“Was I sad when you left?” she asks quietly. “Or were we broken up already?”
“You were sad, I imagine,” I reply. “I didn't exactly – tell you what I was doing.”
“Oh.”
A deep, abiding quiet settles over us as she processes the information. I'm sure she's rolling it all around in her mind, trying to put some pieces together. Maybe trying to figure out why I wouldn't tell her. I don't want to push things or say too much, so I let her noodle it around in her head in silence for a while.
As I sit there in silence, thinking back to that time again, her dad's words come back to me. I'm surprised to find that they hit me every bit as hard today as they had back then. Time, apparently, does not actually heal all wounds.
“My daughter comes from a long line of doctors. Distinguished, successful people,” he sneers. “What are you going to do with your life?”
“I don't really know yet,” I say.
“You need to know before you even think about marrying my daughter.”
He'd been right, of course. Sydney deserved better than what I had to offer back then. Her parents knew it, and so did I. That didn't change the fact that I loved her intensely though.
“What can I offer you to make you leave?” he asked.
I remember looking at him, confusion enveloping my mind. “Offer me?”
“How much money would it take to make you go away? For good,” he pressed. “What can I give you to leave so Sydney can go off to college instead of hanging around here with the likes of you.”
He was right about that too. Sydney needed to go to college, and she'd gotten into UC Berkeley – her dream school. She had a bright future ahead of her, but she was putting off accepting it because we were young and in love. She'd told her parents she was going to attend community college instead. It didn't go over too well with them, obviously.
That led to her father's offer to pay me to go away and never darken their doorstep again. They'd determined that I was holding her back and as long as she stayed with me, their daughter would go nowhere in life. Back then, I guess I can't really fault them for feeling that way.
“Jack?” Sydney taps my shoulder, pulling me out of my trance.
“Yeah?”
“I asked you a question.”
She sounds amused, but I'm anything but amused at this point. The memories are still painful, and they haunt me to this day.
“What's that?” I ask.
“I asked what you do for a living now,” she says. “How can you afford living this way.”
This time it was my turn to say, “Oh.”
That story is more complicated. Much more so, and I'm not even sure where to start telling it.
“Remember my dad? No, of course you don't,” I say, shaking my head, feeling sheepish. “Well, my dad used to own a construction company. It was failing back when we were together, but somehow, he managed to turn things around and it became this huge corporation. He raised it from the dead and turned it into an incredibly profitable business. He passed a few years back and left everything to me.”
“So you run this construction company now?”
“Well, it's more real estate development with an in-house construction crew now, but yeah,” I say. “Not for long though, I'm selling it off. Piece by piece, I'm getting rid of it all.”
“Why?”
When most people ask that question, it's because they can't imagine I wouldn't want to rule the empire. They can't wrap their minds around the fact that I'm willing to walk away from it all because there's so much more money to be made. The fact that I'm essentially walking away from the billions I can make by just holding onto the company leaves them in disbelief.
They don't seem to understand though, that there's more to life than just money. There's also the quality of life to consider. What good is having untold billions if you can't enjoy your life? “Because I have more than enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life,” I say. “And it's time for me to do my own thing and not rely on my dad's successes. I want to do what I want to do, not what he wanted for me to do.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Honestly? I enjoy woodworking,” I say. “I love building cabinets and furniture. Like this bed.”
“You made this bed?”
I nod. “All by hand,” I say. “Cut the trees for it myself too.”
Her eyes nearly pop out of her skull as she examines the handiwork. She lets her fingers trail over the decorative scrolling on the headboard and she looks in awe at all of the small, intricate details. I'm biased, but I think the bed is my best piece of work and I'm proud of it.
“You're really good, Jack,” she says.
“Thank you,” I say. “It's more of a hobby, honestly. I don't need the money or anything, but it fills my time.”
“What else do you like to do?” she asks. “I find it hard to believe that someone like you is single,” she says softly, as if she’s hoping I’ll confirm my bachelorhood.
I laugh. “I refuse to date.”
“Why? A handsome, successful man like you could get anyone he wants.”
“I don't want just anyone though,” I say. “Besides, I'm kind of an asshole.”
“You say that, but nothing about you screams asshole to me.”
“Wait until you get your memory back,” I mumble.
“I'm sure it's not that bad,” she says. “Whatever it is you think you did can’t be that bad.”
I remember the last time we'd talked before I left for the Marines. I ended things, with no warning. I just told her it was over. She tried to fight it, but I fought back even harder. She won't understand that I did it for her. I did it to make sure she had that bright future she seemed destined for. I did it to stop holding her back – even though it killed me to do so. I remember that I left her crying in the park on a sunny June day, all alone. Her last words to me echo in my brain to this day.
“My dad was right about you, Jack,” she hissed. “You're a terrible human being, and I hate you. I never want to see you again.”
Yeah, she was upset, but I deserved it. I deserved all of it and more, because right before that, I took her virginity. She gave herself to me after saving it for so long. I took what she had to offer and ran away to the service.
I ran away. Not because I was a coward or didn't love her, but because I did love her. I loved her so much, and I knew her father was right about me. I was going nowhere in life. I was a kid from the wrong side of the tracks. The bad boy who'd never amount to anything. The one always causing trouble for others when I wasn't getting into trouble myself.
Sydney had a future, a good one, ahead of her if I didn't fuck it up. So, I left her to think I used her and tossed her aside.
All these years, it still kills me to think about it.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SYDNEY
For the life of me, I can't imagine Jack being anything but kind. He's shown me nothing but kindness since I awoke at the hospital, and nothing about him screams asshole to me. He seems so genuine and sincere. So kind and compassionate. He attends to my every need. My every whim. He caters to me and I feel nothing but warm feelings toward him.
Not to mention the fact that sitting here, in his bed, my body wants him in ways that aren't rational.
Peter seems like a distant dream, or in my case, a nightmare. It's been days, and there's been no word from him. He didn't go to the police. He didn't search the hospitals. He's gone, literally just vanished. Like he'd never been.
I don't know what happened that night, but the suspicion that he did this to me, that he really did leave me to die out there, is only growing stronger by the day.
I lean forward and kiss Jack's lips gently. His beard scratches at my face as he kisses me back hesitantly.