he only dreamed he was here? That might mean that the whole coma thing was a dream too.
Then Jack walked in the front door and he felt a strange mix of emotions: up that his prodigal son had come home, even if only for a few days, and down because it meant the accident and coma were all real.
“Oh,” Jack said. “You’re awake. Short nap.”
“The short ones are the best. They don’t leave you groggy.”
Jack headed toward the kitchen. “I’m going to have another beer. Want one?”
“No, thanks. But you go ahead.”
Tom watched him twist off the top of an Ybor Gold and thought how much he looked like his mother. He had Jane’s brown hair and brown eyes. And he moved with her grace, her economy of motion.
Tom hadn’t seen his younger son in over a year, not since that father-son tennis match he’d roped him into last summer. He’d changed in that time. He didn’t look older, but his eyes held a different look. He couldn’t call it a hunted look. Maybe haunted? Haunted by Kate’s death? Or was it something else? Guilt, maybe. Well, he should feel guilty about missing Kate’s funeral. Damn guilty.
He didn’t know what to make of his younger son. He’d thought they’d been close. He’d made a special effort to spend time with Jack while he was growing up. An unplanned baby. He and Jane had their boy and their girl and were content with that. But Jack showed up eight years after Kate, and neither Tom nor Jane had quite the energy they’d had with the first two. But Tom hadn’t wanted to shortchange the little guy, thus the special effort.
But then Jane was killed; and less than a year later Jack disappeared. He’d called home once to say he was okay and not to worry, but wouldn’t say any more. In the space of less than a year Tom lost his wife and one of his sons. He’d never imagined he could hurt so much. He thought his world had come apart.
He blamed himself at first—what had he done, where had he gone wrong? But then he came to realize that disappearing was in keeping with Jack’s character as he’d come to know it.
He’d realized early on how bright Jack was, brighter than either Tommy or Kate, but he was also something of a loner. Okay, more than something of a loner. He did well enough gradewise, but all his teachers said he’d do better if he applied himself. That and “Does not play well with others” were constants during his early schooling.
Although a natural athlete, he never seemed to care for sports. At least not team sports. It was his father’s urging rather than any desire to compete that drove him to sign up for a couple of the high school teams. He joined the track team, but as a cross-country runner where he was competing with the terrain and himself as much as the opposing school’s team. He also spent two years on the swim team. Both loner sports.
Even his first summer job—cutting lawns in the neighborhood—was a solitary enterprise. He borrowed the family lawnmower and went into business for himself. As a college student he needed more cash so he went to work for one of the local landscapers.
But what he really seemed to enjoy most was reading far-out fiction—if it had a monster or a spaceship on the cover he bought it—and watching old sci-fi and monster movies.
He’d worried about Jack, urging him into more social activities. It’s a beautiful Saturday. Go down to the park and get into one of the ball games! Jack would reluctantly get on his bike and pedal off. Later, as Tom was riding through town, he’d spot Jack’s bike chained to a standpipe outside the local theater that was showing a Saturday afternoon monster double feature.
He’d worried then, he worried now. Jack earned his living, at least as far as Tom could tell, as an appliance repairman. In the few times during the past fifteen years that he’d seen his son—times he could number on the fingers of one hand—and had a chance to ask him about it, he’d always seemed evasive. Maybe because he sensed his father’s disappointment. Nothing wrong in being a repairman in and of itself; the world needed people who could fix the mechanical and electronic conveniences of modern life. Fine. But he wanted more for his son. Jack had three and a half years of college behind him that he wasn’t using. What was he going to do when his eyes got bad and his fingers got arthritic? Did he think he was going to get by on that Ponzi scheme called Social Security? Tom hoped not.
But what bothered him more was that Jack seemed rootless, disconnected, adrift. Not exactly a ne’er-do-well, but…
But what? Why was he so secretive about his life? Tom was a believer in everyone’s right to privacy, but really…it was almost as if Jack were hiding something.
Earlier this year Tom had gathered the courage to ask if he was gay. Jack had denied it, and his easy laugh as he’d assured him that he was attracted only to women had convinced him he was telling the truth. Tom wouldn’t deny that that had been a relief. But if Jack had said yes, well, Tom would have tried to find a way to accept it. He was glad that wouldn’t be necessary.
So if it wasn’t that, what? Was he using drugs? Or worse, dealing them? He prayed not. And for some reason, thought not.
He supposed Jack’s unused education rankled him the most. Education wasn’t something Tom took lightly. He’d fought and killed to get his.
He slid back along the lines of his life to his childhood. He’d been born during the Great Depression, the son of a truck farmer outside Camden who’d been scraping by before the economy crashed, and continued to scrape by after. At least they always had food on the table, even if it was only vegetables they picked or pulled from the ground themselves.
Tom’s father had been just old enough to see a little action in the First World War, and just a little bit too old to fight in the Second, although that hadn’t stopped him from trying to enlist after hearing news of what the Japs did to Pearl Harbor. Tom remembered being afraid that they’d soon see hordes of yellow men running wild through the streets of America. He’d read numerous scenarios describing just that during the late thirties in the pages of the Operator 5 magazines he borrowed from a kid in school.
But his father was rejected and the Japs never set foot one on North America. So much for that worry.
But when Tom hit eighteen there was no money for college. He’d done well in high school but not well enough for a scholarship. So he enlisted in the Army. It was peacetime so it seemed a safe place to be: earn a little money, save what he could, and maybe see some of the world in the bargain. But most importantly, it offered a chance to get off that farm.
A year after he enlisted he was seeing the world, all right. Shipped to Japan and then to South Korea to fight in a UN “police action.” Even now, he ground his teeth every time he heard that phrase. It had been a full-blown war. He’d fought from sunny Seoul to the frozen hills of North Korea where he witnessed firsthand the Red Chinese human-wave assaults. For years after, he awoke sweating and shaking with the memory. At least he was alive to have nightmares, unlike too many in his unit who came back in boxes.
When he returned to the States he found a day job and used the GI Bill to put himself through night school. He graduated with an accounting degree and soon qualified as a CPA. He joined Price Waterhouse and spent the rest of his working life with the firm. He was able to provide his wife and children with all the things his own father had been unable to give him. To Tom, the most important of those was a higher education. Tom Jr. had made good use of it, so had dear Kate. The result was a lawyer and a doctor in the family.