The Family Man

Chapter 7

The wine was definitely needed.

Jack had helped himself to about three glasses since they sat at the table fifteen minutes earlier.

Not that anybody complained. Jackie arched an eyebrow but said nothing. John Bouvier (bless his old soul) grinned with warmth. Janet pursed her lips and plucked each and every raisin out of the garden salad that wasn't so much made as it was store-bought from Super Fresh. Along with the smoked hallibut, seasoned chicken breast, and veggie couscous from the farmer's market.

"Couscous," John murmured in that soft, deep baritone of his. "It's like wheat, right?"

Jackie chased a grain around her plate and smiled. "I always thought it was more like rice."

"I hate raisins." Janet looked up and glared. "Did you put raisins in the salad just to spite me, Jacqueline?"

"Of course not," her daughter insisted. Jackie dabbed at her mouth and snuck a furtive glance to her father. John snorted and covered this up with a cough into his fist. Jack suddenly remembered that ten years ago, he had taken a liking to Jackie's father. There was a warmth to his eye and a quick but tolerant humor for the ridiculousness of his family. Jackie was much like him in temperament. Only a little more passionate. A little more driven.

The years had not altered the Bouvier's too significantly. Being naturally paranoid, Janet had sought out to preserve her aging beauty through frequent trips to the salon and the slathering of nighttime creams. Crows feet were apparent around her skeptical brown eyes, as well as the wrinkles around her mouth. Half a bottle of wine later and Jack remembered these were laugh lines and nothing sinister.

John had aged. His hair was more salt than pepper now and his hands sometimes shook out of nervous habit. Jack assumed this was from a lifetime of hard work. A heart problem probably hadn't helped much either. But his face displayed all the coolness his wife did not possess. He didn't see fit to fret about anything, in fact. It was a healthy way to live, if not somewhat detached.

"Are we starting a new section tomorrow, Jack?" asked John. "For the catalogue, of course. Aristotle called me two days back."

Jack looked up over the rim of his glass and his eyebrows furrowed. "...Catalogue?"

"Inventory," John emphasized gently. He smiled, "You guys are so technical in there nowadays. Before we had nothing but barcodes and one scanner. Now you need about ten different programs to access the merchandise."

Good," said Jackie. "It keeps it organized. It was a wreck before Jack got in there."

"Thank you, Jackie," noted John with a smirk. "Twenty years of blood, sweat and tears and it's now a wreck."

"You know what I mean!" she laughed. "You had incompetent partners who totally swindled you, Pop. All that forked over cash for faulty systems. At least Jack and Ari developed a secure database. So now, you're not only a cozy and independent bookstore, but a professional one too."

Janet beamed. "Your father refuses to believe the fact that the store can live on without him."

"Well, believe it," cautioned Jackie quietly. "Because we're not putting you under that stress again.

Jack traced the rim of his glass with a fingertip, then tossed it back and swallowed hard. He felt dizzy. With a shaky step, he stood up from the table and excused himself into the study down the hall.

Clicking the door shut behind him, Jack realized this was definitely his room. It was all rich, wooden surfaces. Smooth cherry desktop, sleek computer monitor, polished bookcases brimming with volumes. He half expected to find a bottle of brandy on the second shelf below the photo albums; but the drawer was stuffed with old letters instead.

He sighed and rested his head against the first shelf, until the pressure bothered him. Looking up, he pulled the second volume out from the row and let it fall open in his lap. Crooked, scrapbooked photos of his last year at college greeted him. Will smiled a little and leaned closer. He recognized his old roommate's face and a familiar crowd of friends. And that cozy bar on 22nd with the barred windows. And Amber, the bartender with the butterfly tattoo. He flipped the page.

There was a creased photo of Jackie sitting on the hood of his car. Her smile lit up her eyes and her arm was linked with Lee's. It was a candid, and both girls seemed to be sharing some joke that had them giggling hysterically. In the back of his mind, he almost remembered taking the picture. But it was too much to think about now. He snapped the book shut and replaced it on the shelf. It was then that Jack noticed the row of videotapes just above it...

"Hey," Jackie poked her head in the doorway. He flinched, startled again, and Jackie frowned. "Wow, second day and running. You sure you're okay?"

"I'm fine," he croaked.

"Mom and Dad are leaving. I even made pound cake but Mom's watching her carbs today and now she has to avoid all temptation. She's dragging Dad home with her."

"Okay..."

She beamed and motioned both hands, "Help me clean up? Please?"

They showed the Bouvier's out and cleared away dishes in absolute silence, careful not to clang the china in fear of waking up the kids. Jackie let the dishwasher run and refolded Jack's sloppily folded tablecloth for him. Then she stacked away all the leftovers into the refrigerator, locked up the doors and refilled the cat's water dish...

"Whoa," Jack froze. "We have a cat?"

Jackie wheeled around suspiciously. "Um, I know Tom doesn't like you, Jack. But that's no reason to completely deny his existence."

"Why haven't I seen the cat?"

"He hates you. Look on your elbow if you forget the scar," laughed Jackie.

Sure enough, Jack looked. There was a faded and jagged pink slice near the crook of his elbow. He paled. Creepy.

"Besides," Jackie sighed and gathered up the place mats, "he follows Caroline around."

Jack shook his head and sighed. He leaned against the counter and waited for her to finish. Jackie felt his stare and looked at him over her shoulder. After a few moments, she turned off the kitchen light so that only the hallway light illuminated the room. Then she peered up at his face and pursed her lips: "You're pretty strange today, you know? I think you helped finish all the wine off."

"It was a good wine," was his weak response.

"Not really," laughed Jackie.

He smirked and glanced down at his feet. She was still staring at him when he looked back up. Her eyes searched his, but she said nothing.

It suddenly dawned on him how strange his behavior must have been to her. But he simply couldn't adjust to this. To the new boots he had quickly filled. He wasn't her husband. He wasn't a father. That man, the man who had seemed to take a route more for others than for himself, had up and vanished. And Jack sure as hell was not that man.

Jackie stepped back and moved one of the chairs closer to the table. Then she sighed and brushed a lock of her hair behind her ear. "I'm going to bed," she murmured. "See you upstairs." At that, she rose on her tiptoes and kissed him softly at the corner of his mouth. By the time he turned into the kiss, she was already gone. Her footsteps were padding down the hallway.

Jack leaned back against the counter and folded his arms across his chest. Then he remembered something.

"Jackie!"

She swerved on her heels and looked at him from across the corridor. "Yeah?"

"I uh," Jack rubbed the back of his neck. "I like Caroline. A lot. I didn't think I would at first, since I'm not that great with kids," he babbled. "But she's really... well, she's really something."

Jackie's smirk was ghostlike in the darkness. "Glad to hear it. Maybe we'll keep him."