If You Believe - Page 113

Jake pulled out a chair opposite Mad Dog and sat down. "She talk to you at all?"

Mad Dog shook his head. A tired sigh slipped from his mouth. "I dont know what to do, Jake. Shes . . . wasting away. "

"I know. Yesterday I gave her a geranium—it was the only one that made it through the snow. She didnt even take it. Just said thanks in that sad voice and looked away. "

"Rowers, huh? I never thought of that. "

"Well, it used to work for my mama, but she was a different kind of sad. "

Mad Dog frowned. "What do you mean?"

Jake swallowed hard. He seemed to find it difficult to speak. "My mama . . . loved a man who didnt love her back. It made her sad all the time. She cried a lot. " He looked away, stared at the wall. "She gave up on him finally, but she never forgot him, and she made sure I didnt either. "

"Did she walk around like a silent ghost, like Mariah?"

"No, she was more . . . emotional. "

"Yeah. Most women are. " Mad Dog nodded, staring through the doorway to the darkened foyer. He didnt have to move to know where Mariah was,, what she was doing. She was sitting in the damn porch swing, her back ramrod-straight, her chin tilted high, staring into space. Her eyes were glazed, vacant-looking, her cheeks were sunken and limned in bruising shadows.

He let out his breath in a sharp sigh. Jesus, she looked like one of the dead herself.

The sparkling life in her eyes had gone out, the healthy glow of her skin was gone.

Mad Dog found, to his surprise, that he missed her. Not just her body, either. He didnt even think of her in that way now. He missed the very essence of her, the way she cocked her head when she smiled, the way she shivered when he was near, the way she laughed. He missed her laughter most of all.

He propped his elbow on the table and cradled his stubbly chin in his hand, shaking his head. "Hell, Ive never stayed in any one place longer than three days. If a person had a problem, I walked away. I dont know how to help her. "

"She feels . . . lost," Jake said quietly, and looked up. "You ever felt like that?"

I feel like that right now. The thought surprised Mad Dog, but he couldnt deny the truth of it. Without her smile, her warmth, her touch, he felt like a boat adrift °n a dead calm sea. Going nowhere.

"Yeah," he said quietly, wetting his lips. "Ive felt that way a few times. When my mom died, I . . . " He shook his head, trying to find the words to express what hed never told another living soul. "I guess I wanted to die, too. "

Tears glazed Jakes eyes, squeezed past the corners. "Yeah. "

Silence stretched between them, thick with memories. Finally Jake managed to find his voice again. "I dont think she hates us or anything. She just . . . doesnt care about anything. "

"So, how do we make her care?" He gave a tired little shrug. "I dont know. " Mad Dog looked at him across the table. "How did you get yourself out of it when your mom died?"

Something that looked like pain darkened Jakes watery eyes. He looked at Mad Dog steadily, his gaze surprisingly intense. "I focused on something else . . . the one thing that still mattered. My father. I went to find him. "

"Oh . . . shit. " Mad Dog sagged. "That wont do us any good. "

"No. " Jakes voice was subdued, almost disappointed. "I guess not. "

Mad Dog chewed on his lower lip and squeezed his eyes shut. Jesus, this was so damned important, and he didnt know what to do. Slowly he opened his eyes, looked at the boy across the table. "Help me, Jake. . . . " Jakes head snapped up. He looked up at Mad Dog through wide, surprised eyes. "You want my help?"

"Were in this together, kid. ? He sighed, shaking his head. "Aw, Jesus, I dont know how to get through to her, how to—" Then it came to him. He slammed a hand down on the table and grinned. "Ive got it. "

"What?"

"Youll see. " He shot to his feet. "You try to get her to eat some of this stew. Ive got to run to town. Ill be back by nightfall. "

Jake stood at the hot stove, carefully ladling stew into a chipped crockery bowl.

The bubbling brown mixture blurred before his eyes, turned into a swirling smear of brown chunks and white china.

Were in this together, kid. Together.

Tags: Kristin Hannah Fiction
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