The Son & His Hope Page 4

  “I won’t.”

  “I just don’t want you boxing yourself into a corner, Jacob.” She sighed. “The future you want now might not be the future you want in ten years’ time.”

  “So what? It’s not like school is gonna shut down in ten years.”

  Her lips flickered with a smile, despite herself. “No, but if you don’t have the grades, you won’t be able to get into universities or colleges.”

  I strode around the coffee table, and faced her over the counter.

  I tasted her defeat. I just had to push a little harder. “I’m not into words like you are, Mom. I’m not interested in being a doctor or a lawyer.” My eyes drifted to the greenery outside again, feeling the familiar kick in my heart. A year ago, I was content believing I would be a farmer all my life. Dirt ran in my DNA. I’d been born into this and wanted it.

  I did.

  Truly.

  But thanks to that god-awful movie, my contentment now mixed with a terrible sensation of being trapped.

  Our tempers cooled as Mom reached out and patted my hand.

  I hid my flinch from her touch.

  “I’ll make you a deal.” Her blue eyes met my dark ones. “Keep going to school—”

  “Really? Are you not listening? I can’t—”

  “Ah-ah, quiet. Let me speak.” She turned her ‘Mom’ voice on, silencing me. “Keep going until you’re sixteen. If you still feel this strongly on your sixteenth birthday, you have my blessing to leave.”

  “That’s a year away.”

  “That’s the deal.”

  I scowled. A year was an eternity. She was asking for too much.

  “Sixteen, Wild One. Those are my terms. Like it or lump it.”

  I slouched onto the counter. “I don’t like it.”

  She chuckled, coming round to squeeze my shoulder.

  I tensed, unable to hide it this time.

  She noticed. Dropping her hand, she respected the unspoken boundaries I’d erected since that fateful funeral. “Yes, but you’ll lump it. For me.”

  I stood taller, shifting to face her. Her arms widened a little, her gaze eager for contact after our fight.

  For a hug.

  I shivered at the thought.

  It wasn’t that I didn’t love her. I did. I loved her too much. And I wasn’t naïve to think if she died like in the movie, I’d feel the same pain I felt when Dad died.

  But just because I knew that didn’t mean I wanted to make my pain greater by giving in to physical contact.

  She smiled sadly, arms dropping to her sides.

  It made regret burn. I’d hurt her all over again.

  Why did I keep doing that?

  Why was I such a terrible son?

  Shoving aside my own selfish needs, I steeled myself and reached out to hug her. Her body was slight and stiff. She flinched in surprise, then squeezed me as hard as she could.

  Even though instincts screamed to pull away, I didn’t. I was taller than her now and with growth came an even greater responsibility to protect her.

  “Sorry,” I mumbled into her hair.

  She hugged me fierce, rubbing my back. “Don’t ever be sorry for asking for what you want.” Pulling away, she kissed my cheek. “I know life seems hard and messy and frustrating. I know a year stretches into infinity, but when you’re older, you’ll realise how short the days are, how fast the months go, and realise a year is nothing.”

  I knew she thought of Dad again.

  Her thoughts were never free.

  “You have your entire life ahead of you, Wild One. All I ask is…try not to rush it. Be grateful for each day, even the dark ones.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  HOPE

  * * * * * *

  Eleven Years Old

  “SUBJECTS YOU ARE not allowed to bring up…” Dad looked at me, splitting his attention between me and the road. “Don’t talk about Mom. Don’t mention the movie. Don’t bring up his dad. Don’t—”

  “What’s the use in speaking if I’m not allowed to?” I pouted, crossing my arms. I’d been up for hours—way past my normal wake-up time—thanks to pure excitement for what today held.

  Horses.

  Lots and lots of horses.

  Riding horses.

  Gonna be so much fun!

  I didn’t care I had to wait over a year for this to come true. Today was the day, and it was going to be amazing!

  “Hope, don’t give me attitude.” Dad frowned, slapping on the indicator of our expensive black 4WD that he’d bought Mom because she wanted to travel in style. That was until she was stuck in a coffin. “Just please, talk about horses and anything else you want, but not about death or dying. Okay?”

  I pinched my forearm, reminding myself that those thoughts were not acceptable.

  Dad and that strange woman who said she was a doctor and smelled of apricots had warned me to stop thinking about corpses.

  But that was the thing. I couldn’t control what my brain decided to focus on. And it was stumped. Stumped on a question even Dad couldn’t answer.

  Why?

  Why had Mom gone?

  Why were we born?

  What was the point? The goal? The purpose?

  When I’d asked those questions, I’d gotten odd looks, whispered remarks, and worried shushes. Apparently, I was too young to ask. Too young to know, anyway.

  I didn’t tell Dad when I thought about coffins and cemeteries now because I was sick of him telling me that it wasn’t a subject for little girls.

  Growing up on set and being around more adults than children meant I was confused about where I fit in.

  I found kids my age stupid. And adults found me stupid.

  I didn’t really have anyone to talk to. And being told to keep my thoughts on more suitable subjects…well, it was hard.

  I bit my tongue a lot.

  But I didn’t want to disappoint him any more than I already had. And besides…today was for me. I wanted him to know how thankful I was.

  “Okay, Daddy.” I smiled as he turned down a long gravel driveway. “Lips sealed.”

  He flicked me a glance as if he didn’t believe me but then nodded. “Good girl.”

  But what if there was a sick horse?

  What if there was some animal dying out in the paddock?

  Could I ask what happened to the soul then?

  Could I enquire if there was a horse heaven or if they went to the same place as humans?

  And if they did, where was that?

  I wisely kept those thoughts to myself as a large farmhouse came into view with pretty gardens and a wraparound porch. The kind of house Dad had filmed in, but we never lived in. The kind that made me jealous for normal families while we lived in hotels and fancy trailers.

  A sign with an engraved galloping horse next to a big barn pointed the way to Cherry Equestrian, guiding us farther onto the farm and around a bend, then down a small hill to yet another huge barn. Outside, horses were tethered to a long pole, some with saddles on, some without. A round yard glinted with a wooden fence, and a square arena held brightly coloured jumps on white sand. All of it was surrounded by the loveliest green meadows that made my mouth literally water.

  Immediately, my fascination with the afterlife vanished, replaced with the urgent need to leap from the moving car and squeeze one of those cute ponies.

  “Ohhhhh.” I wriggled in my seat, pressing the window button for it to go down and bring in the delightful smells of whatever deliciousness was out there.

  Sweet.

  Musty.

  Free.

  “Ahhh!” I inhaled deep, unclipping my seatbelt and sticking my head out. “This is amazing. Can we move here, Daddy? For like, ever. Not just for today?”

  Dad snickered, grabbing hold of my jeans waistband to keep me from climbing out the window. “Wait until after you’ve been for a ride and you’re covered in mud and manure and all your muscles hurt.”

  “I’ll want to stay even more then.” I
beamed as a woman with brown hair glittering with red strands came out of the large barn and waved.

  I waved back like a lunatic. “Come on. Hurry up. I needs to be on a pony.”

  “Needs is not a word, Hope.” He chuckled, though, some of his familiar tension fading. “Why am I forking out tuition fees if you can’t even speak correctly?”

  “I can’t speak correctly because you don’t let me speak at all.”

  His eyebrows shot up. “Well played, Little Lace.”

  I blew him a kiss.

  Dad parked and released me.

  I shot from the glitzy glamour of our car and skidded through dust and dirt, loving it so much more than the red carpets and polished tiles of our world. My hair flew wild and my arms spread wide as everything was suddenly so much more alive.

  I careened to a stop in front of the woman, breathing fast, smiling huge.

  She laughed as a cloud of driveway muck wafted around my boots, and I shivered in joy at ruining my wardrobe’s perfection. “Well, I’m guessing you’re Hope.” She smiled while looking me up and down, hooking a bridle over her shoulder with the reins dangling down by her thigh. “Della said you’d be coming. So, you’re the kid of the actor who played our Ren, huh?”

  I bit my lip. I wasn’t allowed to talk about the dead.

  “Silent type?” The woman cocked her head, the bridle slipping a little. “If you’re not who I think you are…who are you?”

  It didn’t matter who I was. All that mattered were horses.

  My eyes locked on the bridle.

  I knew the lingo.

  I’d asked Keeko to Google and teach me every piece of tack, part of the horse, and common riding term.

  I might be an utter beginner, but no way did I want to come across as a moron.

  Especially to Jacob Ren Wild.

  Last year, he’d looked at me like I was a silly bug bouncing around and annoying him rather than recognising how brave I was with adult conversation. I hadn’t talked about any topics I wasn’t supposed to. I’d behaved and kept my death questions to myself even though Dad acted in a movie where the main guy died.

  Before the premiere, I’d seen Jacob occasionally on set. I’d peered through my trailer window while Keeko drilled me with math and English and spied him skulking about while Dad delivered lines filled with coughing.

  I wasn’t allowed to officially meet him, but I’d follow him on the rare times I had a lesson break. Stalking him, I’d dash between props and director chairs, trying to see if he knew more about this dying business than I did.

  Jacob hadn’t come by much, but on the odd times he did, he fascinated me. He was just a boy, yet the crew treated him with utmost respect and suffocating pity. He barely said a word and glowered at most of the actors, but no one ever reprimanded him.

  He was everything I wasn’t allowed to be.

  Mud covered his jeans, stains painted his T-shirt, his dark blond hair was shaggy, hands dirty, and face tanned from the sun. I’d been envious of his freedom. Jealous that he was permitted outside while I was stuck in the air-conditioned shadows of my flashy trailer.

  Even with the strange look in his eyes—the one that warned he’d be friendly but wouldn’t let you get too close—didn’t stop me from fantasizing what it would be like to be that messy. What it would feel like to be dusty and barefoot and grass-stained.

  Now I knew—standing there with a layer of dirt on my brand-new boots—and it was so much better than I imagined. Jacob should know how lucky he was to live here.

  I’ll tell him.

  “Where is he?” I blinked, glancing behind the woman as if she were hiding him.

  “Where’s who?” Her forehead wrinkled.

  “Jacob Ren Wild.”

  A small flicker of pain ran over her face, only to vanish. She tugged on the bridle over her shoulder. “Do you two know each other?”

  “I know he ate a vanilla horse once. And I know he’s sad.”

  The woman froze. “You do, huh?”

  “Yep.” I nodded importantly. “Death always makes people sad. It made me sad too, but now I’m just annoyed that no one can tell me where dead people go because I’d like to talk to my mom, you know?”

  “Ehh…”

  “Sorry. So sorry.” Dad slammed to a stop beside me, clamping a hand on my shoulder, locking me in place with a physical leash. His eyes blazed from above. “Hope, what did we just talk about?”

  I dropped my gaze. Ugh, it slipped out. “Sorry.”

  Dad squeezed me hard, shrugging in helplessness at the woman. “I’m sorry again. I don’t know what to say. Her mom passed away and—”

  “She died,” I clarified helpfully. “Like Jacob’s dad.”

  “Hope!” Dad shook me, rattling my teeth. “Not another word, you hear me? Otherwise, this horse day will be over before it’s begun.”

  True panic filled me. I swallowed back what I wasn’t allowed to say. “I promise. I’m sorry. I-I didn’t mean it.”

  “It’s fine.” The woman shook her head. “Nothing much shocks me these days. Kids and their strange conversations.”

  Dad laughed under his breath. “Yep. She’s keyed up about riding today. When she’s excited, she’s a little too talkative about subjects that shouldn’t be mentioned.” His fingers squeezed again, talking to me even though he spoke to the woman.

  “Death is a part of life. It’s natural to want to know more about it.” The woman bent a little, holding out her hand. “I’m Cassie Collins. But most folks round here know me as a Wilson. Call me Cassie, though, okay?” She grinned. “How about, once we’ve been properly introduced, we have a more personal conversation later? That work for you?”

  Dad pushed me forward, letting my shoulder go. I took the hint to be on my best behaviour.

  Taking Cassie’s hand like I’d been taught, I curled my fingers around hers and shook solemnly. “I’m Hope Jacinta Murphy. Jacinta is my middle name because—”

  “Okay, Hope. That will do.” Dad chuckled. “Not everyone needs the saga on your full name.”

  I nodded, standing taller. Horses. Horses were the best thing in the world, and I was here to ride one. Nothing else mattered. “I’m ready to ride now, please.”

  The woman frowned, her eyes never leaving mine. “You are?”

  “Yep. I want to gallop.”

  “Patience isn’t her strong suit, I’m afraid,” Dad cut in.

  Cassie kept her gaze on me. “Ah, well, galloping takes practice. How about we focus on the basics first, okay?”

  I chewed my cheek, doing my best to be polite, grateful, and normal. I didn’t want basics. I wanted everything. All of it. Immediately. I wanted knowledge and answers and experience. But I merely nodded and smiled sweetly. “Okay.”

  “Great.” Straightening up, Cassie asked, “Just so I can assess your level, have you been around horses before?”

  “Nu-huh.” I shook my head. “But whenever a horse comes on TV, I get butterflies in my belly.” I glanced longingly at the closest pony—a black and white thing with a big butt and long tail.

  I melted on the spot.

  The woman laughed as my feet drifted forward, my eyes wide with longing. The reins and leather of the bridle creaked by her side. “Wow, you’re in trouble, Mr. Murphy.”

  Dad cleared his throat. “Excuse me?”

  “She’s in love, and she hasn’t even touched one yet. You’re in for an expensive hobby.”

  “If it makes her happier, then I’m okay with that.”

  I flicked a look over my shoulder. Dad’s tone sounded weird, and when I caught his eyes, they were full of worry. Worry I’d put there because of my stupid questions about dead people.

  My heart sank. I’d hurt him. I’d hurt him when he’d given me what I wanted most in the world. Running back to him, my face slammed into his chest as I threw my arms around him. “I love you, Daddy.”

  No more, okay? I promise I’ll never talk about dying again. Not to you or adults, anyw
ay.

  I didn’t want him to worry about me like he had to worry about Mom for so long. I’d heard the rumours that she’d been mentally unstable toward the end. And I guessed they were right because no one mentally stable would’ve done what she did. But I wasn’t like her. I wouldn’t do something so silly.

  Dad’s arms latched around me as he bowed and kissed the top of my head. “I love you too, Little Lace. You can talk to me about anything, all right? I’m sorry for making you feel like you can’t.”

  Pulling away, I smiled bright and brave. “Can I go ride a horse now?”

  He grinned, once again that concerned sadness I’d caused gleaming in his eyes. “Sure, go and have fun. I’ll stay out of the way, but I’m close by if you need me.”

  “Okay.”

  “Aunt Cassie? Where the hell did you put—” Jacob stormed from the barn a few metres away.

  I froze.

  He was taller than a year ago. His hair just as untamed and eyes just as guarded. But instead of red carpet clothes, he wore leather chaps over Wranglers, a grey plaid shirt with its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a tanned cowboy hat.

  He suited this outfit so much more. He was cleaner than a lot of the times he’d been on set, but his chin had a smear of earth and his hands were filthy.

  Same old surly boy even if a year separated our first official meeting.

  His gaze landed on me, and just like in the cinema, something tingled down my spine. Something warm and wary. Something that said he was different and not necessarily in a good way.

  Once, when Dad was filming in some town, a stray dog slinked on set. All bones and matted fur; the adults wrinkled their noses at it and shooed it away.

  I’d slipped from Keeko’s ever watchful care and chased after it. The poor thing growled at me. It’d tried to bite me when I reached out to pet it. It snarled when I offered some of my sandwich.

  But I wasn’t afraid.

  Its violence was because it was scared. Somehow, I knew that without being told, and I didn’t run away. I merely sat down, placed my chicken sandwich between us, and waited.

  I waited a while.

  More patient than I’d ever been.

  But slowly, the dog swallowed its terror and crawled toward the food. It devoured it in two wolf-like gulps. Afterward, it sniffed me from afar, then claw by claw, it inched closer.