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Jakob blinked at him for a moment, not knowing what to say; before remembering some of the little figures he had picked up from the spill of the kid's belongings as they had scattered across the department store's tiled floor. There had been several tiny horse-mounted warriors among the various other units, their banners and tabards bearing meticulously painted patterns.
Remembered the feeling whenhe'dfirst seen the ranch, crammed into his mom's rusty and sputtering little hatchback along with all their stuff. With its peeling paint and cracked front headlight, it had been the one single constant of his childhood to that point. That and the sharp, bitter tang of disappointment as they packed it full of all their belongings once more.
God, how angry he had been back then. At his mom, at Frank, at the entire fucking world. Filled with an impotent fury that here they were,again. His mom telling him how wonderful this new life would be for them; how great this latest in a long string of endless boyfriends was; how much fun Jakob would have living here; how good it would be for him to be so close to nature; how everything wasfinallygoing to work out for them this time. How this time —this time— they couldstay.
He had been an absolute little shitheel in the way only a sullen child could manage, but Frank had been patient. Had taken a single glance at a furious boy and seen the skittish colt, so scared of his own shadow that he tried to bite and kick at anything that came too close.
It had been the horses that had done it, of course. What kid saw one anddidn'twant to ride — at least a little bit, somewhere deep down inside?
He had been terrified at first. The horses were so so big and he had been so so small.
But Frank had started him slow, and soon enough Jakob was in the saddle more than out of it; riding that old palomino all over the backcountry within a day's ride of the ranch.
His favorite had been taking her down the saltgrass trail early of a morning, down to the empty strand of beach where he could let her have her head. Jakob could remember holding onto the saddle horn for all he was worth, whooping fit to wake a banshee; encouraging her as she ran like a mare half her age, hooves flying across the sand.
Remembered the feel of the wind on his skin, the salt air in his lungs. The seagulls calling and wheeling overhead like a cheering crowd, as the little sandpipers scuttled quickly out of their way.
Remembered too how he had come back one afternoon, breathless and wild from a ride; only to find his mom’s old hatchback gone.
He hadn't thought anything of it at first. Before he had left for the stable that morning, his mom had told him she was going out to run some errands. How could a boy his age even guess that his mother could apparently just get into her rusty old car and simply… driven away? Had kept on driving, right on out of both their lives, for good.
That she wasgone.Just —
Justgone.
He'd found her letter after he’d finished cleaning and putting the tack away, the mare safely returned to her paddock just as Frank had taught him. Horse and gear seen to, Jakob went inside the farmhouse to make himself a sandwich. All the different places they had lived, the classic PB&J had always been a staple; quick and easy for a hungry, impatient boy.
She had left the note on the kitchen table for them. Weighted down under the jar of peanut butter as it was, it had been a surefire guarantee Jakob wouldn't miss it.
He remembered all too well that sharp sense of despair he'd felt, curled up there under Frank's guest bed where Jakob had hidden after reading it. The way the stiff paper had jabbed sharply into his skin, clutched so tightly in his hand.
With their car gone, the room he had been sleeping in the past few months had been the closest thing to safe territory he had; even if he knew then in his heart that it was all only ever an illusion.
Just the night before, he had overheard his mom and Frank talking about turning it into a bedroom for Jakob. Or maybe Frank would convert an old storage room in the loft above the hay barn into a new office; giving Jakob the room that had been his current one, just down the hall.
That bright burst of excitement at the thought of a place all his very own sat like ash in Jakob's mouth; turned to bitter certainty at the knowledge it could never happen now.
He'd flinched to hear the front door open. The sound of Frank calling his mom's name and then Jakob's, in turn. Every footstep he had taken, every creak of the wooden floorboards under his boots as Frank had searched for them, all driving Jakob deeper under the bed.
To this day, he still wasn't surewhy.
Desperation, probably. Some childish logic that if he couldn’t be found, he couldn’t be turned out. That as long as he could stay hidden, he could stay.
Frank had always been kind to Jakob. Not all of his mother’s friends had. But by then, Frank had already become someone Jakob was learning he could rely on; someone he could trust. There wasn’t any good reason for him to hide like a child from Frank. He knew that, even then. But when had fear ever needed a reason? And just then, it held Jakob tightly in his hold.
His heart had nearly stopped when Frank's footsteps halted outside his room. Not in fear of the man himself, but of the future Jakob could see with such certainty, spinning out before him now.
It resumed its beating in triple time as the door opened, thundering so loudly in his ears he was sure it would give him away. And — he must have made some sound then; let out some squeak or shifted his leg or —
"Jakob?" Frank had asked hesitantly. His eyes were wide and face startled where it appeared in the space between the floor and the edge of the bed; framed by the drape of the dust ruffle that Frank had lifted up, as if it was a curtain opening in some play.
"Why in the world you hidin' under there with all the lights off, boy? Where's your mama?"
Remembered holding out the hand gripping the note. The way it had felt soheavy, as if he could still feel it burning against his palm even after Frank had uncrumpled it; smoothing out the stark white paper, so bright against his hands. The soundless shapes his mouth had moved as he'd read it to himself.
Her handwriting was all loops and swirls, sprawling like vines across the page. He had studied it too many times to count by then, but each time it made less and less sense to him.
Some bullshit about how much she loved them both, about how she would miss them terribly. About needing to find herself; that it was somehow for the best. That it was all meant to be, some part of a larger plan.
