Chapter 11 - Jake Asks About Caleb
Jake was nine when Harold was convicted.
We had avoided giving him every detail.
He knew Grandpa did something bad years before.
He knew Dad had old job.
He knew the key belonged to Dad’s friend.
Then school found article.
A child showed him.
GRANDFATHER CONVICTED IN DECADE OLD FEDERAL INVESTIGATOR DEATH.
Jake came home.
“Was Caleb your friend?”
“Yes.”
“Grandpa killed him?”
I sat.
“The jury decided Grandpa helped cause his death.”
“Did he mean?”
“They did not decide he planned to kill Caleb. He locked an area during a dangerous crime, knew something dangerous was happening, and didn’t help when Caleb was trapped.”
Jake thought.
“Same like me?”
My heart broke.
“What?”
“He cared room more.”
Yes.
I hated.
“In a way.”
“Would Caleb be alive if Grandpa helped?”
“Probably.”
“Would I be hurt if he stopped?”
“No.”
Jake stared.
“Grandpa likes boxes more than people.”
A child’s summary.
Then:
“Did you want kill him?”
There it was again.
“When I heard what he did to you, I felt rage.”
“That means yes?”
“Feeling and doing are different.”
“Did you think?”
I refused lying.
“For a moment, I wanted him to hurt.”
Jake nodded.
“But you didn’t.”
“No.”
“Because promise?”
“Partly.”
Then:
“Because Caleb taught me anger isn’t permission.”
Jake smiled faintly.
“Smart.”
“He was.”
Then he asked to see picture.
I showed him one.
Caleb and me beside warehouse coffee machine years before.
Jake said:
“He looks normal.”
“He was.”
“What did you expect?”
“Like spy.”
I laughed.
“No.”
Then:
“What did you do?”
“Mostly paperwork, interviews, warehouses, planning.”
“Did you kill people?”
“No.”
“Mom said killer life.”
I froze.
“When?”
“Before.”
Christine had perhaps described.
“I was trained for dangerous work. I was not an assassin.”
“Did you have gun?”
“Yes.”
“Did you shoot?”
“Sometimes training. In operations, I used force when necessary, but my job was not killing.”
He accepted.
Truth without mythology.
Then:
“Are you going back?”
“No.”
“Mason?”
“He’s still working.”
“Voice guy.”
“Yes.”
Jake liked calling him that.
Then Mason visited once.
Jake said:
“You sound scary on phone.”
Mason replied:
“I’m delightful.”
Jake looked at me.
“He lies.”
For first time after hospital, laughter felt normal.
Then Christine wrote from custody.
Jake did not read for months.
When he finally did:
Jake,
I am sorry I stood there.
No excuse.
I was afraid of my father and afraid of your dad finding out what I had hidden.
I made my fear more important than your safety.
Then:
I did say enough once. That does not erase that I did not come to you.
Then:
I love you. You do not owe me a reply.
Jake folded.
“Better.”
“Want answer?”
“No.”
He kept letter.
At ten, he wrote one sentence:
I still love you but I don’t trust you.
Christine replied:
May you like
I understand.
That became beginning.
