"Do you want to say a few words?" He gave her a look of such gentle concern, it almost broke through her apathy. He reached for her.
She let him touch her cheek, felt the warmth of his touch. But it meant nothing.
"Yes," she said, hearing the lifeless tone of her own voice. "Ill say a few words. "
She moved past Mad Dog, feeling his gaze on her. He was worried, she knew. Once that might have meant something, and she knew it should still. But it didnt.
Standing beneath the skeletal winter remains of the oak tree, she stared dully at the gaping hole. At the sight of it, stark and terrifying against the snow white ground, she shuddered and closed her eyes.
"Rass . . . " She paused, bowed her head. A headache throbbed behind her aching eyes. "Rass would have said, Dont cry for me. Im not here. "
Great, wrenching pain coiled around her heart. She brought her head up, stared at the farm hed loved so dearly. "He believed that death was a gateway to another, better world. I hope hes right. He . . . " Her voice cracked. "He deserves it. "
She kneeled on the cold ground and placed her icy hand on the splintery wood of his casket. Misery pulled her shoulders, dragged her head downward. It felt as if she were being slowly crushed by a wall of cold, unforgiving stone. Breathing became almost impossible. She stared at the planks of hammered pine through gritty, too dry eyes. "Good-bye, Daddy. I love you. "
She squeezed her eyes shut for a long, pain-drenched moment, then slowly she opened them and pushed to her feet.
Mad Dog and Jake were looking at her. In their eyes, she saw the offer of refuge, the promise of comfort. And she knew that in that moment, they could come together, the three of them, and get through this grief with one anothers help.
She didnt care.
She was too tired to try, too spiritually broken to even long for the comfort of a family anymore. Mad Dog and Jake would be leaving soon; she knew that. Rass was the glue that held them together. Without him, they were three strangers. She had already begun to think of her nights with Mad Dog as fantasy, a fairy tale without substance or truth.
She looked at him and Jake, standing so closely together, banded in the similarity of their grief. They almost looked alike.
Mariah felt achingly alone, separate. She wished she had the strength, or the courage to go stand with them.
But she couldnt.
Tiredly she picked up her skirts and headed away from the grassy knoll. They didnt even try to stop her.
In the long days and even longer nights that followed Rasss death, the house slid into a bleak gully of despair. Dust piled up on the furniture, coated the win-dowsills.
The kitchen sat in waiting silence, a cold and empty reminder that the heart of the farm had gone away.
No laughter floated through the air, no conversation rang out at mealtimes. There were no mealtimes. There was no conversation. There were only memories, dark, aching memories that seemed to be everywhere.
Mad Dog couldnt stand it anymore. Hed tried to give Mariah time, tried to give her the space she needed to grieve. But she wasnt grieving; she was dying. Slowly, day by day, inch by pitiful inch. He couldnt watch it anymore.
He had to either do something for her or leave.
That was the problem. He didnt know what to do and he didnt want to leave.
He stared down at the stew bubbling in the pot in front of him. Absently he stirred it. The rich aroma floated upward, streamed past his nostrils and scented the room.
The front door creaked open, then banged shut. Footsteps shuffled through the foyer and came into the kitchen.
Mad Dog turned expectantly.
Jake sauntered into the room, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, his head hung.
At the threshold, he stumbled to a stop and jerked his head up. "Youre cooking?"
Mad Dog shrugged. "Someone had to. I was losing weight. "
Jake cocked his head back toward the front door, a worried look on his face. "Sos she. "
Mad Dog set the wooden spoon aside. Running a hand through his hair, he went to the table and yanked out a chair. The wooden legs screeched along the planked floor. He sat down and stretched his legs out. "Yeah, I know. She looks like a goddamn scarecrow. "