“I know what Kenley told me. Why are you so willing to hang around stalking Andrea at work, but won't let her be seen around here?”
“Like I told you before, I don't know what you're talking about. All I know is ever since you got here, you've been causing trouble. You need to back off and leave people alone. I don't want to have to tell you again.”
With those words hanging heavily in the air around us, the police chief walks around me and leaves the cemetery. I stand beside John Logan's grave for another few seconds before making my way back to my car and heading toward Teddy’s.
When I walk into the bar, I see two of the usual bartenders pouring beer and a few of the regulars scattered at the tables, but don't see Jake. Walking up to the bar, I flatten my hands down on it and lean over toward one of the bartenders. I know I met him, but his name isn't popping to my mind.
“Hey, buddy,” I call to him.
Fortunately, he turns my way.
“Hey, Emma. Good to see you.”
“Good to see you, too. Is Jake around? Maybe he's in the office?”
The bartender shakes his head. “Haven't seen him. He called up your earlier to say he was heading to the cemetery to pay his respects. It's a hard day for him, you know.”
“It is?” I ask.
He nods, looking at me strangely as if I should know what he's talking about.
“Yeah. It's the anniversary of his wife's death.”
“Oh, shit,” I mutter, hanging my head. “How did I not realize that?”
“It's been a long time, but he's still really broken up about it. You know, he's been happier since you came here than I've seen him in a long time.”
“Really?”
“Absolutely. People see Jake and he seems so full of life and goofiness. He's always the one trying to lift people up and make them feel better. But it's all because he still hurting so much. Not to say he isn't a great guy or is always all gloom and doom, or anything. But there's part of him that's been closed ever since Melanie died. He wasn't ever the happiest and most social person before he met her, but she changed everything. Then when all that happened, it's like something inside him broke, and he closed off. He shut down. Then his father died, and he took this place over. Life started again for him. He woke up and became the happy, jovial Jake people know. But that little bit of emptiness inside him was still there. I didn't think it would ever go away. Then you came along. Now maybe he'll have a chance.”
My throat aches, and I have trouble drawing a breath all the way into my lungs, but I force it in and then out in a long stream.
“It sounds like you've known Jake a long time,” I say.
“Ever since he was a kid. I didn't know him real well or anything. He wasn't the kind to come hang out with other kids or invite people over to his house. But we were friendly enough. I got to know him better after he met Melanie. He's a good guy. Despite everything, he's a good guy.”
I nod and step back from the bar. “Thanks.”
He gives me a little half wave, and I leave the bar to get back in my car. My next stop is Jake's house, and I'm relieved to see his car parked there. I know he leaves the door unlocked, so I don't bother knocking. He probably wouldn't answer the door, anyway, and I need to talk to him.
“Jake?” I call out when I step inside the house. “It's me.”
He doesn't answer, and I continue past the first room and into the cozy den set at the center of the house. There I find Jake sitting on the couch, slumped down far enough, so his head rests on the back as he stares at the picture album open on his lap. There's no expression on his face. His eyes seem almost glazed over, like he's not even seeing what he's looking at. I step cautiously closer.
“I want to apologize,” I start.
He flips a page of the photo album slowly but doesn't say anything to me. He hasn't directly told me to leave, so I get a little bit closer. Giving myself time to work up the words I'm going to say to him, I ease down onto the couch cushion beside him and look at the album across his thighs. It's not the same one I looked through the last time I was at his house, but it's put together in the same way. I have a feeling the same person put both of them together. Somebody wanted very much for the family memories to be kept close and safe. These pages hold moments of time that slipped by long ago. Without them, those moments might be totally forgotten. But each of these pictures crystallizes them so Jake can look back and relive the times that obviously mean so much to him.
“Today is…” he starts, but his voice cracks, and he stops.
“I know,” I whisper. “I'm so sorry. I had no idea.”
“I thought spending some time with you today would help me get through it. Every year I go to the cemetery and leave flowers for her. I bring a bottle of her favorite wine and make a toast to her. It makes it seem more of a celebration of her life than a marker of her death. I try to tell myself one day, it won’t hurt anymore. It never works. Today I was going to do that early so I could see you for lunch. I hoped that would be all it would take to make the pain…less.”
“I’m sorry, Jake. I wish there was something I could say to make it better for you. There’s no way to imagine what that feels like. “
“When it happened, I didn't know what to do. I couldn't wrap my head around it. No matter how many times I heard it or the things I had to go through after it happened, there was a part of me that didn't really believe it. I went to identify her body. I saw her lying there, cold and discolored. The next day I went to the funeral home and arranged her funeral. I watched them bury her. Everything rolled past like it was barely even happening. My mind told me any minute she was going to come home, and it would have been someone else.”
“I know how that feels,” I tell him. “Not in the same way, but close.”
“After that, all that was left in Feathered Nest was my father and me. My brother and sister came back home for the funeral, but when they left again, it felt even emptier here than it had before. My father was gone a year later. And it was just me. I never missed my grandmother more than I did in those first few weeks after he died.” He lets out a mirthless laugh. “I missed her even more than I missed my father.”
He touches the page of the album in front of him. The picture of his grandmother is similar to the one in the other album. She's wearing the same dress, but rather than standing on a step, she's sitting on a porch swing. The focus is tight around her, not letting me see much of her surroundings, but there's enough to reveal green leaves and bits of grass. I remember what Jake told me about celebrating Easter with his grandmother and siblings. I imagine her sitting there watching them search for the eggs she hid.
“I can understand that. Sometimes it's even harder to cope with the people you lost longer ago than it is the ones who have just passed. It's safer to miss them more because you've been doing it for longer. Besides, from what you've told me about your grandmother, I know she's the one you relied on the most to help you through hard times. She comforted you and made you feel better when things were difficult. Losing your wife and your father within a year of each other is something harder than most people will ever have to face. I can understand why you would start longing for her when you were going through that,” I tell him.
“Then can you understand why it is so hard for me to think of you in any danger. I hate the idea of anything happening to you,” he says, looking over at me.
“I thought you were mad at me,” I say.
“I am. I can't pretend it doesn't make me angry to think about you going to talk to Cole Barnes or that it doesn't bother me to see all those pictures in your cabin. And I hate that you didn't even trust me enough to talk to me,” he says. “But being worried about you is more important right now. I can get over being angry. But I can't get over the possibility of losing you.”