All the Waters of the Earth

Chapter 38: Break the Cycle

"I'll do it," announced Jake, firmly, but quietly, standing in the hallway.

"Do what?" He didn't seem angry now, or disappointed, like before. Instead, he looked calm, thoughtful, and determined. Taking my hand, he lightly traced a circle on the part of my hand between my thumb and index finger, and bent down and kissed me lightly.

"Accept the money. And give equal shares to my siblings."

"Great," I said, whispering. Problem solved. I was confused, though. How did he resolve that so quickly, after he was pissed enough to want to fly back to California less than a half hour ago?

But then he took my other hand, drawing both of my hands gently behind my waist. And then, he pulled me to him, holding me in the hallway, making me crick my neck to look up at his pretty face. His eyes were crinkling at me, and he looked at me very intently.

"Lucy, you don't understand."

I looked back at him, puzzled, not getting where he was going with this.

"I don't want the money for me. I want it for our child."

Involuntarily, my eyes widened, and I sputtered out a gasp. My stomach, already on a queasy, pregnant roller coaster, plummeted. And I shivered, even though it was not cold. "What?"

"I don't want to touch the money. I couldn't do it. I can't do it. No matter how much it is. Those people were not family to me and I'm not going to accept it for me. But I could create a trust for our child. I'll do it for our baby."

Oh, sweet heavens.

There were no words.

I know, because I opened my mouth, and then closed it again. Like a fish.

"I'm gonna give the money to our kid. I'm going to break the cycle. I'm going to pass it on to our child, with love, not with guilt, and I'm going to make sure that our child has lots of attention from me." He grinned. "And you."

Suddenly, a tsunami of emotions flooded my body: relief, giddiness, happiness, wariness, wonderment, shock.

And intense love for this man.

Between this announcement and the pregnancy hormones, I couldn't help it. I burst into tears, and he smiled and tugged me back into the bathroom, closing the door and sitting me back on the teak bench.

"Now it's your turn for a tissue." I nodded, and took one gratefully. He sat down next to me and put his arm around my shoulders, resting his head on top of mine.

"It's going to be okay," I whispered.

"Yeah," he said. "It is."

And he kissed my tears and held me until I stopped shaking.

I had learned before that Jake had a serious protective streak when he refused to see me, for the purpose of helping me with my court case. And I knew that his moral compass was set to true north because he refused to take a fortune that would make him feel inferior, or whatever it was that he was feeling. But I had also learned that he was caring, and this showed it. Ten fold. Our child was going to be taken care of. Forever.

After I calmed down, we went back out. His mother gave us a few looks, but Jake's nosebleed mostly explained our absence.

When Jake told his mother that he had changed his mind, and would not only accept the money, but also give two-thirds of it away to his siblings, like she wanted, she looked ecstatic. It figured. I tried not to judge, but was unsuccessful.

I also tried to like her. But I didn't. I felt sorry for her. I never wanted to find out what it was like to lose a son. Indeed, no one should have to experience that. The loss didn't excuse her behavior, however. Before the death of her son, she had been irresponsible, and that seriously messed Jake up. All parents mess up their children. But this was beyond the pale.

And then their estrangement. Watching them interact, watching how she looked at Jake, I understood it now. It was just too painful for them to spend much time together. I think that they reminded each other of hard times, all of the poverty, all of the problems, and their tragic loss. She seemed so fearful that they would reoccur. To prevent getting hurt, she had put up walls: living in a gated community, married to a high-earning plastic surgeon, flitting about socially, protecting herself from the past. She seemed frozen, Botoxed, scared, thin, perfect.

Never calling her son.

But I didn't think that it really worked. Even in her fortress, she was still scared. And I hoped that I never did that. I hoped that I stayed curvy, creative, and real. And a part of my son's — and new child's — life. Forever.

The rest of our visit was fine.

Fun, even.

We learned that Veronika studied ballet and had been accepted to a prestigious ballet school. We also learned that she had a wicked sense of humor, kicked butt in video games, and was an all-around delight to be with.

Shawn was quieter, thoughtful, and he played football for his college team. Jake pulled me aside at one point, telling me that it was uncanny how much he looked like Ethan. I think it was harder for Jake to be with Shawn than Veronika.

We met his step-dad, the plastic surgeon, at our lunch at the country club. I'm no country club girl. It was fine and all, but I didn't see the point. Still, the food was wonderful, the service great, and Linda spent a lot of time introducing her son, "the attorney," to all of her friends.

After lunch, Jake reviewed the documents that his mother had her attorney prepare, and said that they were fine. He made a few changes, but signed them. And he told me that he would draft a trust for our kid when we returned to California.

When he signed the papers, he turned to his mother and said, "I don't live in fear any more, Mom. I have all that I need. I'm going to be fine."

She didn't say anything in response, but she looked content and pleased for him.

We said our goodbyes the next day. Jake had finally met his family. He exchanged cell phone numbers with his siblings, so I was sure that they would be in touch. And he hugged his mother goodbye.

On the return trip in the plane, we held hands, not saying much, just processing the weekend. Seeing the waters of the Pacific Ocean, the waters of the Earth, I felt like we were coming home.

When we got back, I tucked Rob into bed and then sat on the couch with Jake, talking quietly. My head was in his lap, and he gently stroked my arm, meditatively. All of the lights of the house were turned off, and we sat in the dark, enjoying the quiet.

"I realized something today," he said, "during the flight. I told you that my childhood was shitty, and it was. But the thing about it is, it's the past. I don't have to dredge it up now, every chance that I get. I look around and I see a beautiful girlfriend who I love, her son who's great, and I have a son or daughter on the way. I'm employed. I have a roof over my head, food in my belly, clean water, and I woke up in the morning. And I have a lot of joy doing my art.

"At some point, you move beyond your parents' limitations. And part of being an adult is realizing that you aren't blaming them any more for what happened. The past happened, that's all. Maybe it's someone's fault, but you can't go back and change it. So why bother complaining about not being able to change something when it's impossible?

"I think I was blaming them for not being able to live the life I wanted. I blamed them for everything: not being able to do my art, for all of the work I had to do to live, to go through school. For all of the crappy past.

"But I don't need to blame them any more. That's old news." He gave me a rueful smile and tilted his head. "It wasn't my fault. My childhood wasn't my fault. Growing up the way I did, I was just a kid. I did the best I could. Everyone did, I think.

"But I'm going to do it better for Roberto and for our baby."