The Son & His Hope Read online

  She scuffed her pink slipper with a silver unicorn horn into the dusty floor. “That would be okay…I guess.”

  My eyes narrowed. “You’re saying you want to go home?”

  “I’m saying I don’t like sleeping in a room with others.”

  I sucked in a breath, hating that we shared a similarity. “You don’t have a choice.”

  I expected her to nod and turn tail back to the bunk room. Instead, her eyes flashed green. “I slept in the stable last night. No one noticed or cared.” She pointed at a striped blanket that used to be clean and folded on a bunk bed but was now covered in hay and scrunched up by the stable door.

  “Wait. You slept out here…on your own?”

  Her chin came up. “Why do you care?”

  I swallowed hard. “I don’t.”

  She flinched. “Why are you always so mean?”

  “Mean?” I pointed a finger at my chest. “Me? I’m not mean.”

  “Yes, you are. All the time. I said I was sorry for being nosy at the diner. I know I annoy you. I know you don’t want me here. And I know you think I’m some stupid kid. But I’m only four years younger than you, and Keeko always says that girls mature faster than boys, so I’m probably like your age or older.” She squared her shoulders. “So you can’t tell me what to do.”

  I’d forgotten how odd she was. How chatty she could be when we were alone. Last time we’d spoken without adult supervision, she’d told me about her dead mother, and she didn’t even know me.

  Now, she’d just admitted she’d slept alone with feral cats and terrified mice for company.

  God, if that didn’t make the guilt press even harder.

  My heart thumped with confrontation, but I kept my steps calm and slow as I moved toward her. Words like ‘sorry’ and ‘I didn’t mean to yell’ battled with standing my ground against her strange stares. “I’m allowed to tell you what to do. I’m in charge here, and I say go back to bed.”

  “You’re not in charge. Cassie is.”

  “Yeah, and she’s not here, is she? So I’m boss.”

  “You’re a bully.”

  “What?” I bit the word, hating that she’d gotten under my skin and nailed my behaviour. If Mom knew how mean I’d been to her, she’d be furious. Then again, Aunt Cassie had told her about me blowing up at Hope on the first day, but Mom had just nodded as if she understood my temper and gave me a free pass to be cruel.

  Perhaps she shouldn’t have.

  Maybe I needed greater discipline.

  If it took away the stress of never knowing if I did the right thing and paved a path to follow, then I’d welcome it. I’d welcome any guidance on how to be a better son, better oath-keeper, better person.

  My eyes locked with Hope’s again and my fight dissolved. My spine slouched as I looked at the blanket she’d used and the hay bales she’d no doubt slept on, and for once, I couldn’t use my temper as a shield.

  Her unicorn slippers were the easiest things to look at as I said the hardest thing imaginable. “Look…I’m, eh, I’m sorry, okay?”

  She sucked in a breath. “What?” Her tiny squeak could’ve been mistaken for one of the resident mice.

  I rubbed the back of my neck, then raked my fingers through my hair. “I shouldn’t have been so…loud.” That didn’t really make sense. I tried again. “I mean, I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I’m sorry for—”

  “I’m sorry too.” She rushed out in a massive exhale that echoed with relief. “I didn’t mean to be a pest. I swear.”

  I held up my hand, a sort of smile playing on my lips. “It’s fine. Let’s forget about it, ‘kay?”

  She nodded fast, her hair swishing over her shoulders. “Yes, please.”

  “Anyone ever tell you, you say please a lot.”

  She frowned, her small cheeks pink. “Dad says I don’t say it enough.”

  “Parents.”

  She smiled back, both of us aware we didn’t have parents. Just parent.

  Silence fell again but at least it wasn’t so strained.

  Tucking hair behind her ear, Hope’s gaze found my face again, studying me in that intense, scary way that made me feel stripped bare and lacking.

  My hackles rose. “You should go.”

  “Go?” She stiffened. “As in…leave?”

  “No, not leave. Bed. It’s late. Aunt Cassie is taking you guys on a long trek tomorrow. I won’t be blamed for your tiredness if you fall off.”

  “I wouldn’t blame you.” Her voice was quiet. “If I fall off, it won’t be your fault.” Her body snapped to attention, her hands wringing again as if words battled to be spoken all at once. “Oh! I never got to tell you and I’ve been waiting so long to tell you! That’s why I came over to you in the diner. I wanted to say thank you for making me ride your pony. Thank you for showing me what I wanted.”

  She sucked in a breath, coming closer as if desperate to make me listen. “I was so scared. So, so scared. You almost killed me, but you were the only person who pushed me. The adults think I’m this breakable thing ’cause of what happened to Mom and how I found her—”

  She waved her hand, breaking off as if she was used to not being allowed to talk about such things and launching into new, acceptable topics. “I didn’t know how to ask for what I wanted. I didn’t know what I wanted. I still don’t know. And that’s okay. But I knew enough that when Dad accepted a job filming in Saudi Arabia, I was brave enough to beg for horse riding lessons. He tried to say no. He said you were reckless, and riding was dangerous, but I didn’t stop, Jacob. You’d be so proud of me. I was um…loud. I didn’t give up, and I just wanted to say thank you. It’s the only thing that’s mine. The only thing where I’m not something to someone else, you know? It took so much convincing…after what you did last time. But I got to ride a few camels, a donkey, and a pretty dapple called Prince of Persia.”

  “Sounds like you miss it.” My jaw clenched. “The glamorous life in some desert.”

  “It’s actually very green over there,” she said primly. “I do miss some things. I miss my lessons on Prince. His bloodlines descend from a famous racehorse called—”

  “Don’t care. It’s not like we can provide horses of such calibre.”

  Her face fell as if I’d stolen her favourite teddy. “I’m trying to thank you, and you’re getting mad at me again.” She stared in that deep, unsettling way of hers. “Just…let me thank you.”

  I cleared my throat, suddenly feeling as if we were breaking some sort of rule. “Fine. Glad I could help.”

  She shrugged. “Anyway…I wanted to tell you more, but I’ve forgotten. You make me nervous and…”

  When she didn’t finish, I hid my racing heart. “And…?”

  She smiled quickly. “And…I don’t have any friends. I know you don’t like me, and you don’t want me here, and you can’t wait for me to leave but…” She shrank back as if I’d bite her. “You’re my friend. Even if you don’t want to be.”

  She was right to back away because the word friend terrified me. It came bound with other words like closeness, trust, affection. Words that led to deeper ones like connection, love, pain.

  Any soft feelings I’d nursed slammed back into hard ones. “I’m not your friend, Hope.”

  She sighed as if she’d expected my answer but hoped for something else. “I know.” It didn’t stop her big, innocent eyes staring at me, filling me with yet more guilt.

  If she kept looking at me like that, I’d have to leave. If she was lonely without her dad or nanny, then she should make friends with the other students.

  Not with me.

  Hadn’t she learned that lesson already?

  I wasn’t looking for friends.

  Ever.

  I wanted to get away from her, but she dived into yet another conversation that required little input from me. “Cassie said I can jump tomorrow, now she knows my experience level. Isn’t that great?” She hopped up onto the bales behind her, her silly unicorn slippers ba
nging against the golden stalks. “I can’t wait. Does Biscuit jump, Jacob? I’ve jumped before, but it’s always scary on a new pony.” She plucked a dried piece of grass and broke it in half. “I’m hoping I won’t let Cassie down. Show her and Dad that the lessons he bought me were worth it.”

  I crossed my arms, moving to slouch against the stable wall. Despite the dangerous previous topic, I was happy to discuss horses. She made it easy, chirping away like a garden sparrow. “So your lessons over there took you from barely able to steer to jumping?”

  She beamed. “Yes! I was hoping I could tell you all about it.”

  I should be glad my unorthodox teaching method had shown her a passion for horses, but somehow, it pissed me off. When she didn’t elaborate further, I waved my hand impatiently. “Well?”

  “Thanks to you, I love riding. The horse is my friend. I can tell it anything—even stuff I shouldn’t talk about, and they can’t tell on me. Not that you told on me. You didn’t tell anyone what I said.” Her head tilted to the side, her face so young and animated. “You’re good at keeping secrets, aren’t you, Jacob Ren Wild?” The greenness of her eyes seemed to darken, looking older than her twelve years.

  “Don’t use my full name,” I muttered.

  “Why not?”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “But it’s your name.”

  “It’s my dad’s name.”

  “And your dad is dead.” She nodded as if it made perfect sense. “Okay. From now on, you’re just Jacob.”

  “Gee, thanks.”

  She paused at the raw warning in my tone. But then she grew brave again, sticking her flat chest out with courage. “Why does everyone do that?”

  “Do what?”

  “Avoid talking about the dead?”

  I tensed. “I don’t avoid talking—”

  “Yes, you do. Everyone does. My mom died, too.”

  God, she’d done it again; hooked me with hints of inappropriate things. She’d napped beside her dead mother. That was yet another similarity we shared—not that I’d slept beside a corpse—but we’d both seen and touched one.

  I’d hugged Dad’s cold body as he was loaded into the ambulance, never to return.

  I’d had nightmares over the strange wrongness for years afterward. No one at school had been around a dead family member. No one knew the black emptiness it left you with or how it forced you to grow up.

  But…Hope did.

  “I want to talk about it,” she whispered hotly. “I want to know why she killed herself, where did she go, is she watching me, is she sorry, does she wish she hadn’t done it, does she miss me, does she miss Dad, will I see her again, does she hear me when I say goodnight, can she see me cantering, is she proud?” Tears glittered but her chin came up higher, crushing my chest with a power only she could wield. “You’re my friend. If I can’t talk about this sort of stuff with you, then I can’t talk about it with anyone, and I’m so sick of not being able to talk about it.” She tugged her hair as if her head pounded with morbid questions. “Don’t you want to know? Don’t you ever stop to ask why?”

  I ignored the part where she called me her friend again. My breath came short and choppy. “I know why.”

  “You do?”

  “Dad died because he was sick. Unlike your mom, he didn’t want to go anywhere.”

  I gasped, wishing I could stuff such awful things back into the darkness where they belonged.

  But I couldn’t, and Hope crumpled on the bale, her feet stopped kicking and her head bowed. “You’re right. Your dad is in Heaven. But my mom…she’s in Hell.”

  My knees wobbled, desperate to run but tripping forward instead and collapsing me beside her on the hay. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean…” I held up my hands in surrender. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

  She sniffled, wiping her nose on the back of her hand. “It’s okay. I’ve read stuff. I know that suicide is different from dying. It’s a sin.” She shivered as if a ghost tiptoed down her spine.

  I climbed off the bale again and snatched the blanket from the floor. Shaking it free from as much golden grass as I could, I draped it over her shoulders before sitting back down.

  She gave me a watery smile. “Thanks.”

  I nodded, fighting a war to leave for my peace of mind and staying for hers. I’d been cruel to this girl—cold-hearted, short tempered, and unforgiving—so the least I could do was give her something no one else was prepared to give.

  Even if it would kill me to talk about such things.

  “You know…” My voice was quiet, hushed, hesitant around the small stable. “I don’t believe in Heaven or Hell, so don’t worry about your mom, okay?”

  Her eyes snapped up, her body turning into mine as if thirsty for anything I could tell her. “You don’t?”

  I shook my head. “I believe the dead have a choice.”

  “What choice?”

  “The choice to stay and watch the living, or the choice to leave and go to the next place.”

  “What place?”

  “Dunno.” I looked at my dirty boots. “Some everlasting meadow where they’re always happy? Another life as an animal or tree or human? Who the hell knows. There’s no point in thinking so much about death because no one truly knows until they’re dead. And then you’ve just wasted your entire life thinking about something you’ll find out sooner rather than later.”

  Hope went as silent and as still as I’d ever seen her. Her eyes widened as if I’d finally given her something she’d been searching for. “I never thought about it that way before.”

  “Well, now you have.”

  She stayed quiet, nodding to whatever thoughts ran riot in her head. Finally, she reached into the baggy pockets of her track pants and pulled out the black piece of fabric that had fallen from her jeans the day I’d given her a ride on Forrest.

  I kept my face unreadable as she passed it to me.

  I didn’t want to take it, but she grabbed my cool, rough fingers with her warm, silky ones and pressed it into my palm. The lace was soft, not scratchy. Frayed and worn as if the owner had rubbed and stroked it to a fine thread.

  “That was Mom’s.” Hope bowed her head, fascinated by the black lace in my hand. She let me go, leaving a trail of pinpricks behind. “It used to be a shawl, but it fell apart over the years.” She sniffed, looking up with glassy green eyes. “Do you think she feels me when I hold it and talk to her? Do you think she’s in some other place and not Hell?”

  So many things were wrong with this situation.

  I shouldn’t be alone with a girl in a stable at midnight. I shouldn’t be talking about death and dying with a child. And I definitely shouldn’t feel anything more than annoyance and mild disdain.

  But behind her youth and fragility lurked someone far braver than me. She’d not only lost a parent—she’d been abandoned willingly by that parent. Yes, Dad had left me and Mom, but it wasn’t like he didn’t fight, didn’t try, didn’t clutch every miracle to hang around as long as he could. And now, even gone, he still found ways to remind us he loved us, missed us, and was proud.

  The compass sat heavy and accusing in my jeans pocket, nestled beside my Swiss Army knife. Self-preservation demanded I get up and leave, but compassion and something I’d long been afraid of made me stay.

  I felt sorry for her.

  I was in awe of her.

  In awe of the way she kept fighting with joy and happiness. She wasn’t afraid to love, even though she knew what it was like to have love change to pain. She hugged freely, welcomed touch from others, and sat close to me with no sign of terror.

  Once again, I felt like an utter asshole because her gaze no longer pried open my secrets, doing their best to steal what I hid; instead, she pleaded with me to give her comfort.

  Comfort she’d been denied.

  Why hadn’t the adults seen her vulnerability? Why did they tell her to shut up about this sort of stuff when all she wanted was a frank conversation and so
me answers to try to make sense of why her mother decided that killing herself was better than a lifetime with her daughter?

  I sighed heavily, wrapping my fingers around Hope’s sad scrap of lace.

  She sensed my weakness, shuffling closer as if needing contact and also to protect the lace locked in my grip.

  My skin heated with warning at her proximity, and I fought my instincts to move away. After tonight, I would keep my distance, but there, in the darkness with only hay and mice to hear me, I whispered, “Yes, I believe she can hear you.”

  She sucked in a breath full of thanks and a slight tinge of disbelief that I’d answered. Her gaze tightened with seriousness as she leaned closer. “Do you talk to your dad?”

  “Sometimes.” I shivered as a chill walked down my spine. “However, it’s more the other way around.”

  Her eyes bugged. “You mean…he’s here…on the farm?”

  “Kinda.” Words were heavy and unwilling as if sharing this secret would somehow make it untrue. But she spun some sort of curse that I couldn’t deny whenever she looked so deep and imploring into me.

  Clearing my throat, I tried again—for her. “I feel him. I know when I’ve disappointed him or when he approves.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Isn’t that just your con-conscious? Keeko told me if I do something that makes me feel queasy, then I probably did something Dad wouldn’t approve of.”

  I couldn’t stop myself from correcting her. “It’s conscience. And yeah, I’m sure some would say that. But I know otherwise.” Shoving the lace back into her hand, I stood quickly. “It doesn’t matter anyway. They’re both gone. Even if they can hear and see us, they’re not real.”

  “They were real once.” Hope curled around her lace, stroking it with her thumb.

  “But not anymore,” I muttered.

  I’d reached my limit. I’d gone past my tolerance. I needed to be alone. And fast.

  “My advice? Move on. They have.” Striding toward the stable door, I pointed a finger at her. “Now git. Go back to bed. Otherwise, I’ll tell Aunt Cassie you’re breaking camp rules.”