The Son & His Hope Page 3

  “Jacob, she didn’t mean—” Graham held up his hand.

  “How dare you!” Carlyn bared her teeth. “You can’t talk to me like—”

  “Daddy, what’s going on?” A brown-haired girl in a princess silver dress interrupted the fight, forcing curses to be swallowed and tempers to be smothered.

  Carlyn whirled away with a huff, and Graham instantly changed from actor to father.

  The polish he wore vanished. The fakery he held like armour disappeared. He wasn’t some Hollywood superstar; he was just a Dad.

  And I was jealous that the kid who’d just interrupted us still had one.

  One who loved her a lot, judging by the way he dropped to a knee and cupped her face as if she held everything he ever needed. “Where did you go, Little Lace? I was getting worried.”

  The girl threw me a look, her fingers twirling anxiously in her poufy silver outfit. “I went to see if they had ice cream. Keeko took me.” She pointed over her shoulder at a Japanese woman who smiled gently.

  Obviously some sort of nanny.

  The woman shrugged. “Sorry, Mr. Murphy. I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “You didn’t. It’s fine.” Graham stood, dismissing the nanny and gathering the tiny girl against his side. “And did you find this elusive ice cream?”

  She wrinkled her nose. “Nu-huh. They only have fancy names like crème something and toffee whatever. I just wanted vanilla.” Her eyes landed on me, locking us both into place.

  My muscles tightened, sensing danger, yet I couldn’t look away.

  She was tiny, yet her gaze was powerful enough to evoke chills up and down my spine.

  For the longest moment, no one spoke.

  The girl kept staring at me, her forehead furrowing with intensity as if she could set fire to me just by glaring.

  What the hell?

  Mom came to my rescue. “You know what? Jacob likes vanilla, too.” She flicked me a look then glanced back at the girl, probably wondering why I was suddenly the most fascinating thing to this kid. “In fact, when he was about your age, he had a vanilla pony birthday cake that he smeared all over his face.” Her voice stayed steady while bringing up that terrible, terrible evening, but her eyes glistened.

  Why the hell had she mentioned that?

  What was she trying to do? Make this evening that much harder?

  My cheeks heated as pain drenched me. My shoulder blades hurt as memories prickled. I hated remembering. I wished I could delete the night of my tenth birthday forever.

  How we’d gone camping as a family.

  How we’d had cake and Dad told me not to take the small stuff for granted.

  How we’d gone to bed and I’d woken at midnight to something that, to this day, still haunted my nightmares.

  Sobs.

  My parents sobbing as they said goodbye.

  Mom didn’t know.

  I’d never said anything.

  But I’d heard them.

  And it was a secret that scarred me, scared me, and silenced my deepest sorrow.

  I never wanted to feel the agony that my parents went through that night.

  Ever.

  “Oh, yeah?” The girl never took her green gaze off me. Green like her father. Brown hair like her father, too. However, where his nose was straight, hers was button and her cheeks were rounder. “I love vanilla. It’s the best thing in the world.”

  What was I supposed to say to that?

  I liked the stuff, but it wasn’t that amazing.

  And she still hadn’t stopped staring at me, staring as if I belonged behind bars as an exhibit.

  I narrowed my eyes, doing my best to tell her to back the hell off without adults scolding me.

  “Jacob…” Mom commanded. “Be nice.”

  I sighed, accepting defeat in the form of having to entertain a child all evening when really, I couldn’t afford to. I had a job to do. A job to protect my mother from whatever crap the director had stitched together. “I guess vanilla is okay.”

  The girl stuck out her hand, swishing toward me in her over-the-top dress as if I’d proved myself worthy of being her friend just because we shared similar taste buds. “I’m Hope Jacinta Murphy.”

  I stumbled backward, studying her miniature grip as if it held spiders.

  I didn’t like spiders. Just like I didn’t like strangers. Especially tiny girls with staring problems. “Good for you.”

  “Jacob.” Mom hissed, poking my side.

  I rolled my eyes, reaching out to shake the hand of some crazy child of Hollywood. She’d been raised in a city, lived in a fairy-tale, and believed money was infinite. She didn’t look like she’d been muddy or sunburned or exhausted in her entire life.

  She wouldn’t last a day in the real world.

  Squeezing her midget fingers, I let her go as fast as I’d touched her. “Nice to meet you, Hope Jacinta Murphy.”

  Even though it’s not nice at all.

  Her cheeks pinked as she looked me up and down, once again staring in that freaky way. “What’s your full name? Daddy always told me to tell someone your full name so they never forget you.”

  “Believe me, I won’t forget you.”

  “So what is it?”

  “What’s what?”

  “Your name?”

  “Jacob.”

  “No, your full name?” She planted a hand on her hip with attitude. “My first name is Hope. My middle name is Jacinta for my mommy.” Her lip pouted. “She died when I was seven. I wanted to change my first name to Jacinta, but Daddy said there was only one Jacinta, and I have to stick with Hope.” Her cheeks whitened before she pushed aside the sadness that I was well acquainted with and nodded firmly. “And my last name is Murphy because we all need last names as there are so many Hopes in the world but not that many Hope Murphys and only one Hope Jacinta Murphy.”

  Her shoulders rolled. “Uh-huh…” Her confident outburst folded into pink embarrassment. “So…anyway.” She shook her head, turning away from me as if she no longer wanted to know my full name.

  Which was fine by me.

  But Mom answered for me, pitying the poor kid as she scuffed her shoe into the gold carpet. “His name is Jacob Ren Wild.” Her voice hitched a little on my dad’s address. “But you can call him Wild One if you want. It’s kind of a nickname.” Bending closer to Hope, she asked gently, “Do you have a nickname to go with your pretty full name?”

  Hope glanced at me with intense green eyes before answering politely. “Lace. Daddy calls me Lace.”

  “And what a pretty Lace you are.” Mom grinned, something flashed blue in her blonde hair.

  A blue ribbon I’d seen her wear every day of my existence.

  “I call her Lace for the tatty shawl that her mother used to wear around the house. Hope kind of claimed it after…” Graham cleared his throat, sharing a look that I didn’t like with Mom. A look that said, ‘I understand your pain. I have the same kind.’

  My hands balled.

  It wasn’t fair that Graham knew my dad called her Ribbon. It wasn’t fair he knew so much about us when we knew nothing about him. He believed he stood a chance with my mother just because he’d played my father.

  Once again, awkwardness descended, saved by the little weirdo Hope Jacinta Murphy. “Jacob Ren Wild, why aren’t you wearing a tuxedo like everybody else?”

  I flinched at my middle name. “What?”

  “All the boys are in shiny suits with bows. You have that string thingy and boots. Wait…” She tilted her head as shoulder-length brown hair cascaded with gravity. “You look like those cowboys on TV.” Her eyes widened in worry. “Oh no, do you have horses, or do you just eat them?”

  “Wait, what?” It was my turn to stare at her. Stare at a crazy child who now gawked at me as if I was a monster. I glanced at Mom, wanting to see if she’d heard that ridiculous question.

  Mom just snickered. “She means the cake. The vanilla pony cake I told her about.”

  “Ah.” I s
tuck my hands into my pockets, wanting to talk about anything else but that night. “Right.”

  “So, do ya?” Hope demanded. Her gaze laser intense and unyielding.

  My skin crawled again as if she had some magical way of touching me just by looking. “Yeah, I have a horse.”

  “Oh, wow. You do?!” Hope bounced in her stupid dress. “I’ve always wanted a pony, but Daddy says I can’t.”

  Graham shrugged. “I work so often on location that Hope is home-schooled so she can come with me. We don’t have time for a dog, let alone a horse.”

  “You should have brought her to Cherry River while you were filming.” Mom’s smile was genuine as she drank in Hope. “My sister, Cassie, and I run an equestrian facility. We have a few suitable ponies for a beginner to learn on.”

  Before Graham could reply, Hope froze in that uncanny way of hers. “Really?” Her mouth parted. “Like really, really? Could I pat them? No, I mean could I gallop them? I really want to gallop. And jump!”

  Mom laughed. “Once you’ve mastered the walk, trot, and canter. Galloping isn’t something you do on your first try, but with your determination, I’d say you could learn to jump very quickly. I started riding a lot when I was your age. It didn’t take long to master.” Her eyes grew wistful, her thoughts once again belonging to the past and Dad.

  I was used to her drifting off.

  It was a regular occurrence.

  “I didn’t know that.” Graham reached for his daughter’s hand. “Do you offer lessons too? I have a couple weeks off before my next commitment. Perhaps, I could bring her one day and let her try?”

  Mom nodded. “We actually started a boarding facility a year ago. During school holidays, we have a maximum of four children come to stay in the stable bunkroom. They learn how to look after the horses, do daily chores, and get to ride in the morning and afternoon. It’s good character building as well as a way to feed that pony addiction.”

  “Sounds great.” Graham grinned. “I know it’s not school holidays, but would you mind if I brought her—”

  “It’s the start of summer,” I interrupted. “Mom and I are busy with other chores. We have hay to bale and a farm to—”

  “You’re the one running that these days, Jacob. Not me.” Mom cut in. “I’m sure Cassie would love to teach Hope. Perhaps put her on your old pony, Binky.”

  My heart raced with possession.

  Not for the white plod of a pony I’d long outgrown but for our farm.

  I didn’t want trespassers on it.

  I definitely didn’t want trespassers who knew our entire life story. Who had acted it out and believed they knew us.

  They would never know us.

  I crossed my arms, wanting to argue but knowing better. “Fine. But don’t expect me to teach her.”

  “I didn’t say that, did I?” Mom scowled, her tolerance waning.

  As if I’d commanded the night to get worse, the huge screen erupted with colour and noise, showing the audience how lucky we were that the cinema was equipped with ‘all-around sound.’

  I gulped.

  The urge to run returned a thousand-fold.

  “Guess we better take our seats,” Graham murmured, pushing his daughter into the one reserved next to my chair.

  Great.

  Just great.

  Not only had this actor played my dead dad but now I had to chaperone his strange kid.

  Hope patted the red velvet next to her. “Come on, Jacob. You look sad. Do you want a hug? A hug makes everything better.” Stretching out her arms, her face stayed serious and not in the least bit mocking. She genuinely believed a hug could fix me.

  Not just strange.

  Delusional.

  If coughing was an emotional trigger for me, so was affection of any kind. Even Mom struggled to hug me.

  There was no way Hope would manage it.

  “I’m good. Thanks.” Sitting stiffly, I blocked her from my mind as the opening song blared, the title splashed across the screen, and my worst nightmare began.

  CHAPTER THREE

  JACOB

  * * * * * *

  Fifteen Years Old

  “YOU’RE GOING TO school, Jacob, and that’s final.”

  “But it’s a waste of my time! I hate being stuck in a classroom. I’ll never need trigonometry or stupid science. My brain doesn’t compute that way.” Stalking around the living room, I glowered at my mother. “I don’t belong there.”

  Up until a year ago, I thought I belonged at Cherry River Farm. I believed my life was owned by the same fields and forests where we’d scattered Dad’s ashes.

  But that was before the movie.

  Before my dad died all over again and my ‘on-screen’ mother committed suicide by pill to join him. Hollywood had forced me to watch an alternate universe.

  One where I was an orphan and not wanted.

  One where I was on my own because loyalty meant nothing anymore.

  Ever since that night, I’d had nightmares of Mom dying. I’d wake drenched in a cold sweat and bolt from my bedroom to the forest. I’d stay there until daybreak, fighting the urge to keep running.

  To leave before she could.

  To break my promise to look after her because I sucked at it anyway.

  I’d be free.

  Free from everything.

  I could just be me.

  Not sadness.

  Not pity.

  Not their son.

  I wouldn’t have to be someone I wasn’t because I would never live up to him.

  But I wasn’t the only one struggling.

  Mom barely slept. She’d stopped going online to avoid the messages, emails, and tweets. My ability to hide a lot of my own issues faltered, which meant our matching tempers clashed far more than normal.

  I hated that I upset her. But I also hated that I couldn’t figure out the crap inside my brain and go back to how I’d been.

  For years, I’d been a master at putting aside my grief so Mom wouldn’t have to worry about me. I’d taken pride in shouldering as much responsibility around the farm as I could—routinely asking for more chores.

  But these days?

  The rage from the premiere still festered—even after a year—chewing holes inside me until I became volatile and surly.

  It was just a stupid movie. But it had played out my darkest fears.

  Luckily, a year was an eternity in the scheme of a movie’s shelf life. The phone no longer rang, and our town was forgotten as a tourist destination.

  Life moved on.

  But it didn’t mean emotions faded.

  Dad had always been a third wheel in our world, but lately, it was as if his ghost was touchable. A physical presence patrolling the corridors at night.

  When Graham had coughed around tears on the big screen; when the camera zoomed close and he gasped, “Come find me on the meadow where the sun always shines, the river always flows, and the forest always welcomes. Come find me, Little Ribbon, and there we’ll live for eternity,” I’d almost punched everyone in the theatre.

  Almost stabbed the director.

  Almost strangled Graham Murphy.

  Dad would never have said that directly to Mom.

  He knew better than to be so cheesy.

  Instead, he’d written her a letter.

  A letter hidden in the back of the book he’d secretly published.

  So many things Hollywood got wrong.

  So many things they’d changed.

  And it made me so angry.

  Angry that they’d hurt Mom, Aunt Cassie, and Grandpa John. Angry that they’d hurt everyone I cared about, and I wasn’t able to stop it.

  “You’re fifteen, Jacob.” Mom stomped from the living room to the kitchen. “You’re not dropping out of school. No matter how many times you bring it up.”

  “I’m not dropping out. I’m moving on with my life.”

  “And I repeat. You’re fifteen. You have your entire life ahead of you. A couple more years w
on’t hurt.”

  Yeah, they will. I’m hurting all the damn time!

  Swallowing hard, I muttered, “I know what I want. And school isn’t it.”

  Mom rested her palms on the wooden countertop as if weary fighting with me. I was tired fighting with her too.

  This was not a new argument.

  Every Monday, I pleaded my case. And every Monday, I lost, but it didn’t stop me from trying. I had to try because I couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

  I knew I was young. I knew I should chill the hell out. And I knew I was being the opposite of a good son. But I also knew something inside me was growing. A need. An urge. A demand for…for—

  Ugh, I don’t know.

  “No one knows what they want at your age.” Her eyes fell to her fingers and the wedding ring she never took off, doing her best to hide her lie.

  “You did. You knew.” Thanks to the movie, I knew just how young Mom was when she fell for Dad. I knew a bit too much about their relationship these days.

  Her gaze flashed back to mine. “Yes, and I made myself very unhappy.”

  “Well, I’m unhappy now!”

  “Welcome to the club!”

  We both glared, breathing hard.

  I backed down, scrambling to fix what I’d done. “Look, I’m sorry, okay? I just…I’m not saying I’ll stop learning. I just don’t want to go to school. I’ll study something else.”

  Mom inhaled deeply, doing her best to shed her temper like me. “Study what exactly?”

  “I dunno.” I resumed my pacing, kicking my school backpack resting against the couch on my way past. “I could do an agricultural degree.”

  “You couldn’t enrol until you’re older.”

  “I could be an apprentice to some farmer.”

  “You already know more than what most could teach you.”

  “Exactly!” I pointed through the glass doors to the rolling meadows beyond. “I have all the education I need for out there. I know how to fix a broken tractor. I know when the grass is ready. I know—”

  “Yes, but none of that is practical in a city or an office or—”

  “I’m never going to live in a city or work in an office.”

  Mom scowled, her fingernails digging into the countertop. “You don’t know that. One day, you might.”