VIII

Rebel dozed on the windowsill, cozily curled up against himself, the sunbeams warming him. He kept one eye open as always, to watch the activities of the house. He'd been there on that windowsill for hours, watching as Roger made coffee, as Bridget made breakfast, as Jack went about and did nothing. He'd watched Hayden grumble a little as he pulled on boots to go work outside. He'd watched Eileen put out several cigarettes.

Rebel was the forgotten pair of eyes around the house.

When Rebel finally moved from the sill, it was to yawn and stretch; he crawled slowly and sleepily over to Jack, who had fallen asleep on the couch. Rebel rubbed the limp hand that dangled over the edge of the sofa; it moved, but only slightly. Rebel pawed at it for a while, but when that got old, he backed up, wriggled his butt, and jumped up onto Jack's stomach.

"Ngh," Jack opened one eye, and then the other. "Oh…hey kitty." He scratched lovingly behind Rebel's tiny ears. "What're you up to?" he asked, as if he really expected an answer.

Rebel didn't understand his friend's words and neither could he emulate them, but that didn't matter. "Meow," he answered, purring and rubbing Jack's hand.

"Yeah, me too," Jack said, even though he had no clue what the cat was saying. He picked Rebel up, who still wiggled like a kitten, and plopped him in the hole between Jack's cheek and the back of the couch. There, he snuggled and curled up again, falling asleep, and amusing Jack with his small kitten snores.

***

School was fast approaching. Jack, who had decided to hold off and wait out another year before college, would stay home and work the rest of the year. Bridget, who was definitely showing, was worried.

"No one else is pregnant! I'm the only one. It's not going to look very good!" she was in hysterics one night, not very long before her first day back.

"Bridget," Jack said, "It doesn't matter. It's not as if you slept around and got pregnant." He was always seeing the logical side of things, and usually, that helped. But tonight, logic could do nothing for a hormonal and distressed young woman.

Their conversation went on late into the night until Jack had finally had enough. He shushed her and put them both to bed. As he was falling asleep, Jack thought about all the things he should have done that day; he should've went into town and gotten some groceries, he should've called the doctor's office and rescheduled Bridget's appointment (oh well, there was always tomorrow), he should've fixed the gas leak in the truck.

But instead of letting it get to him, he just allowed himself to get what he thought was going to be a good night's rest.

***

Rebel had successfully escaped. He watched from the safety of the tall grasses as the dangerous spectacle before him continued to unfold. Big, bright tongues of flame engulfed the house. When everyone had been accounted for, Roger jumped in the truck to get help, since no one could get to the phone inside the house. Then, only minutes later, Bridget shrieked and ran back into the house, screaming some incoherent explanation. Jack immediately went in after her, despite his phobia, and tried to find her.

The smoke was thick and black and the heat was unbearable. Jack kept having flashbacks to his father's house…how it had been his fault…how Eileen had been screaming and how Hayden had been crying. And then, he remembered another piece, as he called out for Bridget. He remembered asking his mother something…something, important. How come Hayden and Jack didn't look like their father, because of the picture from the hospital. Why did the picture tell nothing of John's two sons?

"Because, Jackie," Eileen had said with tears in her eyes, "Jonathan wasn't really your daddy." And she had let it be at that.

Jack, remembering this deeply repressed memory and choking on all the heavy smoke, passed out. Bridget, not knowing that he had come in after her, never saw him, and by the time she came safely out of the inferno…by the time that she realized where Jack was, it was too late.

*Epilogue*

I remember that my throat was so sore that night, because I had screamed so loudly when Mom held me back, not allowing me to go in after Jack. She was crying though, and I knew she was as sad as I was if not more; no parent should have to see their child die.

Dad came back with the fire department, and they managed to put the fire out before it had reached the field, but…they hadn't been able to save Jack. "Just like Jonathan," Eileen had said weepily.

When I asked who Jonathan had been, Hayden explained to me what our mother couldn't: Jonathan had been their adopting stepfather. Mom had had an affair when she'd been with my dad and well…. Hayden, being older, had known and remembered this fact, but, Jack. Jack hadn't known, and when he'd found out, he'd repressed such a world-altering memory. He'd made Jonathan his biological father. It only now occurs to me that this was why both Hayden and Jack were older than me.

They were unable to save Jack, but I had saved his songs. There were two large shoeboxes that I saved from the fire full of his work: love notes, songs, poems, and stories. Daddy and Mom helped me out, and later, after I'd had the baby, they helped me move. I found a home in Texas, where I was sure my child would grow up safely. I could afford it and it was nice, with a cleanly cut back and front yard, a fence, all that.

I'd named our son Rebel, after Jack's favorite companion. I raised him in ways I thought would have been agreeable between Jack and myself. Rebel was a healthy boy, smart like his father, and athletic like me. No one would have known that his father had been my half-brother.

Later, as I grew older, I met someone. Rebel was nine years old, and I asked him if he would be okay if I married this man, Chris. Rebel thought it was a great idea, because Chris always got along with him; he'd helped him with 'homework' and he was always willing to play with Rebel when I was busy.

We were married in July, and a year later, I became pregnant. It was then that I had to explain to Rebel about his father. It depressed him, and he even asked to see a doctor. I let him go, and I went with him most of the time. Stronger than his father had been, Rebel found a way to cope with his reality. He didn't let it defeat him.

When the baby came, it was another boy, and it had been Chris's idea to name him Jack. Rebel, now aware of his own story, took good care of his baby brother.

Not a day goes by where my heart doesn't find Jack. When I watch my youngest son chase fireflies, when he learns new things.

Everyday, I have reminded myself, that Jack wasn't really a mistake after all.