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"Scoot," Doc said, looping a stethoscope around his neck. "Theres coffee on the stove. Have some. " He looked at Jake through kind, concerned eyes. "Its gonna be a long night. "
Jake shambled into the sitting room. He tried not to think of the other times hed been through this exact night, but the memories were insistent, worming their way through his thoughts with insidious strength. Hed lost other loved ones in his life; his grandfather, his mother. Once they got like this, they never lived through the night.
Never . . .
Tears scalded his eyes, dripped down his cheeks. He sank unsteadily onto the hard leather of a settee and buried his face in his hands. Memories and images winged through his mind, each one bringing a fresh lump of tears.
I thought you might be hungry. . . .
If the mountain wont come to Mohammed, then Mohammed best head fo
r the mountain. . . .
You were meant to live on an apple farm. And Marians quiet invitation. This apple farm.
Theyd made him so welcome, given him so much. With them, he almost felt like he had a family again, something he thought hed buried with his mother. Rass was the grandfather Jake had never really had; the loving, gentle relative that Jacob Vanderstay had never been. A man who never got angry or demanded anything. A grandfather who laughed and loved and gave.
"Please, God," he said, tasting the salty moisture of his own tears. "Please dont take him yet___" But his words were hollow and lifeless, without the spine of hope.
Hed said them too many times in his life, and he knew the truth. God almost never answered at a time like this.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Tears burned down his cheeks and burrowed into the corners of his mouth, tasting warm and wet and hopeless. Hed never felt more alone in his whole life. And his father was right beside him.
"Can I get you a cup of coffee, kid?"
Jake snapped his head up, feeling a surge of anger at this man who was his father but wasnt. "Dont call me kid. My name is Jake. "
Mad Dog dropped slowly to a squat in front of Jake. "My old man called me kid. I guess its just a bad habit. Im sorry. "
Jakes irrational anger died as quickly as it had come. Without it, he felt cold and alone again. He slumped forward. His elbows hit his knees and he cradled his face in sweaty palms.
Mad Dogs touch was so gentle, so tentative, that at first Jake thought hed imagined it, willed it somehow. But he hadnt. Mad Dog had reached out and touched Jakes shoulder, squeezing it gently.
"Hes gonna be all right, Jake. Hes a strong man. "
Jakes head came up slowly. Tears burned in his eyes, turning his father into a blur of blond hair and tanned skin. And for an instant, just an instant, Jake didnt know if he was crying for Rass or for himself.
His father had touched him, comforted him. He bit his lower lip to keep it from trembling. It was nothing, really, just a meaningless little squeeze on the shoulder, but to Jake it meant the world. It meant his father cared—at least a little.
He swallowed hard.
Mad Dog withdrew his hand slowly. The moment started to slip away.
Jake surged forward, unwilling to let the connection fade. Suddenly now, on this tired old settee, with death so close, he could taste its familiar sourness, he felt a stirring of courage. He wanted to get to know his father. He spoke before he lost his nerve. "What was your dad like?"
Surprise widened Mad Dogs eyes. "I dunno. " Jake refused to let it go. "Are you like him?" Something dark moved through Mad Dogs eyes. He pushed to his feet and walked away from Jake, staring down at his own bare feet on the plush Oriental carpet. "Yeah," he said after a while, "I guess I am. " "Youre lucky," Jake said quietly. Mad Dog turned to him. "Whys that?" Jake tried to keep his voice steady, but it was hard. "At least you knew your dad. My father ran out on my mama before I was born. "
A sad, understanding shadow of a smile shaped Mad Dogs mouth. "My dad ran out on us, too. " Slowly he walked over to the settee and sat down beside Jake, stretching out his long legs.
. "Would you run out on your own kid?" Jakes breath caught at the simple question. He couldnt believe hed asked it, but once he had, he felt anticipation course through him. Maybe Mad Dog would say just the right thing •. . maybe hed say hed always wanted a child . . . a son . . . and hed never leave one behind. Mad Dog leaned back. The settee creaked in protest.
“I’ve thought about that, believe it or not. When I was younger, I wanted kids. I thought I could be a good father. " He laughed easily, shook his head. "Then I grew up. "
"What do you mean?"
"A good dad stays put, Jake, its as simple as that. I leave. "
"How do you know?"
