It rained heavily on our last day in Ohio, the same day we held the funeral for my mother. It was nonstop, like the sky was crying that she was gone.
I supposed the rain was some sort of premonition that the months following would also be under a constant cloud of rain, not only because of how miserable Jack and I would be, but because of his decision to move to Forks, a tiny town in the Olympic Peninsula of northwest Washington State.
Everything about our Sturgis home was too much for him to bear after mom's death. The only thing tying him to Sturgis was me but I couldn't bear to see him in so much pain so I had agreed to leave too. Jack however, wasn't convinced.
"Carrie," he said to me, "We don't have to go to Forks."
I felt guilty for even thinking of staying. How could I stay knowing that it was killing Jack to be in Sturgis? Of course, time supposedly healed all wounds and there was the off chance that Jack could meet someone else but still...
"I want to go," I lied. I wasn't convincing, though I had to pay attribute to my acting skills—or maybe perhaps to the fact that Jack overlooked it when I wasn't convincing because, quite simply, it was easier to.
We hugged tightly as long as was socially acceptable for a father to hug his daughter before it got too awkward and then rode the three hour fifty-seven minute flight to Forks. Flying wasn't my strong suit so I swallowed a couple of scripted pills and slept the whole way. Jack woke me gently when we landed in Port Angeles and I quickly stood up fearing for my Louis Vuitton suitcases and more importantly what was in them.
"Was it really necessary to pack half this stuff, Carrie?" Jack asked a little annoyed as he helped me load my suitcases into our awaiting taxi. "Did you leave anything behind in Sturgis?"
"Only my entire summer wardrobe, Dad." I'd never call him Jack to his face. He noted my sarcasm and raised an eyebrow. I sighed and shotgun the front seat.
Forks had always been Jack's backup plan. While I understood his reasoning for wanting to leave Michegan, I never fully understood why he had chosen Forks. It was no secret I found it insufferable. I guess some paternal instinct in Jack encouraged him to make the transition smoother for me. He had already registered me for high school and more importantly was going to help me get a car.
"So, about that car I promised to help you with..." he announced as if reading my mind.
"Yes?" I asked, admittedly a bit too keen. I was a sixteen year old girl about to start a new life at a different high school. There was no way I would be caught dead with my dad driving me in on my first day.
"Well, it's a truck actually, a Chevy."
This looked promising. "Where did you find it?"
"Do you remember my friend Des styles down at La Push?" La Push is the tiny Indian reservation on the coast.
"No."
"Well you should. You used to make mud pies with his son, Harry."
That would explain why I didn't remember him. I do a good job of blocking painful, unnecessary things from my memory.
Many years ago, when I had been a lot younger, we had come up here with mom on a holiday to specifically visit his friend Des Styles . His son Harry, who was around my age had come over for a play date. It was the day of the great exchange. I offered to share my porcelain tea set with him. He introduced me to the world of music . We compromised later by making little songs the catchy kind that get stuck in your head from time to time .much to my dismay, but Jack never entirely reconciled with Des after that. I wondered what softened him up.
