drift, but at the door she embraced me anyway.
“One day, Jack. One day.”
“Will you do it?”
“You sound like a recorded message. I hate that.”
“I'm sorry. Will you?”
Her key ring came out, and she unlocked her door.
“Let me sleep on it,” and she was gone before I could reply.
During the drive home I remembered Jessie's basketball game. It was late and she was probably asleep in her dorm room, but I called her anyway. Her voice was groggy when she answered.
“I'm sorry I woke you,” I said. “How was the game?”
“We won,” my daughter said. “Your dream was right. I shot eight for twelve from the three-point line and hit 80 percent of my free throws.”
“You're a star.”
My daughter giggled. “Thanks for calling. How was your day?”
“Couldn't of been better.”
“Good. Good night, Daddy. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I ended the call. Talking to Jessie gave purpose to my day, and I looked out my window at the shimmering lights from hundreds of houses visible from the interstate. It wasn't that long ago that I'd lived in one of those neighborhoods, with a wife and a child and a big backyard, where I'd hoped to put a swimming pool. Back then, my life had been filled with headaches and dreams, and I was always wishing for things I didn't own. It had never occurred to me how good things really were and that I should have been content with what I'd had. Now, I knew. And I wanted that life back, and all the problems that went with it. Somehow I didn't think that was too much to ask for.
PART TWO
GOD BLINKED
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
G
od blinked.
My five-year-old daughter stood before me, wearing a pink polka-dot bikini and clutching a plastic bucket. We were visiting friends on Hutchinson Island for the weekend, and Jessie wanted to go shell hunting on the beach with the older kids.
“Please, Daddy, I want to go,” she pleaded.
The beer bottle in my hand was empty, and I was craving another. Outside the screened porch stood the other children, waiting expectantly. I did not like letting Jessie out of my sight. Seeing my hesitation, Jessie stomped her foot.
“Please, Daddy!”
I sensed a tantrum coming on and felt myself start to cave.
“Promise me you won't bother the turtles we saw last night,” I said.
Jessie began to pout. Last night, under a full moon, our family had watched giant loggerhead turtles that had swum all the way from South Africa lay dozens of perfectly round white eggs in nests they'd dug on the beach. Jessie hadn't stopped talking about it.
“But I wanna see them,” she said.
“I'll take you later,” I said.
“You will?”
“Yes. Now promise me you'll stay away from them.”
She stared at the floor. “Okay.”
“Good. Now go have fun.”
I watched her leave, then went to the kitchen for a fresh beer. On the way I was besieged with orders from my friends.
“Hey Jack, how about another cold one?”
“Jack, I could use more wine.”
Jack, Jack, Jack.
We'd been partying all day long, and no one was feeling any pain. In the kitchen I fixed the drinks and put them on a tray, then returned to my friends. I served Rose, and she kissed me. Then I served my friends, and they tried to kiss me, too.
I returned to my chair. Something didn't feel right. Rising, I went to the screened window and stared at the sand dunes behind the house. The kids were having a blast and making plenty of noise. Finally I realized what was wrong. I didn't hear Jessie. Opening the screen door, I called her name.
No answer.
The dreadful void of silence was a sound worse than any cry or scream. Stepping outside, I went to where the older kids were playing in the dunes, half expecting to have my daughter jump up and yell “Boo!”
But she didn't.
“Where's Jessie?” I asked them. “Where is she?”
The older kids gave me blank stares. Then one pointed down the beach. I ran to the next dune and found Jessie's bucket. There were three sand dollars in it.
I
“One day, Jack. One day.”
“Will you do it?”
“You sound like a recorded message. I hate that.”
“I'm sorry. Will you?”
Her key ring came out, and she unlocked her door.
“Let me sleep on it,” and she was gone before I could reply.
During the drive home I remembered Jessie's basketball game. It was late and she was probably asleep in her dorm room, but I called her anyway. Her voice was groggy when she answered.
“I'm sorry I woke you,” I said. “How was the game?”
“We won,” my daughter said. “Your dream was right. I shot eight for twelve from the three-point line and hit 80 percent of my free throws.”
“You're a star.”
My daughter giggled. “Thanks for calling. How was your day?”
“Couldn't of been better.”
“Good. Good night, Daddy. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I ended the call. Talking to Jessie gave purpose to my day, and I looked out my window at the shimmering lights from hundreds of houses visible from the interstate. It wasn't that long ago that I'd lived in one of those neighborhoods, with a wife and a child and a big backyard, where I'd hoped to put a swimming pool. Back then, my life had been filled with headaches and dreams, and I was always wishing for things I didn't own. It had never occurred to me how good things really were and that I should have been content with what I'd had. Now, I knew. And I wanted that life back, and all the problems that went with it. Somehow I didn't think that was too much to ask for.
PART TWO
GOD BLINKED
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
G
od blinked.
My five-year-old daughter stood before me, wearing a pink polka-dot bikini and clutching a plastic bucket. We were visiting friends on Hutchinson Island for the weekend, and Jessie wanted to go shell hunting on the beach with the older kids.
“Please, Daddy, I want to go,” she pleaded.
The beer bottle in my hand was empty, and I was craving another. Outside the screened porch stood the other children, waiting expectantly. I did not like letting Jessie out of my sight. Seeing my hesitation, Jessie stomped her foot.
“Please, Daddy!”
I sensed a tantrum coming on and felt myself start to cave.
“Promise me you won't bother the turtles we saw last night,” I said.
Jessie began to pout. Last night, under a full moon, our family had watched giant loggerhead turtles that had swum all the way from South Africa lay dozens of perfectly round white eggs in nests they'd dug on the beach. Jessie hadn't stopped talking about it.
“But I wanna see them,” she said.
“I'll take you later,” I said.
“You will?”
“Yes. Now promise me you'll stay away from them.”
She stared at the floor. “Okay.”
“Good. Now go have fun.”
I watched her leave, then went to the kitchen for a fresh beer. On the way I was besieged with orders from my friends.
“Hey Jack, how about another cold one?”
“Jack, I could use more wine.”
Jack, Jack, Jack.
We'd been partying all day long, and no one was feeling any pain. In the kitchen I fixed the drinks and put them on a tray, then returned to my friends. I served Rose, and she kissed me. Then I served my friends, and they tried to kiss me, too.
I returned to my chair. Something didn't feel right. Rising, I went to the screened window and stared at the sand dunes behind the house. The kids were having a blast and making plenty of noise. Finally I realized what was wrong. I didn't hear Jessie. Opening the screen door, I called her name.
No answer.
The dreadful void of silence was a sound worse than any cry or scream. Stepping outside, I went to where the older kids were playing in the dunes, half expecting to have my daughter jump up and yell “Boo!”
But she didn't.
“Where's Jessie?” I asked them. “Where is she?”
The older kids gave me blank stares. Then one pointed down the beach. I ran to the next dune and found Jessie's bucket. There were three sand dollars in it.
I
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