The Son & His Hope Read online

  I didn’t wait to see if she’d obey, and my last image of Hope—before I bolted into the starry sky—was her draped in a blanket, hay stuck in her hair, and a pathetic piece of lace clutched tight in tiny hands.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Jacob

  * * * * * *

  “WELL, THE LAST of them are gone.” Grandpa John strode inside, bringing life and vibrancy wrapped up in plaid and denim. “Cute kids.”

  I looked up from where I carved slices of roast chicken. Ever since talking with Hope in the barn four nights ago, I’d had an undeniable need to be kinder.

  Not to Hope—I couldn’t stand to look at her in the sunlight after what we’d shared in the dark—but to Mom. To my family.

  Hope taught me that just because I struggled with affection didn’t mean I wasn’t hurting others by denying it.

  I’d tried to be better.

  But it didn’t mean I’d made any progress.

  “You’re an angel for babysitting the stragglers, Dad.” Aunt Cassie smiled from the dining room table. Mom and I had come over to Grandpa John’s to hang with everyone. It had sort of become a tradition to celebrate with a roast when the school holidays ended and the horse camp closed.

  Aunt Cassie curled up her nose. “That awful man was going to send those poor foals to the slaughterhouse if I didn’t go that very minute.”

  Mom flinched. “I’ll never understand how people can be so heartless.”

  I kept my eyes on my knife as I continued slicing juicy meat.

  “All good, darlin’ girl. Hopefully, the foster mare likes having two fillies. You might have to bottle-feed, though, to top them up.” Grandpa John kissed Aunt Cassie on the top of her head, squeezed Uncle Chip’s shoulder as he gave him a beer, caressed Mom’s cheek as he passed, and ruffled Nina’s hair where she sat on the couch watching some awful reality program.

  Everyone got touched.

  I stiffened, knowing I was next.

  “I know. I’ve already got the formula. They shouldn’t be too far from weaning.” Cassie scribbled the new additions into her log book of all the horses she’d rescued—the age, condition, and background. Just like her horse camp had become popular, she and Mom had become well-known bleeding hearts when it came to mistreated cases. Lucky we were well off because most of Mom’s disposable cash went to feeding and maintaining the abused.

  I sometimes wondered if she protected the sick and injured because she couldn’t protect Dad.

  Grandpa John made his way into the kitchen, his huge bulk and imposing presence making my muscles stiffen even more. Grandpa John was the most affectionate out of the Wilson’s. He was gruff and had teeth that could draw blood, but he also wore his heart on his sleeve and saved every spider and fly rather than squashed them.

  Planting a heavy paw on my shoulder, he inhaled deep. “Um, something smells good, Jakey.”

  I smiled, doing my best to stop my body from shaking as he squeezed me. “Thanks.”

  He sniffed at the roasted potatoes steaming beside the buttery green beans. “Can’t wait.”

  I didn’t like to cook, but Mom had taught me well. She said I needed to know how to feed myself because hunting and cooking were the two things that would keep me alive and healthy if and when I left home.

  Talking of leaving home…

  I’d been thinking about that and knew what I would do. I just needed to find the guts to tell Mom. Besides, the past few days I’d had my daily allotment of stress thanks to Hope being on my farm.

  Not that I’d spoken to her again.

  Whenever she’d returned from rides with Aunt Cassie, I’d feel her eyes on me like twin ice picks, chipping away at my reserves, reminding me I wasn’t as impenetrable as I hoped.

  Three times, she’d almost caught me coming out of the barn, and three times, I’d thrown a wave in her direction and jogged off on some very urgent chore that kept me away from her impossible stares.

  But that was over now. At least for a while.

  She’d left a couple of hours ago—picked up by her dad, kissed like a loved daughter, and hugged like a favourite belonging.

  I didn’t say goodbye.

  She’d come looking for me, but I’d spotted her before she’d spotted me and I’d left my position at the creek where I was damming an area so the lower paddock didn’t flood come the predicted rain next week, and then hid in the trees where I was more at home than in a house with four walls.

  She’d traipsed through long grass ready to be baled, her face falling from eager to sad. Something in my belly clenched, my mouth parted to speak, my body shifted to go to her.

  But then, she’d coughed.

  A delicate cough most likely from pollen but enough to send my heart crashing through my ribcage.

  She coughed again, reminding me how explicitly fragile and weak humans were. How breakable. How killable. How temporary.

  While memories and unresolved panic ricocheted through me, she’d turned around and returned to where the other kids stood with their backpacks and dirty clothes ready for parent collection.

  I’d stayed in the trees for a long time after, doing my best to calm down. To stop the memories. To ignore the fact that coughing meant someone’s lungs were irritated. And lungs were so damn useless. And if breath couldn’t be caught, then death was imminent.

  I wanted to chase after her and demand she see a doctor to ensure her coughing was just a symptom of mild hay fever and nothing like my dad had.

  To make sure she wasn’t dying.

  But in the end, I got a hold of myself and convinced myself I didn’t care.

  Even if she died and I never saw her again, I’d kept my distance enough not to hurt.

  Grandpa John nudged me sideways, his hairy hand reaching for the soap and sink. Turning liquid into bubbles, he gave me a grin, then rinsed the mess away before diving into his pocket for a trusty handkerchief.

  Pulling it out, he dried his hands, rolling his eyes as I darted out of his way so he wouldn’t touch me again—making it seem like I had to scoop the bread rolls from the oven that very second.

  His heavy boots passed me by, depositing him on the seat next to Mom where he took her hand in his and kissed her knuckles.

  Mom visibly relaxed, resting her head on his shoulder and soaking in the comfort normal creatures found from being loved.

  Meanwhile, I focused on dividing out dinner for the family, my bare feet touching something soft on the lino as I reached for the cutlery drawer.

  Looking down, I frowned.

  Something black and lacy stared back.

  What the—?

  Ducking, I snatched it from the floor and froze as if Hope had just magically walked into the kitchen. It was the same worn piece of lace she’d forced me to hold four nights ago.

  “Grandpa?” I asked, my voice gruff with confusion. “Did you drop this?”

  Grandpa John raised his white head, frowning at the lace in my hand. Slowly, his old eyes lit with recognition. “Ah yes, found it on the driveway. Figured it belonged to one of the kids.” Looking at Aunt Cassie, he added, “Perhaps you can get it back to the student who lost it?”

  Cassie held out her hand for me to relinquish it. “Odd, I never saw anyone with something like that. I guess I can call around and see if anyone’s missing it.”

  “Wait.” Mom’s head popped off Grandpa John’s shoulder. Biting her lip, she pushed away from the table and came toward me, palm outstretched.

  For some reason, I found it hard to let go.

  With gritted teeth, I dropped it into Mom’s hold. My eyes remained possessively on it as she cupped it tight.

  She gave me an odd look, her head tilting as if noticing something new about me for the first time. I glared as if she’d trespassed on something she shouldn’t have, even though she’d done nothing wrong.

  “I think I know who it belongs to.” She opened her hand again, offering it back to me.

  I didn’t take it, backing away a step.
/>
  “You know too, don’t you, Wild One?”

  I narrowed my gaze. I didn’t know what her game was, but I didn’t like her tone. I crossed my arms. “Should I?”

  “If you have a good memory, you should. Then again, I’m thinking you’ve seen this before, judging by the way you jolted.”

  I broke eye contact, busying myself with the chicken again. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think you do.”

  Padding toward the fridge, I yanked out the butter. “Dinner’s ready. Who cares about a piece of lace?”

  “It’s Hope’s,” Mom said. “Graham calls her Little Lace because of her Mom’s shawl. Remember? He told us the night of the premiere.”

  I couldn’t control my shudder. “I’ve done my best to block that night from my mind.”

  I hadn’t been to the movies since watching my dad die, my mom commit ‘suicide,’ and that god-awful rendition of their love story.

  Going to the theatre was tainted now.

  The thought filled me with nervous disgust for how eager people threw money at Hollywood to recreate the pain of others.

  All stories—either fact or fiction—happened to real people. And not all stories were good. In fact, most stories weren’t good. Almost all of them had a family theme, striking you over and over with the lesson that you could be rich or poor, but if you had family, you had everything.

  Yeah well, family didn’t last.

  People died.

  Animals died.

  Everything died.

  Only land lasted forever.

  Mom’s fingers closed over the piece of lace. “I have Graham’s number. You should call Hope. I’m sure she’ll be missing it.”

  Brushing past her, I carried the platter of potatoes to the table, doing my best to hide my anger. “Why do you have Graham’s number?”

  She followed me. “Because he’s a friend.”

  “He wants more than just friendship.”

  “Jacob.” Aunt Cassie shook her head in warning. “Don’t go there. Don’t go to places you don’t understand.”

  “Oh, I understand. I get that people move on and—”

  “You listen to me, Jacob Wild.” Mom stormed in front of me, planting hands on her hips. “Cassie is right. You don’t understand. You think you do, but you don’t. You think you’re protecting my honour and Ren’s memory by stopping me from talking to others, but you’re not. Men and women can be friends. Especially those who have lost someone they can never replace.” Her face whitened as old grief, recent grief, constant grief overwhelmed her. “Until you’re brave enough to let someone into your own heart, you have no right to judge. None, do you hear me?”

  Shoving the piece of lace into my hand, she muttered, “My phone is in the hall. Graham’s number is on it. I expect you to call Hope this instant and tell her you have her lace and we’ll post it to wherever her dad is filming next. Got it?”

  Our eyes locked. My temper flared. My promise throbbed.

  I bowed my head in obedience. “Okay.”

  “Good.” She smiled softly.

  And I knew what I had to say back.

  The same phrase she and Dad used after an argument or heated conversation. A phrase that was so common but meant so much.

  “Fine.”

  She flinched as the one word translated into I love you. I’d stolen something that used to be theirs and made it ours. Her eyes warmed, her anger waned, and the sense that she wanted to hug me made me clear my throat and skirt past her into the hall.

  There, I swiped my face with a hand smelling of garlic and rosemary and picked up Mom’s phone.

  There weren’t many contacts on the device. And one, in particular, punched me in the heart when I came across the entry that had been transferred from her old phone to this one but would never be answered again.

  Ren.

  Scrolling away quickly, I clicked on the entry ‘Graham’ and steeled myself for a conversation I didn’t want.

  Voices of my family tucking into the meal I’d cooked made their way to where I sulked against the wall. I waited while the ringing of Graham’s phone repeated loud in my ear.

  Finally, just before the answer machine kicked in, Graham answered as if he’d been running and my call was highly inconvenient. “Murphy speaking.”

  I glowered at the ceiling, begging for the strength not to snap at him. “It’s Jacob. You know? Jacob Wild?”

  He paused before saying warily, “Jacob…hi. What can I do for you? Your mom okay?” His voice turned a little panicky. “Did something happen?”

  I punched the wall quietly behind me, Hope’s lace itching my palm as I fisted it tight. “She’s fine. It’s not you I’m calling for, actually.”

  “Oh? Who did you want to talk to?”

  As if he didn’t know? There were only two of them. “Hope, obviously.”

  His tone slipped an octave in suspicion. “Why?”

  “Because.”

  “Because…”

  I smirked, throwing Mom’s words in his ear. “Because girls and boys can be friends.”

  Silence was loud in my ear. Finally, he cleared his throat. “Look, Jacob, you’re a nice kid, but you’re—”

  “Just put her on the phone. Or better yet, just tell me your address. She left her lace here. I’m guessing she’s missing it.”

  Graham’s entire attitude changed. “Oh, thank God. We’ve been rushing around since we got to the airport. Our flight leaves in twenty minutes, and she was adamant she wasn’t getting on the plane without that thing.”

  I stilled. “You’re leaving?”

  “Yeah, filming a TV series in Scotland. Contract starts next week.”

  I didn’t know what to say, so I didn’t reply.

  “Anyway, you’re a lifesaver. At least I can stop harassing the airport security trying to find it.” He chuckled. “I’ll text you the address of the house I’m renting. If you can post it as soon as possible, I’ll forever be in your debt.”

  “Whatever.”

  “Okay then…well, you have a good night. Thanks again.”

  The sounds of boarding calls and large crowds echoed down the line, followed by empty silence as Graham hung up.

  It wasn’t until after dinner, I’d walked Mom home, and sneaked from my bedroom to see Forrest rather than crawl into bed that I allowed myself to admit I’d shoved Hope’s lace into my pocket instead of giving it to Mom for safekeeping to send.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Hope

  * * * * * *

  TO HOPE,

  Your lace fell out of your pocket again. Seems to be a habit with you. For something that means a lot to you, you don’t take the best care of it. Because of that, I’ve done you a favour to ensure you don’t lose it again.

  Enjoy Scotland.

  Jacob.

  I looked up, doing my best not to hug the handwritten note from the most unlikely of pen pals.

  Dad kept staring at me, his arms crossed, forehead furrowed, and a look of wary dislike in his gaze. “Did you and Jacob talk much when you were at Cherry Equestrian?”

  Tearing my eyes from his, I hid my desperation to see what Jacob had sent and did my best to act normal. “Not really.” I shrugged, inching toward the staircase of the cute thatched cottage that Dad had rented for the next year. The renovated eighteenth-century three-bedroom cottage was cosy and adorable and quite a shock.

  I’d known his agent had put him forward to audition for the lead in a new period drama but didn’t know he’d gotten it. The TV show was open ended, which meant we could be here one season, then two, and three, and…

  My shoulders sank.

  The chances of riding at Cassie’s horse camp again were slim. Sure, there would be other horses in Scotland…but there would be no Jacob Ren Wild.

  No…friend.

  “Well, it was nice of him to find your lace. Surprising that he knew what it was.” Dad kept his arms crossed and his stern face on. For some re
ason, he treated me as if I’d done something wrong.

  I looked at the large fireplace with its huge candles and fairy lights decorating the white-washed mantle. “You saw the compass his dad got him. I wanted to show him what reminds me of Mom.”

  Dad paused, whatever annoyance he had with me vanished. “Of course, Little Lace. I’m sorry.” Pinching his nose, he came toward me and kissed my head. “It was nice of him to send it so fast.”

  I nodded quickly. The long haul flight had been an eternity without my favourite possession. I felt naked and afraid as if any second we would drop out of the sky because I didn’t have Mom’s protection.

  Keeko shot from the kitchen, Dad’s ringing phone in her hand. “You left it on the counter, sir.”

  Dad moved toward her. “Cheers.” Tapping the screen, he put the phone to his ear. “Murphy speaking. Ah yes, I’m coming now.” Stepping out the warped front door, he waved and latched it behind him.

  The moment he was gone, Keeko smiled. “Want me to make you some lunch? Then we can go over your homework and plan next week’s lessons.”

  I gave into the urge to hug Jacob’s letter, crushing the plastic postal bag to my chest. I shook with eagerness to see what was inside. “In a bit? I want to check out my room again. Not living in a trailer is awesome!”

  “Okay, but just because we’re in a new country doesn’t mean you get away from doing schoolwork.”

  “I know.” Spinning in place, I flew up the rustic weathered steps, ducked under a low beam, and dashed into the candy yellow and white bedroom with its four-poster bed and gauzy cream curtains.

  My battered and well-used suitcase had already been unpacked. My clothes hung in the pretty wardrobe, my books waiting to be read on the side table.

  Ignoring all of it, I threw myself onto the puffy mattress, sank into the softest comforter, and tipped out the rest of Jacob’s package.

  Bubble wrap didn’t stand a chance against my eager fingers as I tore at the sticky tape and gasped as a silver chain slithered onto the bed, followed by the heavy thud of a finely scrolled locket.