His shoulders stiffened. “What is it this time?”
“I hadn’t planned on bringing this up.” I shrugged. “Well, not until you’d had a good night’s rest and a decent shower. But…”
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. “But?”
“You’re tired. You’re calmer than I’ve ever seen you. Exhaustion makes you easier to deal with, so I’ll get it out now. After all, tomorrow is another day.”
He huffed. “And just because you’ve lived on my farm for a week, you’re suddenly Scarlett O’Hara?”
“Almost two weeks, actually. And wait…” My mouth popped wide. “You know Gone with the Wind?”
He rolled his eyes. “Seriously? It’s a classic. One of Mom’s favourites.”
I paused, my heart aching a little. “But…it’s not a happy ending. Rhett leaves her.”
“Just like my dad left my mom.” Jacob smiled cynically. “I think she likes the movie because Scarlett keeps going. It reminds her to be strong.”
I fell quiet for a moment.
I didn’t think that was the reason at all. “I think she likes it because it ends with the hope of them working it out,” I whispered. “As the onlooker, you believe they’ll get back together off-screen. You can’t accept anything else.”
“Yeah, but the chances of them ever seeing each other again are slim.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Kinda do. That’s just life.”
“Some people find each other again against all the odds.”
Jacob narrowed his eyes. “Are we still talking about the movie here?”
I bit my lip, looking at the grass.
I’d always felt sorry for Della losing her husband, but it hadn’t pierced my heart as truthfully as it did sitting beside her son in that meadow. There I was, pretending I could be Jacob’s cure—that I was like him with my lack of parent and acquaintance with death—but in reality…I was an imposter.
I didn’t know such heartbreak. I couldn’t watch Gone with the Wind without clutching my chest when Rhett walked out the door. I’d always made up an alternative ending where they were together again.
Was that how Della survived each morning? Believing one day she’d see Ren again?
Wow.
The pain.
The faith in the impossible and improbable.
Blinking, I swallowed back my stupidity. I wasn’t some magical girl to put Jacob back together again. I wasn’t there to repair him or teach him that love wasn’t something to be feared because even death couldn’t sever it.
Yes, I knew loss. But I didn’t know true agony. And Jacob’s agony? I’d never understand because I wasn’t capable of understanding.
The belief and hope I’d hugged for so long suddenly vanished, and Scotland with its fake actors and scripts and make-believe seemed so much safer than here in the meadow with a boy who’d lived a far worse tragedy than me.
I’d overstayed my welcome.
I didn’t want to intrude any longer.
I want to leave.
“Hope?” The unusual softness in Jacob’s voice made me wince. “What’s going on in that mind of yours?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s something.”
“No.” I shook my head. “It’s not.”
He pursed his lips, letting a couple of seconds tick past. “What did you want to talk to me about?”
“It doesn’t matter now.” I shifted to stand, but he lashed out, his fingers spreading over my hand.
We froze.
Two statues locked in disbelief.
His fingers pressed into mine for the barest of moments before he ripped them away and wiped them on the grass.
My skin seared, forever branded and greedy for more.
“You’re leaving,” he stated in a detached, icy voice; the polar opposite to the softness of before.
“How did you know?” I asked, petal soft and just as fragile.
“Just do.” Planting his hands into the earth, he grunted in pain as he pushed up slowly, standing like an old man and not a young farmer. He wobbled a little, shaking his head and blinking.
I unfolded my legs and met him on two feet. “You should be happy I’m going.”
“I am.” He brushed past me, swiping the backpack from the grass as he did. “See ya round.”
His march had a slight limp, his hips not as limber, his back not as supple. He was hurting, and I’d just somehow made it worse.
All selfish reasons for wanting to leave vanished, and once again, I had the undeniable desire to help.
Pulling the towel around my breasts, I knotted it in place, then jogged after him. “Wait.”
“Nothing to wait for.”
“What I was going to say before—”
“Isn’t important.”
“Just, stop, will you?” I slammed to my heels. “Does your mom know you’re still injured?”
He stopped, turning around like a hunter. “Why? What does it matter to you?”
“Does she or not? Just answer the question.”
He crossed his arms, his full height making me tip my chin to meet his eyes. “No. Unless you’ve told her.”
“I didn’t.”
“Good, then she doesn’t know.”
“But you have an entire farm to run while you’re hurt. Otherwise, she’s gonna find out.”
He shrugged as if he didn’t care. “I’ll figure it out.”
Daring to step closer, I breathed, “I’ve figured it out.”
His eyebrows rose. “You have, have you? What did you figure?”