Page 29 of Falling For Alaska

Her chin shakes. “Me too, sweetheart. We all do.” Then she looks up at my glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling. “If he was here, he’d tell you to keep going, Jack. He’d want you to be brave. And he’d be so proud of you. I am too.” Her hand wraps around mine. It’s soft and makes me feel safe again. Mom has the best smell in the entire world. Apple pie and cinnamon.

“Okay,” I whisper. I take a big breath like she showed me. “A m-m-mouse w-was m-mounting a m-mountain when, when sh-she s-saw a sh-sh-shark sink in the s-s-sea.”

Mom’s smile gets big. “That’s my boy.” She leans forward and kisses my forehead. “Good job, Jack. You did so great.” She pulls the blanket up to my chin and smooths my hair. “Goodnight, love.” The light goes off. I hear Annie crying and Mom’s voice coming from her room. She’s so tiny. Tinier than Maya. After a while, I hear mom’s steps coming back to her and dad’s bedroom. But I can’t sleep. How can I be a hero if I can’t even speak? I try the sentence again, and again, until the sky turns light and a thick tear falls on my face.

I didn’t succeed.

Not even once.

Present Day

“My-my name is Ja-Jack and, and I-I,” my hands fall on the edge of the sink, my reflection slapping me with my inability to deliver even the simplest sentence. “My name is Ja-Ja-Jack,” I repeat, this time smoother. I’ve had better moments since I arrived; a few times when I didn’t stumble over my words, especially when I was with Alaska and the flow of our conversation took hold of my speech. I wasn’t too focused on it and it seemed to make things easier. At no point did I feel that she was about to burst into laughter or finish my sentences. She still left without saying a word after our fingers touched though. Why did she leave? I wish I could see her and apologise. Anything to remove the guilt building inside me for something I cannot really grasp. Remembering the exercise my mom used to make me do before going to bed, I close my eyes and talk to myself in this small wooden house, where the smell of oatmeal still fills the air after my breakfast.

“A m-mouse,” I start, “was mounting a moun-mountain when she s-s-saw a shark sink in the s-sea.” Not even close. I know I have to find a way to improve my speech, or this will turn into a much bigger problem. I’m done with professionals, though. I tried for years, and nothing ever stuck. Maybe I could try on my own. At home. Without the weight of other people listening. Maybe that’s the missing piece. I could practice talking out loud more often. Aside from startling a neighbor or two, I don’t see how it could hurt.

I sigh and splash water on my face. Six thirty. Time to put on my uniform and focus on something other than the woman who ran away from me.

“Lasagna, pork pie, pineapple pizza,” Jared lists, hands on the wheel. I glance at him.

“Your f-favorite meal is pineapple p-p-pizza?” He grins.

“There’s nothing like it.”

“Wrong on every level.”

“Judge me now, huh?” He chuckles. “I’ll grab us one for lunch. You’ll regret saying that.”

“I d-doubt it. Really.”

“Nah, you don’t know what you’re talking about.” He shoots me a look. “And you?”

“Sweet st-stuff, cookie dough, cherry p-pie, anything with chocolate.”

“The good stuff.” He nods approvingly. Then his smile turns knowing. “Speaking of sweet stuff…”

“Um?”

“So?” Jared draws it out, eyes on the road, smug grin firmly in place.

“So?” I frown.

“Heard somebody had a visitor at the station last Sunday?” It’s been a few days since I last saw her, heard her voice, or even crossed paths. Days spent turning over every detail in my head, trying to figure out what I did wrong. Why she left. Why she hasn’t come back. The worst part being that I still can't get her out of my system. Warning signs flash above me in huge capital letters, but she still haunts me. Just from that single touch, our hands barely brushing. I clenched my fist so hard afterward, my knuckles turned white. Thought I might break something.

"Earth to Jack?" I roll my eyes and look away, toward the quiet street where the local school and clinic sit. Nothing to report. All clear. It’s a change from the bar brawls and pickpockets I dealt with in Minneapolis.

"You’re seriously grilling me like a teenage g-g-girl?"

He looks over, completely blank. “Yeah.”

"Ever heard of pri-privacy?"

"Nope. Don’t think it exists here." I chuckle because even though he's prying, I can tell it comes from a good place. Jared's not the backstabbing type. Just nosy, maybe. In a town like Lakeside, the smallest bit of drama becomes everyone’s business.

"She’s a good one, you know," he says.

I turn to look at him as the radio crackles with updates. "All units: standby for incoming storm. Expect county fire support. Possible blackouts and fallen trees. All hands on deck." We listen in silence. Jared keys the mic, "Copy that." Then he continues, "Alaska's a great person, Jack. She's just... She’s got baggage. Heavy stuff." The idea that he knows more about her than I do needles at me. I want to know her. All about her.

"If you g-got something to say," I cough, "then say it."