The Son & His Hope Page 9

  Instead, I made an even bigger mistake by pointing at the green box. I wanted the attention off me. I didn’t think what I was doing by directing it onto something else. “What’s that?”

  “Hope.” Dad’s fingers dug into my shoulder. “That’s none of your business.”

  “But it’s a present.” I turned to face him, begging him to help me repair this. “Presents make people happy, right? Maybe someone should open it.”

  Jacob muttered something not nice under his breath as Della sighed heavily. “You’re right. It is a present, Hope.” Her gaze landed on her son. “And Jacob should open it. After all, I just opened one from the same giver.”

  Jacob froze. His eyes locked on the box. “You mean…it’s from him?”

  His mom nodded, biting her lip to stem more tears.

  “Right, well, we’re leaving now,” Dad announced loudly, reminding the Wilds that this wasn’t a private moment for them. That they had an audience. But either Jacob no longer cared or he couldn’t stop himself because he snatched the box, tore the paper, and opened it before I could catch my breath.

  He tipped a large silver disc into his hand, fisting it tight. His head bowed as he inspected it.

  Despite myself, I leaned forward, desperate to know what it was.

  “A compass,” he breathed. Turning it over, his face scrunched with pain. His thumb ran over an inscription. “If school isn’t your path, then find your true one. Wander far. Wander wide. This compass will make sure you never get lost.”

  Della pressed her face into the silver scarf again. Her body shook as a slicing sound of heartbreak made my hair stand on end.

  Dad let me go. Shooting toward her, he slipped into the booth, and wrapped his arm around her shuddering form. “It’s okay, Della. It’s okay.”

  The last thing I saw before I was knocked on my butt and got an eyeful of the diner’s dirty ceiling was Jacob launching from the table and bulldozing me to the ground.

  He’d vanished out the door before I could climb to my feet.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Hope

  * * * * * *

  “NO WAY. NO fucking way.”

  “Language, Jacob Wild. Your mouth is as dirty as your father’s.” The Cassie woman who owned the equestrian centre argued just as loud as Jacob.

  “Well, you’re always telling me how similar we are. Guess you have to take the good with the bad, huh?”

  “Don’t change the subject. Hope is staying and—”

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “It is too gonna happen.” Her tone sharpened. “Her father made the booking almost three months ago. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but she’s here for the week, and you’re going to be civil—”

  My new leather riding boots scuffed driveway gravel as I tiptoed closer, shutting up the voices inside the barn.

  Darn it.

  I was normally so good at eavesdropping. The number of secrets I’d gathered from slinking around the set and listening to actors, sound crew, and scriptwriters was fascinating. Hearing such juicy things—sexy things, naughty things, funny things—all helped with my own story-telling when Keeko made me do English homework, but today…I sucked at it.

  Today, I wasn’t listening for secrets; I was listening to see how much trouble I was in, and if it was even worthwhile staying. Every time I thought about last night, my back prickled and tears heated and utter mortification made me nauseous.

  Dad had driven us to Cherry River despite my pleas to reconsider. He’d told me either way—if I stayed or left—I deserved to say sorry face to face. He’d parked the car with strict instructions to stay put until he’d spoken to Della—just in case I mentioned the words dead, dying, or terminal.

  I’d gotten better over the past year—mainly thanks to living in a country where English wasn’t the first language—and I no longer blurted out my morbid fascination with the afterlife to strangers. But I understood why he didn’t trust me.

  Look at the mess I caused last night.

  Of course, staying in the car became impossible when I spotted Cassie and Jacob vanish into the barn. And so, I broke yet another promise.

  If there was a Heaven and Hell, I’d well and truly bought myself a one-way ticket to damnation.

  But they were arguing.

  I needed to know if it was about me.

  Boots thumped on cobbles just before Jacob appeared from the shadowy building and caught me red-handed.

  Again.

  “You,” he seethed. “Don’t you think you’ve caused enough damage for one visit?”

  I shrank into myself, staring at the ground. “I just came to say sorry. I don’t have to stay—”

  “Damn right you don’t have to stay.” He crossed his arms. “Do you find it fun to be the most annoying person I’ve ever met?”

  I shrank again, wishing I could literally vanish into my boots. “I said I’m sor—”

  “Hope.” Cassie appeared from the barn, running a hand wearily through her hair. Glaring at Jacob, she came directly toward me and scooped me into a hug.

  Drinking in the much needed contact, I lagged against her. Tears welled in my eyes as she pulled away and cupped my cheeks.

  “You’re welcome here anytime, Hope. You know that, right? Last night was unfortunate timing, that’s all. Any other night, Jacob and his mom would’ve loved for you to join them for dinner.” Her hands trailed from my cheeks as she stood. “Last night, though…it was hard for both of them. I hope you don’t take it personally.”

  “She stuck her nose where it didn’t belong. Again.” Jacob eyed me with disdain. “Don’t you get taught manners in Hollywood?”

  “Jacob.” Cassie pinched his side—hard by the way Jacob flinched. “Hope is here for horse camp, not for you to pick on. You will be nice. You will be helpful. You will bend over backward to make her feel welcome as she is our guest. Got it?” She pinched him again.

  He parried out of her reach. Rubbing his side, he sent her a withering glare. He didn’t reply, but the clench of his jaw hinted he had a lot to say—just not something she wanted to hear.

  Pointing a finger in his face with warning, Cassie nodded once, then strode toward where Della and my dad were talking, leaving me alone with rage itself.

  For the longest moment, heavy silence choked me.

  Then Jacob cleared his throat and said in a robotic voice like any well-trained customer service worker, “Welcome back to Cherry River. I hope you have a pleasant stay.” With a thin smile that made his dark eyes darker and cheekbones sharper, he bowed, saluted, and turned on his heel and stormed away.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Jacob

  * * * * * *

  THREE DAYS.

  Three long, awful days where kids learning how to ride infested Cherry River.

  Aunt Cassie’s horse camp had become very popular, and before I officially took on the role as head farmer, I’d been roped in each school holidays to help teach, guide, cook, and chaperone.

  These days, I wasn’t expected to be at their beck and call. I had a new boss now—the land that had my name on the title. The farm that was as demanding as any busy company.

  I’d always woken with the sun, and now, instead of being trapped in a classroom, I bolted from the house and was on Forrest checking fence lines or on the tractor doing all the jobs that needed to be done before the sky was fully awake.

  I was in my element.

  Which meant, I was done with teaching.

  Over the years, some of the kids hadn’t been too bad. All of them had the life skills of a stuffed marmot, but some were at least polite enough to ride the horses they were given, accept the time they were allocated, and stay in their bunk beds out of sight at night.

  That was before Hope came to stay.

  Ever since she left a year ago, I’d dreaded the day she’d come back. I’d tensed each time Aunt Cassie read the roster for new arrivals, just in case her name appeared. But with each school holiday where there wa
s no Hope Jacinta Murphy, I’d stupidly relaxed thinking I’d scared her away for good.

  That Forrest had done the trick, and she’d sworn off horses for life.

  But no.

  She had to turn up at the worst possible time and see the worst possible thing and be the worst possible nuisance.

  It also didn’t help that my temper had cooled two days ago and that god-awful guilt was back. Guilt for snapping at her when none of that night’s agony was her fault. Guilt for not being able to let go of the fresh pain every time I touched my compass, transferring that pain into hatred for the brown-haired, skinny girl who looked at me as if I’d broken her baby heart.

  Dad hadn’t just entrusted me with gifts to give Mom on milestones of my life, he’d given her some, too. When had she found them? Where? How many did she have to give me? How many more times would I have to go through the loss, the rage, the pain?

  I’d hoped running the farm would help settle me. I’d fought for freedom from education because I’d pinned all my hopes on finding happiness in the empty fields.

  But I hadn’t.

  More and more, my eyes trailed to the forest boundary, my ears pricking with breeze-whispered words to run. To find whatever I needed to replace the emptiness inside.

  Dad hadn’t just given me a compass.

  He’d layered me with yet more of his own attributes and afflictions. He’d given me permission to search for something I didn’t understand, all while shackling me to Cherry River because, despite his command to wander, I could never leave Mom.

  No way.

  My promise to him was still my biggest and most important responsibility.

  And right now…right now, I felt trapped.

  Trapped by doing the right thing, the wrong thing, the adult thing, the necessary thing.

  I needed to apologise to Hope, yet every time I got close, my throat closed up, my hands balled, and I kept on walking as if I hadn’t seen her.

  She might be a silly kid, but something about the way she stared at me said she knew more than she should. That my secrets weren’t so secret when she was around.

  Sighing in the dark, I did my best to let starlight and silence comfort me. I’d had a long day sorting out the hay barn, ready to burn off old season bales to create space for new.

  The lasagne I’d swiped from the oven and a bottle of cider from the fridge—that I wasn’t supposed to drink—swung in my hands as I traversed the back meadows. The gentle hill made my tired muscles burn, but a smile twitched when Forrest nickered for me.

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m coming.” Breaking into a jog, I covered the final distance and vaulted over his fence. “Hello to you too.”

  The gelding tossed his head, trotting over to nuzzle my chest as I dropped into his field and headed toward the large willow down by the creek.

  He followed me, sniffing the container full of tomato and pasta and mouthing the top of my cider bottle. He’d had enough swigs of juice and cola that he’d grown accustomed to sharing a bottle with me.

  Chuckling under my breath, I pushed his warm bulk away as I dropped to my ass and leaned against the tree. I wasn’t afraid of Forrest stepping on me. For such a stroppy, so-called dangerous horse, he looked after me as if I was in need of looking after.

  At least out here, there were no people. No kids squealing in joy at riding or crying with homesickness for parents.

  No mom, aunt, or family.

  Just me, the sky, and Forrest.

  The only sound as I opened my packed dinner and used the plastic fork stuck to the lid of the Tupperware was Forrest as he sighed contentedly and returned to munching grass. I ate with him, devouring the delicious lasagne and swigging back the cider—sharing a few mouthfuls with the roan.

  By the time I’d finished, my mind wasn’t so crazed and my heart no longer so worried.

  My thoughts drifted to this afternoon when I’d driven past on the quad as Aunt Cassie taught her four new students. Hope had been assigned a bay mare called Biscuit who we’d rescued last October. She wasn’t big but was smart and gentle. A requisite for a beginner’s pony.

  I’d expected to see her just as uncoordinated and terrible as the last time she’d been in our arena, but Cassie had separated her from the others, requesting her to canter and do figure eights while the rest barely stayed on at the walk.

  I’d wanted to stop and gawk. To understand how she’d gone from a kid who couldn’t steer Binky to loping Biscuit around with her back relaxed, hands soft, and seat glued to the saddle like any seasoned rider.

  On a circuit of the arena, she caught my gaze. Her helmet shadowed most of her face, but my back prickled as she transferred her reins into one hand and waved shyly as if afraid I’d yell at her like I did when she first arrived.

  The guilt she caused magnified, and I stomped on the accelerator, kicking up driveway dust as I got the hell away from her.

  Forrest ambled back toward me, grass sticking out the sides of his mouth as he nudged my knee with his nose.

  “Wanna scratch, huh?” I stood with a groan, my young body already very aware of the long hours of labour I was putting it through.

  Forrest wuffled, swinging his rump into my face for scratches. I dug my nails into his huge ass, scratching hard and fast—just the way he liked it. His head stretched upward as his upper lip pulled back from his teeth in an ugly expression of pure bliss.

  When he’d first backed into me this way, requesting scratches on the big muscles, Mom freaked, thinking he was going to double barrel me. But I’d just watched his eye and knew he came in peace, not murder.

  With dirt from his coat caked under my fingernails, I slapped his butt and pushed him away. “Enough. I have to finish my chores.”

  He pouted, glancing at the moon as if to say it was inching close to midnight and the time for working was done. But I’d promised Mom I’d top up the feed bins for the horses and the splattering of sheep Grandpa John had bought last year, and I still hadn’t done it.

  Feeding the four-legged kind I didn’t mind.

  It was feeding the two-legged that drove me nuts.

  “See ya.” Giving his velvet nose a quick kiss, I gathered up my empty container and bottle, and made my way back to the stables.

  Mom had long since stopped badgering me about being home at a reasonable hour, which meant the farm was empty with everyone asleep. It was my favourite time of day where I could be myself with my complications and concerns and not feel like I had to hide.

  On some summer nights, Dad and I had snuck from the house and slept beneath the galaxies in the front meadow. Mom would wake alone in the dark, find us both missing, and drag out blankets to lie with us as the sun rose.

  I’d never admit it, but thanks to those unforgettable moments, Dad felt closer at this time of night—as if the veil between wherever he was watching was thinner and maybe, just maybe, he’d give me advice I sorely needed or free me from my vow to do whatever I could to keep Mom happy.

  Not that I’d ever stop doing what I could for her—promise or no promise. She was the only person I permitted myself to love deep enough to hurt. Even Aunt Cassie and Grandpa John I held at arm’s length. I adored them, but I couldn’t let them take another piece of me when they died.

  Heading to the truck parked by the stable, I dropped off the remnants of my dinner and pulled down the tailgate where six heavy bags of feed waited to be hauled into the barn.

  Bending my knees, I hoisted one onto my shoulder and headed toward the shadowy building.

  Even once I’d done this final job, I wasn’t ready to go home yet.

  I needed open skies for just a little longer.

  A hike into the forest where Mom and I had scattered Dad’s ashes was my next destination. Who knew? Perhaps I’d sleep out there beneath the tree where I’d carved our initials. Maybe hanging with ghosts would remind me to appreciate the living and take away my guilt at failing.

  Dumping the bag onto the cobbles, I grabbed my Swiss Army k
nife from my back pocket and sliced into the plastic. Picking it up again, I tipped the contents into the large bins, coughing a little at the sweet scent of molasses and grain.

  As the last of the feed cascaded, a shadow darted to the left. Something small ran in the darkness, banging into a table full of farm junk, knocking a rusty hoof-pick to the ground.

  “Goddammit.” Crumpling up the empty bag, I tossed it onto the rubbish pile. The creature was most likely one of the feral cats Aunt Cassie kept to hunt mice.

  I got that mice were a problem, but I didn’t like cats. Everything had a place in the food chain, and I wasn’t opposed to eating meat, but cats were cruel. They played with their food instead of killing it outright. They took pleasure in another’s misery.

  You take pleasure in causing Hope misery—

  I shut that thought up as fast as it arrived.

  I didn’t like it.

  But I couldn’t seem to stop it either.

  Stalking forward, I followed where the shadow had run to. “If you’re busy killing, stop it.”

  A scurry of footsteps ran into a stall where hay was stacked and waiting to be used as equine bedding.

  I chased, fully expecting to catch a tabby with a mouse tail dripping like spaghetti from its lips.

  Only, I froze as a girl in pink track pants and a grey hoodie slammed to a halt in front of the bales, trapped. Her eyes were wide as she spun to stare at me, her fingers linking and unlinking as if holding her own hand in support.

  “What the hell are you doing in here?” I checked my dinged-up watch. “It’s past midnight. You should be in bed.”

  “I-I—”

  “Go back to the bunks, Hope.” I crossed my arms.

  Her forehead furrowed with false bravery. “You should be in bed too, you know.”

  I snickered. “Nice try. I don’t have a bedtime. That rule never worked on me.”

  She sighed, her long brown hair untethered and tangled around her shoulders. “Oh.”

  Stale silence fell as we stared at each other. Once again, those awful prickles danced down my spine whenever her eyes landed on me. The guilt I’d been nursing since I’d yelled at her crushed my chest. I cleared my throat, doing my best to be rid of it. “You’ll be asked to leave if you’re found out of bed.”