The Perfect Weapon - INTERMEZZO
INTERMEZZO
Not so very far away, a woman sat outside at a table and looked up at the white clouds in the bright blue sky, high above the tops of the grey metal fences, a few gulls high overhead. A beautiful weekend day. Sydney had told her last week that they might have a barbeque today. Or go to the beach. What were they doing right now, she wondered. And with whom? Then, thankfully, one of the other prisoners who was taking her class came over and asked her a question. When she left, she thought again of Sydney, of the look on her face during her last visit. She was pregnant again, Irina knew, even if she had not told her yet. She would. But Sydney would tell Jack first, of course. And Jack would send her photographs of the new baby as soon as possible, as he had before, at her request. The second time. The first…had been a different story.
“What am I doing here?” Irina asked, as the guard escorted her to an enclosed outside recreation area. “This isn’t rec time for me, yet.”
“You have a visitor who thought you might want some extra time outdoors on such a nice day. And who can get what he wants.”
Irina shrugged. There was no point in asking more questions, these guards, unlike that young guard in her cell at the Op Centre two years before, were well trained and professional. The guard opened a door and waved her inside. Suddenly, she heard a cool voice order, “Take the cuffs off of her now. They are not necessary.”
“She twirled. “Jack?”
“Irina.” Jack nodded at her, then glared at the guard.
“It’s SOP, Agent, with this level of prisoner.”
“It’s my call. My choice. So. The cuffs, now. If you please. Or I will do it,” Jack said softly.
Within seconds the cuffs were gone and the guard as well.
“Sit down please, Irina,” Jack suggested gently , waving his hand at a chair. There were several around the table.
“She sat and said quickly, “Jack…I admit it, I am surprised. Even after you replied to my note, I never expected to see you again. And so long ago, that…day, you said you had nothing left to say to me…”
“I was wrong. I apologize for my error.”
“No, you don’t. You were trying to make a point, reach me.”
“Yes.” He nodded at her. “But, some things need to be said in person---“
“Sydney? Is Sydney alright?” She stood up. “Did something---“
“Shh. She’s okay. Sit down, please.” He gestured with his hand. “Better than okay. That’s why I’m here.”
“She…had her baby?” Irina asked and sat down gingerly on the edge of her chair. She clenched her hands together. “Is the baby okay?”
“They are both fine. Wonderful.” He smiled deeply and she sighed with relief, began to smile in return.
“When?”
“She had the baby late last night. I wanted to come here and tell you the news myself---“
She shook her head. “Lair. You did not.”
“Good catch.” He inclined his head in her direction.
“Someone - Sydney - forced you to.”
“No. Not Sydney. But that’s irrelevant---“
“Jack. For you to break your promise not to see me again---“
“I never promised that. Did I?” He gave a crocked grin. Not at her, she knew. Directed at himself.
She shook her head remembering. No, actually, he had not promised that. Always looking for a loophole, was Jack, wasn’t he? She stopped and stared. Saw him, really for the first time in years. His hair was a little whiter, but his skin was darker as if he spent a lot of time outdoors. He…Was he gardening again? She looked down at his hands, yes, there was that callus gardeners got on the inside of the thumb from holding a trowel. And yes, there was a wedding ring. She looked away, then back again.
“You’re gardening again?” She asked involuntarily.
He nodded. “Yes.” Waited, she knew , for her next question, whatever it might be.
“I bet…lots of colour this time? You always liked lots of color.”
“A cottage garden this time.”
“Any…roses?”
“Some old-fashioned pink shrubs amongst the…clutter, you would say.”
She nodded. She had always preferred the formality, the red and white roses. He had always wanted a riot of color and shape and texture. She took a breath, she knew as well as he did, that this conversation was just to buy her some time to relax. He was relaxed, his eyes calm. No, that was wrong. Happy. He looked happy in his eyes. He was allowing her to see that. she relaxed still more. And he was relaxed. He must have taken the day off for there was no suit, but a denim shirt and jeans.
She said finally, “She convinced you. To come here. Didn’t she? Your…wife?”
He looked at her for a moment, then said simply, “Yes.”
“Sydney…said that she is a very generous person. And-“ she gestured toward him. “She is. Tell her…thank you from me.”
“Thank you, I will. Now do you want all the gory details?”
“Yes. Tell me everything.” She leaned forward eagerly.
She laughed at his description of how he had so desperately wanted nothing more than to get out of that labour room. Asked, “Did she break you hand?”
“No. I escaped before she could. “He continued the story. She laughed again when he told her about Piggy’s role as the focus point and how no one could touch the pig.
When he was done, she asked, “And her name?”
“Faith.”
“Faith… That is beautiful. Perfect.”
“Yes. She is. They are. Here,” he said and reached into his shirt pocket. “Are some photographs of Sydney and the baby.”
Silently, she took the thick handful of images from him and spread them on the table in front of her. She began to flip through them quickly, then stopped when Jack said quickly, “Take your time. There’s no rush. I can wait.”
“How long?” She asked, forcing herself to smile.
“Well, not indefinitely, but this meeting with you is the most important task I have to accomplish right now. So, take your time. I’ll wait.” He nodded at her and then turned to the side to give her privacy.
Slowly, taking her time, she poured over each one. Ran a fingertip over the baby’s head in one image, Sydney cheek in another, swallowing hard, she finally said as she gathered the photos up neatly, “Thank you, Jack. I appreciate it. Very much. Here---“ she tried to hand them back to him.
“No. You can keep them until you’re ready to go in. Then the guard will take you to the library and you can hand them in there. You aren’t allowed to have photographs in your cell, but I made arrangements with the librarian here to keep them in the library. So you can see them whenever you want.”
“Thank you, Jack. Again.”
“No problem. I’ll make sure that Sydney brings you out some videotapes too. If you want to see them?”
She nodded. Said nothing.
And still he sat, she thought. Tilting her head, she studied him. Why was he truly here? Or what doubleplay was this? What was he waiting for?
She shrugged. She might as well ask since he was here in front of her. “Jack…I know you said that you made deals to save me from the death penalty for Sydney’s sake.”
“Yes, he said quietly.
“But…you could have just ended it there. Instead…You did more and made sure I knew it.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. You allowed me to know that you were paying for the therapy. I know now that the money from the jewellery ran out long ago because I know that you gave Sydney the vast majority of the pieces. She told me that during her last visit, something she had not told me before. You allowed me to know, via Sydney, that you talk with my therapist regularly to ascertain how I am…doing, even when I was doing nothing. You allowed me to know that you were responsible for my permission to teach. For not being in solitary. Why did you allow me to know those truths?”
He looked at her levelly. “A long, long time ago, I made a promise to myself to take care of Laura---“
She shook her head. He was not going to misdirect her anymore. She could see clearly now. “You could have done that without allowing me that information.”
He nodded. Smiled, seemed…almost relieved that she saw that truth. But why?”
She continued. “And…if you ‘d truly tried properly, you could have ensured that Sydney would never see me again.” And…she thought, you don’t really see me as Laura. And…neither do I.
“Good catch. But then again, I always knew you were brilliant.”
“Did you? I didn’t always…”
“See. That is why, the only reason why, the game worked.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s merely the truth.”
“Merely? I’m waiting for another truth, Jack. Why did you make those choices to let me know what you were doing for me?” It was a risk.”
“The alternative would not have been as effective. For Sydney’s sake, if not for your own, I wanted….you to see the truth because only then could you move on, find peace. And you couldn’t do that if you were completely panicked. I wanted you to know that so you would not feel completely ab---“
She cut her hand through the air, stopping his speech, looked down and nodded. “I understand. It took me a long while, but…I understand.”
“And I am glad. You know that if…” Jack said softly.
Equally softly, Irina murmured, “I know. I know. Thank you for saying it.”
He nodded, then waited. She sighed. He was waiting, because he knew she had more questions. “Jack…Why, why did you come? Why did you decide… Was it because I sent you that apology a few months ago?” When Sydney had told her she was pregnant. Then, then, it had all hit her. The enormity of it all.
It had begun as one of their normal visits about six months ago. Who would have ever thought, Irina had reflected as she watched Sydney pace, as was her wont on these visits, that the child she had loved for six years would find it almost impossible to even sit in her presence? Sometimes she wondered why Sydney continued to visit. She brought her books. Paper. Pencils in different colors. Little things. They talked about the books, Irina’s course outlines, Sydney’s interest in teaching high school English. They talked, haltingly, about the six years they had spent together. But each time, Irina was left with the feeling that something…was hanging over her head. What did Sydney want? What was she waiting for? She sighed. Well, she as tired of waiting. She wanted to get this started. She opened her hand to show Sydney the piece of paper within.
“Sydney, I have permission to give you this note.” The therapist had decrypted it using the code breaker Jack had long ago given him and looking at her carefully, told her to go ahead. Try.
“A note. For whom?” Sydney asked, reaching out to take it.
“Jack.”
“Jack?” Sydney asked, her mouth gaping open in astonishment. “What in the world could you possibly have to say to him?” She looked at the sealed note in her hand and with no hesitation, ripped it open. Irina shrugged. What difference did it make? It was in their code, Sydney could not read it…Then it was her turn for her mouth to gape open as Sydney slammed the note down on the table and said accusingly, “You…You’re apologizing and asking him to respond? In that code?”
“How did you know the code?” Irina asked incredulously.
“Dad taught me when he was sending you those emails. When he was running the game on you.”
“You…truly knew and---“
“I cooperated, was complicit in it, yes. I’ve told you that before.”
“Complicit is not a real word, Syd---“
“Stop it. What is this?” Sydney demanded, waving the note around in the air. “Forget it-I know what it is. You decided that if only you apologized you could…What game is this? Some game to establish contact again? A…relationship of some kind? Some game to get yourself freed? Make yourself indispensable in some way or other? Or…some emotional way? I can’t believe this!” She looked at the note and coming to a swift decision, ripped it in half.
Irina stared at her. Sydney had always been…to emotional, but this…She examined Syd’s face closely, it looked the tiniest bit fuller…But perhaps it was just PMS. She had never admitted it to Jack or even herself, but she did - very occasionally, of course-have a little bit of grumpiness during PMS time, maybe that was Sydney’s---
“You know…” Sydney began, firming her lips in that way that reminded Irina of Jack. “I was, was… nervous today. Because of what I have to tell you.”
“Which is?”
“I’m going to have a baby.”
“You…congratulations, Sydney! But…aren’t you happy?”
“How can I be happy when my mother is planning on using…an apology to try and get my father in some way, shape or form? When for all I know you could find a way to use this baby to get him to me or…who knows?”
“I wouldn’t---“
“Wouldn’t you?”
“You cannot truly believe that!”
“You used Dad’s love for you to steal from him, his country.”
“But…that was my job.”
“And if your job, your goals, needed you to use me, my baby? What would stop you? What’s the difference?”
“I…”
“There is no answer. Because there is no difference.” Sydney shook her head, trying to ascertain what the best course of action would be. Talking, arguing… her father had tried that to no avail in Panama. What was the best play here? Or did it even matter anymore? Was all hope gone? She put her hand to her head and tried to find some…memory to assist her.
“I’d like your opinion on something, if you wouldn’t mind, Dr. Barnett.” Sydney had asked the second she had sat down for one her regular sessions, not so very long after Irina had been imprisoned.
“Of course. If I can help. What is the matter?”
“She…makes no progress. I mean, she’ll talk about the past, when she was Laura. But…as for the present, she blames everyone but herself for her life.”
“That’s a typical predilection of those caught in a misdeed, whether or not they are incarcerated or merely given a rap on the knuckles in parochial school,” Dr. Barnett said softly. “The problem is…”
“But that’s the problem, right? Responsibility?” Sydney asserted. Then she sighed. “I just don’t know….”
Dr. Barnett had sighed. “Sydney. We’ve talked about this before. Nothing has changed. It’s easier, more self-protective to refuse to see the truth. It makes a logical sense. And Irina Derevko is nothing if not logical. Brilliantly logical. It’s just that her logical path is too narrow.”
“But it costs her so much. It’s like I said to Dad before, my kingdom for an apology. If she had only… If only now, I just have so much trouble…I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. And why can’t she see…”
“Irina will be ready, when, if she’s ready. And you can’t do anything for her except what you and your father are already doing, providing her with an excellent therapist and an opportunity. It’s her choice whether or not to take it. Sydney, you can’t actually do anything to force someone to make that choice when they don't want---“
“And seeing the truth of her life means accepting responsibility and reality, so---“
“From a purely- self protective manner, the psyche will resist as long as it cannot or will not see the benefits of the truth.”
“Maybe… I hate to say this… But should I stop seeing her?”
“I’m not going to let you off that easily, Sydney. I’m not going to give you that permission, if that’s what you are seeking. This is your choice. So, what does your gut tell you?” Dr. Barnett asked.
“I…My gut hurts.”
“The doctor nodded. “Well, that has to be your choice. But…” she trailed off thinking. She tapped her index finger on her lips.
“But what?” Sydney asked, by now having learned the signs of her thought processes at work.
“I think that, perhaps, the key to Irina’s breakthrough to understanding her life, past and future, at this point can only lie with...the key may be you. She is down to her last option. You.”
“Because of some maternal instinct…” Sydney’s brow creased in thought, and she tucked her hair behind her ear. Then she rolled her eyes, “Deeply buried maternal instinct.”
“I say this because your father told me that Irina told him that the only time she truly contemplated telling him the truth was when she was pregnant with you.”
“But what does that mean?”
Dr. Barnett nodded. “It’s not that I think there is anything you can or should do, nothing specific. Just… Don’t just stop seeing her with no explanation. Be honest with her. Don’t try…for kindness, if there is a choice between kindness and the truth. Go for the truth. That would truly be the greatest kindness. Only the truth can heal---“
“The truth hurts,” Sydney pointed out. “And Dad tried that in Panama.”
“Yes. But…without truth, I don’t see any hope…And if nothing else, closure would be helpful for her.”
“I appreciate your help,” Sydney said, not sure if she could tell Irina every truth.
But looking at Irina, seeing the walls still so firmly in lace, she came to a decision. The advice. Given so very long ago, was still valid. The truth. But… Where to start?
“Dad.. Is happy now,” she blurted out involuntarily. “He found himself again. Or perhaps a new self, or some combination. He grew, changed. Opened himself up to people, people responded and-“
Irina nodded. “Jack never saw himself as popular, but he was.”
“Yes. And… he is remarried.”
“What?” Irina asked softly, not entirely sure she had heard correctly. “When?”
“A while ago. And…he’s happy.” She debated, then decided to plunge headlong, trying for some reaction. “She is…generous. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you. But…that was a mistake. I should have told you. Just…let the chips fall in this game. And…” She picked up the note again and methodically began to tear it into smaller and smaller pieces. Finishing, she flung them into the air and they began to rain down like…Irina thought, the pieces of her heart. This…hurt. Sydney’s anger was…There was something going on. Sydney was her last tie to the past, to…
“And?” Irina prompted, determined to keep Sydney talking. Keep her here.
“And I will not deliver this note to him. In that damn code. It’s not true. The least you owe us at this point is to be true. Otherwise, it’s a waste of his time. My time. And in some ways. Most importantly, your time. Haven’t you wasted enough time? I have never understood how someone so…brilliant, as Dad always said, could choose to be so blind. How defending this…wall you created could possibly be advantageous. Please face the truth and move on. Please.”
“I…Sydney. Don’t…”
“I don’t know if I can go on seeing you,” Sydney said, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know that I can continue this… It just…hurts.”
“But…the baby! I want to at least see pictures of the baby!” Irina cried out, surprising herself. Where had that come from? She had gone for years without seeing a photograph of Sydney, but this…This was too much. This was it, trapped as she was within these walls. The last… “You have to give me that!”
“I have to? I have to? Why? In remembrance of the day you drove into a river and left us? In remembrance of the day you left Dad behind in Panama? In remembrance of the day you jumped off that building in Mexico City? Or is there some other, additional, betrayal or abandonment of which I am unaware? Oh forget it. We’ve already had this conversation.”
“I am your mother. That must mean something.”
“Maybe it does,” Sydney said, her face so red and angry, that Irina began to grow concerned, to feel Sydney’s pain and frustration. This could not be good for her of the baby. “Maybe I should take a page from your book. Or maybe there’s just no escaping genetics.” She hated this, hated this, Sydney thought, but seeing the tiniest glint of…something in Irina’s eyes that had begun when she told her she was pregnant, she continued. She had to, she had to protect her father. Even if he would say he didn’t need protecting. And her baby, this new life. She didn’t know how Irina could affect the baby, but she had never excelled at anticipating her mother’s actions, so she could take no chances. This was her just-in-case. This was her…instinct telling her to plough ahead.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m leaving. I’m not jumping off a building. I’m not meeting a megalomaniac who would sacrifice my daughter, her fiancé, her friends, her father at the drop of a…Rambaldi device. Nor am I driving into a river. No. I am going to get in my car and go home.”
“But---“ Irina began.
“Dad would look at this…tripe,” Sydney said, pointing to he scattered paper on the floor. “And just roll his eyes and say, ‘She never surprises me.’ Surprise yourself, and try and work with your therapist, try and see the truth.”
“Which is what?” Irina asked furious, slamming her hand on the table in her frustration.
“The truth is that had you kept on your path you would have ended up in some other prison under far less salutary conditions. Or dead. Your choice. That was your choice. You were no more free out there than you are in here.”
And then saying nothing more, Sydney had stomped off. Furious. And afraid.
What was Sydney afraid of? Irina had stared at her back, incredulous. Then angry. She had finally broken down and written an apology and yes, it had been a play in the game, but even so, to write that apology had been unspeakably difficult and this is what it netted her? Her parents had been correct after all, when they advised her when she was a child never to apologize. Her mother had told her over and over that an apology merely weakened one’s position. And she certainly felt…weakened now. By that display of anger on Sydney’s part, that fierce protectiveness of her father, his happiness…., her baby that should….
She had bent over, not thinking, not feeling, just automatically picking up the pieces on the floor, picking up…after…Sydney. Sydney…she remembered holding her, such a tiny, helpless little thing, all warm and wobbly and red, in her hands. Her hands - too big - except when Jack told her otherwise or when she used them to cradle Sydney’s fragile baby body in them. And these hands…she sat on her haunches and looked at them. Whose hands were they? What had they done…What might they do? What could she hope they would do? When had she last used them to create rather than destroy? Sydney…that tiny baby, then the toddler, then the little girl. Bathing her, dressing her, brushing her hair, occasionally putting it in rollers so that she would have “curls like Daddy,” tucking her in at night, turning the pages of a book as she read to her…, cupping her cheek to kiss her. These hands had been Laura’s hands, the hands of a mother…but not her…No.
But Sydney was so angry now…Sydney...who had to protect her father, to protect her child - that deepest of all instincts - had just rejected her mother.
Irina had stood, disbelieving. And that day, seeing the horror in Sydney’s face when she saw that apology in ‘their’ code that was no longer theirs, hearing the truth that Jack had remarried, facing that she might never see her daughter’s child even in a photograph, the fact that life had gone on without her while she had stayed…stuck in one place in her mind had finally, finally broken at least some of the walls she had so carefully erected as she stared at her hands.
Whose…hands were they? What did they want to hold? Not the shredded pieces of one last game, she knew, sitting there in the floor. No. She wanted to see a photograph, hold one in her hands. She would turn away from a photograph of her grandchild. She would do anything, anything to see a photograph. That day, after Sydney had left, she had seen one truth. The one truth she would allow herself. It was too late for the other truths, after all. And this truth was that these were not Laura’s hands. For she was not Laura, not the way she had thought she was, protested that night in Panama to Jack that she was. And perhaps it had all begun-losing Laura-that day when she had made the decision to accept her parents’ offer, to leave behind Sydney and Jack and that squeaking glider and that screen door that slammed. To touch the chain one last time as she neatly coiled it into the box, to not pickup Piggy from where it had fallen on the floor as she stood at the back door and closed it behind her with her key in her hand one last time.
She winced as she looked at the door through which Sydney had passed, slamming it and made a decision. She had thought she had so many options, if she could only find a way to get back into the game again. But…her most important option was to take control again of her life. Make of it what she would. That was the true control she needed to exercise. Too late…timing was everything she heard reluctantly, but better than nothing. Which is what she would have if Sydney stopped visiting.
And so, in her next visit with her therapist, she had looked at him and said, “I’m ready now. Where do we start?” She asked impatiently, tapping her fingers on her knee.
In that annoying way of all therapists, she was sure, he had asked, “Where do you think we should start?”
“With…an apology? A real one?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” he had asked, making her want to give him an elbow to the temple.
And so had begun, at her request, weeks and weeks if therapy. After years of grudging attendance at her sessions, she had applied all of her considerable determination to finding the truth. Or at least some of it, what she needed. Sometimes every day. She shuddered to think of what this was costing Jack, but then again, she smiled sadly, he did have quite a bit of jewellery he could sell to finance it.
Finally, after days of laborious hand-writing, because she was not allowed a computer, she had crafted an apology with which she was satisfied and with trepidation had given it to Sydney, unsealed. Sydney, who admitted had answered Irina’s request for a meeting only because her father insisted, was growing rounder by the day with her child. She had raised an eyebrow, her face still sceptical, reminding her so much of Jack as she pulled out the plain white sheets of paper from the envelope. Then her face had become unreadable as her eyes scanned the words, written this time in plain Russian. “Russian?” she asked.
“Jack will know that I mean it, truly mean it, when it’s written in my native tongue.”
“Or is that what you mean him to think?”
“Sydney…I know I cannot demand that you believe me, that I can only request it. But…please. Give this to your father. I…owe him, you, at least this much. I understand now that it’s too late for anything else but this.”
“Or so you say. That would be a good ploy in the game to say that, of course.”
“Sydney…Your father would know in an instant if I were playing him, wouldn’t he? I realize that now. So, what would be the point?”
“You’re doing this to assuage your guilt.”
“In part. But I’m doing this because I owe him this.”
“Partly I’m here because of the apology,” Jack admitted. “Thank you.”
“Am I to believe that your presence here indicates that you accept my apology?”
“Yes. As I wrote in my note responding to yours, which I understand Sydney gave you.” His in plain English. Hers in plain Russian. And that, she thought, was that. Speaking different languages with Sydney as the Rosetta Stone.
“Yes. Thank you.” Then she shook her head. This is where they were? Polite protestations of gratitude and…The truth. “Sydney believed originally that I wrote the apology to begin the game between us again.”
“I know. I’ve heard her opinion expressed on more than one occasion.” Jack rolled his eyes.
“She is…articulate.”
“That’s one way to describe it,” Jack said dryly. “But…she’s been a little emotional the last few months.”
“Not that you’re stupid enough to say that.”
“I didn’t say it when you were pregnant, did I?”
“Not after the first time.”
“Lesson learned.” Jack shrugged. Once again, she knew he was waiting.
“And yet regardless of what Sydney said…you’re here.”
“My instincts told me you were ready for…And your therapist told me that you are doing well, very well. You like your therapist, work well with him?”
“Well, once I decided I wanted…”
“Ah, yes. You have to want help to get better. I speak from experience.”
“Sometimes I’m not to sure…Self-deception was a warmer box within which to live.”
“I know. But…maybe not warmer. Just more familiar?”
“Jack, in my case, it was definitely warmer.”
“I am sorry-“
“I know. I know you know what it’s like to live with the coldness. But…this-“ She gestured at him. “Helps. As do Sydney’s visits. Very much. Thank you.”
“Thank you for…making progress. For Sydney’s sake. It, means a great deal to her. The honesty. It made the last month of her pregnancy much less stressful. So, I am grateful for that.”
“I say thank you. You say thank you. Aren’t we civilized?” Irina asked dryly. Civilized as if this were some French movie about two long ago lovers who had become enemies who had become…just two people with an old connection. Nothing more, nothing less.
“You tell me. Is that what you see when you look in the mirror?” Jack asked gently. “When you look at me?”
If she was not truly Laura… The corollary to that truth was that this man before her was not her Jack either. And probably had been from the moment he had learned the truth. He might have become that self, she might have become Laura again, or some versions thereof, but…I f only…No. The love was still there, for the reading at their wedding was correct, love never ends. But now…it was merely like an old favourite quilt composed of the many once-bright colours of memories, stitched together with wishes, that over time and hard use and neglect had greyed. Still warm, but not as real. The blanket one pulled out to keep warm on a cold night.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I see two people who can finally be civilized around each other.”
“Good.” Jack nodded as he spoke so softly. “I thought so. I thought it was safe for me to do this for you. I…”
“I know. But why… This was kind of you, but you always want a doubleplay, so…”
“True. People have patterns. Why do you think?”
She stared at him, searching his eyes and went with her instincts. “Closure. You are giving me closure. A chance to say goodbye to you that I didn’t, couldn’t take the last time I saw you.”
“Yes. Got it in one. As I always knew you could. Again, I speak from experience, I knew you could as soon as you would allow yourself to see.”
She looked down at the photo’s in her hand, imagining Jack’s joy at holding his first grandchild in his arms, seeing him holding Sydney for the first time so many years before. Knowing now what she had known then. She shook her head and smiled. “You are going to spoil this baby rotten, aren’t you?”
“People have patterns.” He smiled self-deprecatingly.
“So they do.” She shook her head and smiled.
“Irina, I want you to know that if you ever need anything-“
“I…know. But the only thing I really need is…just…make sure that Sydney brings me photographs. I think…she still has some anger.”
“She can hold a grudge.”
“I wonder where she gets that from.” Irina laughed. “Apple does not fall far from the tree.”
“Are you saying I’m a fruit?”
She laughed again, as she knew he had meant her to. “No, not you. Sydney. Jack… Thank you. She told me that she only returned that time because you insisted. And if she had not returned that time, who knows when…”
“Every once in a while she listens.”
“I cannot believe that I told you that if you were smart you would have made sure she did not see me and then you were the one….”
“I told you. I have a feeling that this risk - for her - was a safe one.”
“But, still it is…ironic. But then again,” she shook her head. “You always loved irony.”
“Yes. But I want you to know that even if Sydney had not returned that time-“
“You would still have brought me these photographs, wouldn’t you? To show me. And for the doubleplay of giving me closure. Because you had a feeling that it was a safe risk. Your instincts.”
He tilted his head and said nothing. Then finally commented, “I’ve learned a lot about the safety of certain risks. Late in life.
She nodded. Looked off, then back again. Smiled deeply, a real smile, she knew. “Sydney has a daughter.”
“Yes. Faith.”
She stood up. He stood up as well. She held out her hand. After a moment of carefully searching her eyes, he reached his hand out and clasped hers.
“Good luck,” Jack said softly.
She nodded and with drew her hand. He waited. She sighed. He was good at waiting. Always had been. But…everyone had their limits.
Finally she took a deep breath and said firmly, “Goodbye.”
He nodded and she slowly turned around to face away from him. Her choice. She did not intend to watch him walk away ever again. Once had been enough. She heard his footsteps walk away, then recede.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden.
My words echo
Thus in your mind.
Today, sitting in the warm sunlight of a late summer’s day, she shook her head, trying to clear it of the words within. T.S. Eliot’s words were only marginally better or…worse, however, than other words.
Such as…
There were so many words.
So many memories.
So many moments to choose.
So many choices to review. If she had chosen to do so. Then. Now.
But…memories, like choices, were fraught with danger. You placed your foot here and started down a path that led you to the right destination. You placed your foot two inches to the left and stepped on a landmine.
Like…Dave. Like… Dave’s words.
But no, she would not remember his words, that she had chose not to remember. Then. When she should have. Because she could have; she had never forgotten them. And now those words were a landmine that could lead to an explosion of regrets. And there was no point. Truly no point at all. One chapter in the story of her life was over, a door irrevocably closed because she had chosen not to open it. And now…here she was.
Sitting there inside the fence of the prison, she watched a seagull swoop down to the ground nearby and pick something up and fly away. Flapping it’s wings hard, it began to fly back and forth looking, searching the ground. Eventually giving up, the gull took a final dip and then began to sail upward, ever upward over the fence. And she could have sworn, that with each movement of the gull’s wings, a little voice whispered, faster and faster.
What if…
What if…
What if?
Reluctantly, she heard that little voice, that sounded alternately like Dave. Or Jack. Or could it be her own voice? No! She would not ask herself that question she hated, she decided. Would she? She asked herself as she watched the bird fly, flap its wings harder and harder and harder as it tried to get the necessary height to achieve its goal.
Freedom.
What if… Flap
What if… Flap, flap
What if I had…… Flap, flap, flap.
What if I had made a different choice? She asked herself silently.
And the bird flew up and over the fence into the bright blue sky.
Not so very far away, a woman sat outside at a table and looked up at the white clouds in the bright blue sky, high above the tops of the grey metal fences, a few gulls high overhead. A beautiful weekend day. Sydney had told her last week that they might have a barbeque today. Or go to the beach. What were they doing right now, she wondered. And with whom? Then, thankfully, one of the other prisoners who was taking her class came over and asked her a question. When she left, she thought again of Sydney, of the look on her face during her last visit. She was pregnant again, Irina knew, even if she had not told her yet. She would. But Sydney would tell Jack first, of course. And Jack would send her photographs of the new baby as soon as possible, as he had before, at her request. The second time. The first…had been a different story.
“What am I doing here?” Irina asked, as the guard escorted her to an enclosed outside recreation area. “This isn’t rec time for me, yet.”
“You have a visitor who thought you might want some extra time outdoors on such a nice day. And who can get what he wants.”
Irina shrugged. There was no point in asking more questions, these guards, unlike that young guard in her cell at the Op Centre two years before, were well trained and professional. The guard opened a door and waved her inside. Suddenly, she heard a cool voice order, “Take the cuffs off of her now. They are not necessary.”
“She twirled. “Jack?”
“Irina.” Jack nodded at her, then glared at the guard.
“It’s SOP, Agent, with this level of prisoner.”
“It’s my call. My choice. So. The cuffs, now. If you please. Or I will do it,” Jack said softly.
Within seconds the cuffs were gone and the guard as well.
“Sit down please, Irina,” Jack suggested gently , waving his hand at a chair. There were several around the table.
“She sat and said quickly, “Jack…I admit it, I am surprised. Even after you replied to my note, I never expected to see you again. And so long ago, that…day, you said you had nothing left to say to me…”
“I was wrong. I apologize for my error.”
“No, you don’t. You were trying to make a point, reach me.”
“Yes.” He nodded at her. “But, some things need to be said in person---“
“Sydney? Is Sydney alright?” She stood up. “Did something---“
“Shh. She’s okay. Sit down, please.” He gestured with his hand. “Better than okay. That’s why I’m here.”
“She…had her baby?” Irina asked and sat down gingerly on the edge of her chair. She clenched her hands together. “Is the baby okay?”
“They are both fine. Wonderful.” He smiled deeply and she sighed with relief, began to smile in return.
“When?”
“She had the baby late last night. I wanted to come here and tell you the news myself---“
She shook her head. “Lair. You did not.”
“Good catch.” He inclined his head in her direction.
“Someone - Sydney - forced you to.”
“No. Not Sydney. But that’s irrelevant---“
“Jack. For you to break your promise not to see me again---“
“I never promised that. Did I?” He gave a crocked grin. Not at her, she knew. Directed at himself.
She shook her head remembering. No, actually, he had not promised that. Always looking for a loophole, was Jack, wasn’t he? She stopped and stared. Saw him, really for the first time in years. His hair was a little whiter, but his skin was darker as if he spent a lot of time outdoors. He…Was he gardening again? She looked down at his hands, yes, there was that callus gardeners got on the inside of the thumb from holding a trowel. And yes, there was a wedding ring. She looked away, then back again.
“You’re gardening again?” She asked involuntarily.
He nodded. “Yes.” Waited, she knew , for her next question, whatever it might be.
“I bet…lots of colour this time? You always liked lots of color.”
“A cottage garden this time.”
“Any…roses?”
“Some old-fashioned pink shrubs amongst the…clutter, you would say.”
She nodded. She had always preferred the formality, the red and white roses. He had always wanted a riot of color and shape and texture. She took a breath, she knew as well as he did, that this conversation was just to buy her some time to relax. He was relaxed, his eyes calm. No, that was wrong. Happy. He looked happy in his eyes. He was allowing her to see that. she relaxed still more. And he was relaxed. He must have taken the day off for there was no suit, but a denim shirt and jeans.
She said finally, “She convinced you. To come here. Didn’t she? Your…wife?”
He looked at her for a moment, then said simply, “Yes.”
“Sydney…said that she is a very generous person. And-“ she gestured toward him. “She is. Tell her…thank you from me.”
“Thank you, I will. Now do you want all the gory details?”
“Yes. Tell me everything.” She leaned forward eagerly.
She laughed at his description of how he had so desperately wanted nothing more than to get out of that labour room. Asked, “Did she break you hand?”
“No. I escaped before she could. “He continued the story. She laughed again when he told her about Piggy’s role as the focus point and how no one could touch the pig.
When he was done, she asked, “And her name?”
“Faith.”
“Faith… That is beautiful. Perfect.”
“Yes. She is. They are. Here,” he said and reached into his shirt pocket. “Are some photographs of Sydney and the baby.”
Silently, she took the thick handful of images from him and spread them on the table in front of her. She began to flip through them quickly, then stopped when Jack said quickly, “Take your time. There’s no rush. I can wait.”
“How long?” She asked, forcing herself to smile.
“Well, not indefinitely, but this meeting with you is the most important task I have to accomplish right now. So, take your time. I’ll wait.” He nodded at her and then turned to the side to give her privacy.
Slowly, taking her time, she poured over each one. Ran a fingertip over the baby’s head in one image, Sydney cheek in another, swallowing hard, she finally said as she gathered the photos up neatly, “Thank you, Jack. I appreciate it. Very much. Here---“ she tried to hand them back to him.
“No. You can keep them until you’re ready to go in. Then the guard will take you to the library and you can hand them in there. You aren’t allowed to have photographs in your cell, but I made arrangements with the librarian here to keep them in the library. So you can see them whenever you want.”
“Thank you, Jack. Again.”
“No problem. I’ll make sure that Sydney brings you out some videotapes too. If you want to see them?”
She nodded. Said nothing.
And still he sat, she thought. Tilting her head, she studied him. Why was he truly here? Or what doubleplay was this? What was he waiting for?
She shrugged. She might as well ask since he was here in front of her. “Jack…I know you said that you made deals to save me from the death penalty for Sydney’s sake.”
“Yes, he said quietly.
“But…you could have just ended it there. Instead…You did more and made sure I knew it.”
“Did I?”
“Yes. You allowed me to know that you were paying for the therapy. I know now that the money from the jewellery ran out long ago because I know that you gave Sydney the vast majority of the pieces. She told me that during her last visit, something she had not told me before. You allowed me to know, via Sydney, that you talk with my therapist regularly to ascertain how I am…doing, even when I was doing nothing. You allowed me to know that you were responsible for my permission to teach. For not being in solitary. Why did you allow me to know those truths?”
He looked at her levelly. “A long, long time ago, I made a promise to myself to take care of Laura---“
She shook her head. He was not going to misdirect her anymore. She could see clearly now. “You could have done that without allowing me that information.”
He nodded. Smiled, seemed…almost relieved that she saw that truth. But why?”
She continued. “And…if you ‘d truly tried properly, you could have ensured that Sydney would never see me again.” And…she thought, you don’t really see me as Laura. And…neither do I.
“Good catch. But then again, I always knew you were brilliant.”
“Did you? I didn’t always…”
“See. That is why, the only reason why, the game worked.”
“Thank you.”
“It’s merely the truth.”
“Merely? I’m waiting for another truth, Jack. Why did you make those choices to let me know what you were doing for me?” It was a risk.”
“The alternative would not have been as effective. For Sydney’s sake, if not for your own, I wanted….you to see the truth because only then could you move on, find peace. And you couldn’t do that if you were completely panicked. I wanted you to know that so you would not feel completely ab---“
She cut her hand through the air, stopping his speech, looked down and nodded. “I understand. It took me a long while, but…I understand.”
“And I am glad. You know that if…” Jack said softly.
Equally softly, Irina murmured, “I know. I know. Thank you for saying it.”
He nodded, then waited. She sighed. He was waiting, because he knew she had more questions. “Jack…Why, why did you come? Why did you decide… Was it because I sent you that apology a few months ago?” When Sydney had told her she was pregnant. Then, then, it had all hit her. The enormity of it all.
It had begun as one of their normal visits about six months ago. Who would have ever thought, Irina had reflected as she watched Sydney pace, as was her wont on these visits, that the child she had loved for six years would find it almost impossible to even sit in her presence? Sometimes she wondered why Sydney continued to visit. She brought her books. Paper. Pencils in different colors. Little things. They talked about the books, Irina’s course outlines, Sydney’s interest in teaching high school English. They talked, haltingly, about the six years they had spent together. But each time, Irina was left with the feeling that something…was hanging over her head. What did Sydney want? What was she waiting for? She sighed. Well, she as tired of waiting. She wanted to get this started. She opened her hand to show Sydney the piece of paper within.
“Sydney, I have permission to give you this note.” The therapist had decrypted it using the code breaker Jack had long ago given him and looking at her carefully, told her to go ahead. Try.
“A note. For whom?” Sydney asked, reaching out to take it.
“Jack.”
“Jack?” Sydney asked, her mouth gaping open in astonishment. “What in the world could you possibly have to say to him?” She looked at the sealed note in her hand and with no hesitation, ripped it open. Irina shrugged. What difference did it make? It was in their code, Sydney could not read it…Then it was her turn for her mouth to gape open as Sydney slammed the note down on the table and said accusingly, “You…You’re apologizing and asking him to respond? In that code?”
“How did you know the code?” Irina asked incredulously.
“Dad taught me when he was sending you those emails. When he was running the game on you.”
“You…truly knew and---“
“I cooperated, was complicit in it, yes. I’ve told you that before.”
“Complicit is not a real word, Syd---“
“Stop it. What is this?” Sydney demanded, waving the note around in the air. “Forget it-I know what it is. You decided that if only you apologized you could…What game is this? Some game to establish contact again? A…relationship of some kind? Some game to get yourself freed? Make yourself indispensable in some way or other? Or…some emotional way? I can’t believe this!” She looked at the note and coming to a swift decision, ripped it in half.
Irina stared at her. Sydney had always been…to emotional, but this…She examined Syd’s face closely, it looked the tiniest bit fuller…But perhaps it was just PMS. She had never admitted it to Jack or even herself, but she did - very occasionally, of course-have a little bit of grumpiness during PMS time, maybe that was Sydney’s---
“You know…” Sydney began, firming her lips in that way that reminded Irina of Jack. “I was, was… nervous today. Because of what I have to tell you.”
“Which is?”
“I’m going to have a baby.”
“You…congratulations, Sydney! But…aren’t you happy?”
“How can I be happy when my mother is planning on using…an apology to try and get my father in some way, shape or form? When for all I know you could find a way to use this baby to get him to me or…who knows?”
“I wouldn’t---“
“Wouldn’t you?”
“You cannot truly believe that!”
“You used Dad’s love for you to steal from him, his country.”
“But…that was my job.”
“And if your job, your goals, needed you to use me, my baby? What would stop you? What’s the difference?”
“I…”
“There is no answer. Because there is no difference.” Sydney shook her head, trying to ascertain what the best course of action would be. Talking, arguing… her father had tried that to no avail in Panama. What was the best play here? Or did it even matter anymore? Was all hope gone? She put her hand to her head and tried to find some…memory to assist her.
“I’d like your opinion on something, if you wouldn’t mind, Dr. Barnett.” Sydney had asked the second she had sat down for one her regular sessions, not so very long after Irina had been imprisoned.
“Of course. If I can help. What is the matter?”
“She…makes no progress. I mean, she’ll talk about the past, when she was Laura. But…as for the present, she blames everyone but herself for her life.”
“That’s a typical predilection of those caught in a misdeed, whether or not they are incarcerated or merely given a rap on the knuckles in parochial school,” Dr. Barnett said softly. “The problem is…”
“But that’s the problem, right? Responsibility?” Sydney asserted. Then she sighed. “I just don’t know….”
Dr. Barnett had sighed. “Sydney. We’ve talked about this before. Nothing has changed. It’s easier, more self-protective to refuse to see the truth. It makes a logical sense. And Irina Derevko is nothing if not logical. Brilliantly logical. It’s just that her logical path is too narrow.”
“But it costs her so much. It’s like I said to Dad before, my kingdom for an apology. If she had only… If only now, I just have so much trouble…I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop. And why can’t she see…”
“Irina will be ready, when, if she’s ready. And you can’t do anything for her except what you and your father are already doing, providing her with an excellent therapist and an opportunity. It’s her choice whether or not to take it. Sydney, you can’t actually do anything to force someone to make that choice when they don't want---“
“And seeing the truth of her life means accepting responsibility and reality, so---“
“From a purely- self protective manner, the psyche will resist as long as it cannot or will not see the benefits of the truth.”
“Maybe… I hate to say this… But should I stop seeing her?”
“I’m not going to let you off that easily, Sydney. I’m not going to give you that permission, if that’s what you are seeking. This is your choice. So, what does your gut tell you?” Dr. Barnett asked.
“I…My gut hurts.”
“The doctor nodded. “Well, that has to be your choice. But…” she trailed off thinking. She tapped her index finger on her lips.
“But what?” Sydney asked, by now having learned the signs of her thought processes at work.
“I think that, perhaps, the key to Irina’s breakthrough to understanding her life, past and future, at this point can only lie with...the key may be you. She is down to her last option. You.”
“Because of some maternal instinct…” Sydney’s brow creased in thought, and she tucked her hair behind her ear. Then she rolled her eyes, “Deeply buried maternal instinct.”
“I say this because your father told me that Irina told him that the only time she truly contemplated telling him the truth was when she was pregnant with you.”
“But what does that mean?”
Dr. Barnett nodded. “It’s not that I think there is anything you can or should do, nothing specific. Just… Don’t just stop seeing her with no explanation. Be honest with her. Don’t try…for kindness, if there is a choice between kindness and the truth. Go for the truth. That would truly be the greatest kindness. Only the truth can heal---“
“The truth hurts,” Sydney pointed out. “And Dad tried that in Panama.”
“Yes. But…without truth, I don’t see any hope…And if nothing else, closure would be helpful for her.”
“I appreciate your help,” Sydney said, not sure if she could tell Irina every truth.
But looking at Irina, seeing the walls still so firmly in lace, she came to a decision. The advice. Given so very long ago, was still valid. The truth. But… Where to start?
“Dad.. Is happy now,” she blurted out involuntarily. “He found himself again. Or perhaps a new self, or some combination. He grew, changed. Opened himself up to people, people responded and-“
Irina nodded. “Jack never saw himself as popular, but he was.”
“Yes. And… he is remarried.”
“What?” Irina asked softly, not entirely sure she had heard correctly. “When?”
“A while ago. And…he’s happy.” She debated, then decided to plunge headlong, trying for some reaction. “She is…generous. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you. But…that was a mistake. I should have told you. Just…let the chips fall in this game. And…” She picked up the note again and methodically began to tear it into smaller and smaller pieces. Finishing, she flung them into the air and they began to rain down like…Irina thought, the pieces of her heart. This…hurt. Sydney’s anger was…There was something going on. Sydney was her last tie to the past, to…
“And?” Irina prompted, determined to keep Sydney talking. Keep her here.
“And I will not deliver this note to him. In that damn code. It’s not true. The least you owe us at this point is to be true. Otherwise, it’s a waste of his time. My time. And in some ways. Most importantly, your time. Haven’t you wasted enough time? I have never understood how someone so…brilliant, as Dad always said, could choose to be so blind. How defending this…wall you created could possibly be advantageous. Please face the truth and move on. Please.”
“I…Sydney. Don’t…”
“I don’t know if I can go on seeing you,” Sydney said, tears in her eyes. “I don’t know that I can continue this… It just…hurts.”
“But…the baby! I want to at least see pictures of the baby!” Irina cried out, surprising herself. Where had that come from? She had gone for years without seeing a photograph of Sydney, but this…This was too much. This was it, trapped as she was within these walls. The last… “You have to give me that!”
“I have to? I have to? Why? In remembrance of the day you drove into a river and left us? In remembrance of the day you left Dad behind in Panama? In remembrance of the day you jumped off that building in Mexico City? Or is there some other, additional, betrayal or abandonment of which I am unaware? Oh forget it. We’ve already had this conversation.”
“I am your mother. That must mean something.”
“Maybe it does,” Sydney said, her face so red and angry, that Irina began to grow concerned, to feel Sydney’s pain and frustration. This could not be good for her of the baby. “Maybe I should take a page from your book. Or maybe there’s just no escaping genetics.” She hated this, hated this, Sydney thought, but seeing the tiniest glint of…something in Irina’s eyes that had begun when she told her she was pregnant, she continued. She had to, she had to protect her father. Even if he would say he didn’t need protecting. And her baby, this new life. She didn’t know how Irina could affect the baby, but she had never excelled at anticipating her mother’s actions, so she could take no chances. This was her just-in-case. This was her…instinct telling her to plough ahead.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m leaving. I’m not jumping off a building. I’m not meeting a megalomaniac who would sacrifice my daughter, her fiancé, her friends, her father at the drop of a…Rambaldi device. Nor am I driving into a river. No. I am going to get in my car and go home.”
“But---“ Irina began.
“Dad would look at this…tripe,” Sydney said, pointing to he scattered paper on the floor. “And just roll his eyes and say, ‘She never surprises me.’ Surprise yourself, and try and work with your therapist, try and see the truth.”
“Which is what?” Irina asked furious, slamming her hand on the table in her frustration.
“The truth is that had you kept on your path you would have ended up in some other prison under far less salutary conditions. Or dead. Your choice. That was your choice. You were no more free out there than you are in here.”
And then saying nothing more, Sydney had stomped off. Furious. And afraid.
What was Sydney afraid of? Irina had stared at her back, incredulous. Then angry. She had finally broken down and written an apology and yes, it had been a play in the game, but even so, to write that apology had been unspeakably difficult and this is what it netted her? Her parents had been correct after all, when they advised her when she was a child never to apologize. Her mother had told her over and over that an apology merely weakened one’s position. And she certainly felt…weakened now. By that display of anger on Sydney’s part, that fierce protectiveness of her father, his happiness…., her baby that should….
She had bent over, not thinking, not feeling, just automatically picking up the pieces on the floor, picking up…after…Sydney. Sydney…she remembered holding her, such a tiny, helpless little thing, all warm and wobbly and red, in her hands. Her hands - too big - except when Jack told her otherwise or when she used them to cradle Sydney’s fragile baby body in them. And these hands…she sat on her haunches and looked at them. Whose hands were they? What had they done…What might they do? What could she hope they would do? When had she last used them to create rather than destroy? Sydney…that tiny baby, then the toddler, then the little girl. Bathing her, dressing her, brushing her hair, occasionally putting it in rollers so that she would have “curls like Daddy,” tucking her in at night, turning the pages of a book as she read to her…, cupping her cheek to kiss her. These hands had been Laura’s hands, the hands of a mother…but not her…No.
But Sydney was so angry now…Sydney...who had to protect her father, to protect her child - that deepest of all instincts - had just rejected her mother.
Irina had stood, disbelieving. And that day, seeing the horror in Sydney’s face when she saw that apology in ‘their’ code that was no longer theirs, hearing the truth that Jack had remarried, facing that she might never see her daughter’s child even in a photograph, the fact that life had gone on without her while she had stayed…stuck in one place in her mind had finally, finally broken at least some of the walls she had so carefully erected as she stared at her hands.
Whose…hands were they? What did they want to hold? Not the shredded pieces of one last game, she knew, sitting there in the floor. No. She wanted to see a photograph, hold one in her hands. She would turn away from a photograph of her grandchild. She would do anything, anything to see a photograph. That day, after Sydney had left, she had seen one truth. The one truth she would allow herself. It was too late for the other truths, after all. And this truth was that these were not Laura’s hands. For she was not Laura, not the way she had thought she was, protested that night in Panama to Jack that she was. And perhaps it had all begun-losing Laura-that day when she had made the decision to accept her parents’ offer, to leave behind Sydney and Jack and that squeaking glider and that screen door that slammed. To touch the chain one last time as she neatly coiled it into the box, to not pickup Piggy from where it had fallen on the floor as she stood at the back door and closed it behind her with her key in her hand one last time.
She winced as she looked at the door through which Sydney had passed, slamming it and made a decision. She had thought she had so many options, if she could only find a way to get back into the game again. But…her most important option was to take control again of her life. Make of it what she would. That was the true control she needed to exercise. Too late…timing was everything she heard reluctantly, but better than nothing. Which is what she would have if Sydney stopped visiting.
And so, in her next visit with her therapist, she had looked at him and said, “I’m ready now. Where do we start?” She asked impatiently, tapping her fingers on her knee.
In that annoying way of all therapists, she was sure, he had asked, “Where do you think we should start?”
“With…an apology? A real one?”
“Are you asking me or telling me?” he had asked, making her want to give him an elbow to the temple.
And so had begun, at her request, weeks and weeks if therapy. After years of grudging attendance at her sessions, she had applied all of her considerable determination to finding the truth. Or at least some of it, what she needed. Sometimes every day. She shuddered to think of what this was costing Jack, but then again, she smiled sadly, he did have quite a bit of jewellery he could sell to finance it.
Finally, after days of laborious hand-writing, because she was not allowed a computer, she had crafted an apology with which she was satisfied and with trepidation had given it to Sydney, unsealed. Sydney, who admitted had answered Irina’s request for a meeting only because her father insisted, was growing rounder by the day with her child. She had raised an eyebrow, her face still sceptical, reminding her so much of Jack as she pulled out the plain white sheets of paper from the envelope. Then her face had become unreadable as her eyes scanned the words, written this time in plain Russian. “Russian?” she asked.
“Jack will know that I mean it, truly mean it, when it’s written in my native tongue.”
“Or is that what you mean him to think?”
“Sydney…I know I cannot demand that you believe me, that I can only request it. But…please. Give this to your father. I…owe him, you, at least this much. I understand now that it’s too late for anything else but this.”
“Or so you say. That would be a good ploy in the game to say that, of course.”
“Sydney…Your father would know in an instant if I were playing him, wouldn’t he? I realize that now. So, what would be the point?”
“You’re doing this to assuage your guilt.”
“In part. But I’m doing this because I owe him this.”
“Partly I’m here because of the apology,” Jack admitted. “Thank you.”
“Am I to believe that your presence here indicates that you accept my apology?”
“Yes. As I wrote in my note responding to yours, which I understand Sydney gave you.” His in plain English. Hers in plain Russian. And that, she thought, was that. Speaking different languages with Sydney as the Rosetta Stone.
“Yes. Thank you.” Then she shook her head. This is where they were? Polite protestations of gratitude and…The truth. “Sydney believed originally that I wrote the apology to begin the game between us again.”
“I know. I’ve heard her opinion expressed on more than one occasion.” Jack rolled his eyes.
“She is…articulate.”
“That’s one way to describe it,” Jack said dryly. “But…she’s been a little emotional the last few months.”
“Not that you’re stupid enough to say that.”
“I didn’t say it when you were pregnant, did I?”
“Not after the first time.”
“Lesson learned.” Jack shrugged. Once again, she knew he was waiting.
“And yet regardless of what Sydney said…you’re here.”
“My instincts told me you were ready for…And your therapist told me that you are doing well, very well. You like your therapist, work well with him?”
“Well, once I decided I wanted…”
“Ah, yes. You have to want help to get better. I speak from experience.”
“Sometimes I’m not to sure…Self-deception was a warmer box within which to live.”
“I know. But…maybe not warmer. Just more familiar?”
“Jack, in my case, it was definitely warmer.”
“I am sorry-“
“I know. I know you know what it’s like to live with the coldness. But…this-“ She gestured at him. “Helps. As do Sydney’s visits. Very much. Thank you.”
“Thank you for…making progress. For Sydney’s sake. It, means a great deal to her. The honesty. It made the last month of her pregnancy much less stressful. So, I am grateful for that.”
“I say thank you. You say thank you. Aren’t we civilized?” Irina asked dryly. Civilized as if this were some French movie about two long ago lovers who had become enemies who had become…just two people with an old connection. Nothing more, nothing less.
“You tell me. Is that what you see when you look in the mirror?” Jack asked gently. “When you look at me?”
If she was not truly Laura… The corollary to that truth was that this man before her was not her Jack either. And probably had been from the moment he had learned the truth. He might have become that self, she might have become Laura again, or some versions thereof, but…I f only…No. The love was still there, for the reading at their wedding was correct, love never ends. But now…it was merely like an old favourite quilt composed of the many once-bright colours of memories, stitched together with wishes, that over time and hard use and neglect had greyed. Still warm, but not as real. The blanket one pulled out to keep warm on a cold night.
“Yes,” she said firmly. “I see two people who can finally be civilized around each other.”
“Good.” Jack nodded as he spoke so softly. “I thought so. I thought it was safe for me to do this for you. I…”
“I know. But why… This was kind of you, but you always want a doubleplay, so…”
“True. People have patterns. Why do you think?”
She stared at him, searching his eyes and went with her instincts. “Closure. You are giving me closure. A chance to say goodbye to you that I didn’t, couldn’t take the last time I saw you.”
“Yes. Got it in one. As I always knew you could. Again, I speak from experience, I knew you could as soon as you would allow yourself to see.”
She looked down at the photo’s in her hand, imagining Jack’s joy at holding his first grandchild in his arms, seeing him holding Sydney for the first time so many years before. Knowing now what she had known then. She shook her head and smiled. “You are going to spoil this baby rotten, aren’t you?”
“People have patterns.” He smiled self-deprecatingly.
“So they do.” She shook her head and smiled.
“Irina, I want you to know that if you ever need anything-“
“I…know. But the only thing I really need is…just…make sure that Sydney brings me photographs. I think…she still has some anger.”
“She can hold a grudge.”
“I wonder where she gets that from.” Irina laughed. “Apple does not fall far from the tree.”
“Are you saying I’m a fruit?”
She laughed again, as she knew he had meant her to. “No, not you. Sydney. Jack… Thank you. She told me that she only returned that time because you insisted. And if she had not returned that time, who knows when…”
“Every once in a while she listens.”
“I cannot believe that I told you that if you were smart you would have made sure she did not see me and then you were the one….”
“I told you. I have a feeling that this risk - for her - was a safe one.”
“But, still it is…ironic. But then again,” she shook her head. “You always loved irony.”
“Yes. But I want you to know that even if Sydney had not returned that time-“
“You would still have brought me these photographs, wouldn’t you? To show me. And for the doubleplay of giving me closure. Because you had a feeling that it was a safe risk. Your instincts.”
He tilted his head and said nothing. Then finally commented, “I’ve learned a lot about the safety of certain risks. Late in life.
She nodded. Looked off, then back again. Smiled deeply, a real smile, she knew. “Sydney has a daughter.”
“Yes. Faith.”
She stood up. He stood up as well. She held out her hand. After a moment of carefully searching her eyes, he reached his hand out and clasped hers.
“Good luck,” Jack said softly.
She nodded and with drew her hand. He waited. She sighed. He was good at waiting. Always had been. But…everyone had their limits.
Finally she took a deep breath and said firmly, “Goodbye.”
He nodded and she slowly turned around to face away from him. Her choice. She did not intend to watch him walk away ever again. Once had been enough. She heard his footsteps walk away, then recede.
Footfalls echo in the memory
Down the passage we did not take
Towards the door we never opened
Into the rose-garden.
My words echo
Thus in your mind.
Today, sitting in the warm sunlight of a late summer’s day, she shook her head, trying to clear it of the words within. T.S. Eliot’s words were only marginally better or…worse, however, than other words.
Such as…
There were so many words.
So many memories.
So many moments to choose.
So many choices to review. If she had chosen to do so. Then. Now.
But…memories, like choices, were fraught with danger. You placed your foot here and started down a path that led you to the right destination. You placed your foot two inches to the left and stepped on a landmine.
Like…Dave. Like… Dave’s words.
But no, she would not remember his words, that she had chose not to remember. Then. When she should have. Because she could have; she had never forgotten them. And now those words were a landmine that could lead to an explosion of regrets. And there was no point. Truly no point at all. One chapter in the story of her life was over, a door irrevocably closed because she had chosen not to open it. And now…here she was.
Sitting there inside the fence of the prison, she watched a seagull swoop down to the ground nearby and pick something up and fly away. Flapping it’s wings hard, it began to fly back and forth looking, searching the ground. Eventually giving up, the gull took a final dip and then began to sail upward, ever upward over the fence. And she could have sworn, that with each movement of the gull’s wings, a little voice whispered, faster and faster.
What if…
What if…
What if?
Reluctantly, she heard that little voice, that sounded alternately like Dave. Or Jack. Or could it be her own voice? No! She would not ask herself that question she hated, she decided. Would she? She asked herself as she watched the bird fly, flap its wings harder and harder and harder as it tried to get the necessary height to achieve its goal.
Freedom.
What if… Flap
What if… Flap, flap
What if I had…… Flap, flap, flap.
What if I had made a different choice? She asked herself silently.
And the bird flew up and over the fence into the bright blue sky.