Mom would never find someone else.
It would be like me finding another dad.
He just wasn’t possible to replace.
“Which do I open first?” She reached for the silver wrapping and black ribbon.
“That one. It’s from me.”
“And the other? Who’s that from?” Her gaze snapped to mine, studying the blue box with a gleam of fear.
I clamped my lips closed, gave a tight smile, and motioned for her to unwrap mine.
She did nervously, unsticking the tape and pulling out the scarf and sunglasses. “Oh, Jacob. I love them.” She went to kiss my cheek, leaning toward me with love in her eyes.
But I ruined it by sitting back. I didn’t mean to do it. It just happened.
Instinct.
Self-preservation.
Terror.
She smiled as if I hadn’t just hurt her feelings for the billionth time and tapped the envelope in front of me. “I’ve opened one. Now, it’s your turn.”
I sat forward again, inching closer to her on the booth so the pain I’d cut her with might somehow be eased. “It better not be homework.”
She laughed. “You passed your exams. Not with the best grades, mind you, but your days of homework are over. Unless you want to go back to school, of course.”
I chuckled at her enthusiasm. “Don’t hope for miracles, Mom. I’m out of the institution. Good luck getting me back in.”
She sighed dramatically. “One day you might change your mind.”
“Yeah, and one day you might let me enter a team steeplechase.”
Our joking faded as she scowled. “You promised me. That equestrian sport is too dangerous. Do you want to break your back?”
I rolled my eyes. “I wouldn’t break, Mom. I’d fly.”
Not wanting to rehash a familiar argument, I opened the envelope, pulled out the documents, and skimmed the lines of lawyer jargon.
My gaze flew to meet hers. “What is this? You can’t be serious?”
“I am serious. It’s all legal.”
“But…how?”
“I was just custodian of it. The farm belonged to Ren. Not just in title but in blood, sweat, and tears. Now, it belongs to you.”
“You’re giving me your hundred acres?”
Mom looked at her hands on the table, twisting the scarf I’d given her. “Your father ensured we have no financial worries. The cash will eventually be yours too, but for now, the pieces of Cherry River that John gave us are officially in your name.”
“I-I can’t believe this.”
“Believe it.” She reached across and squeezed my hand.
This time, I schooled myself not to retreat but to shift my palm upward and link my fingers with hers. “I don’t know what to say.”
“Say thank you and accept it.”
“Thank you and accept it.”
She laughed, pulling away and swatting me on the shoulder. “I love you, Jacob. I don’t know what I’d do without you.” She sniffled, pride bright in her gaze. “I knew one day you’d take after him and be called to work the land, but I didn’t expect it to happen so soon. Cherry River was always meant to be yours—regardless of age.”
My heart hung heavy as she reached for the blue box. The box that had the power to hurt her, heal her, break her.
For a second, I didn’t want her to open it.
I didn’t want old scars to bleed fresh blood.
But I was too late as she tore the paper, gave me a curious tilt of her head, and plucked the lid off the box. She tipped a folded piece of paper into her palm, along with an enamelled blue ribbon scarf pin.
I groaned, wedging my head in my hands.
What could be worse?
I bought her a scarf, and on the same day, my dead father bought her a scarf pin.
A gift he’d bought years and years ago.
I didn’t believe in fate, but chills scattered down my spine. I tensed as Mom rolled the pin in her fingers quizzically, then winced as pain shattered over her features.
Her hands shook as realisation slammed into her. She dropped the pin in her haste to read the letter.
Shit, I should’ve waited.
I should’ve given it to her at home away from prying eyes, where her grief would be hidden.
As tears sprang like rivers exploding their dams down her cheeks and the lowest groan of despair left her lips, I prepared to kill her even further by pulling a blue ribbon from my pocket. The ribbon I’d cut from the cardboard wheel my father had left behind.
Only, as I stretched my arm toward her, dropped the ribbon on the torn wrapping of my father’s gift, and beat myself up with my incapableness at hugging her, we were interrupted at the worst possible time.
A shy voice I hadn’t forgotten and didn’t necessarily want to hear again.
A voice that belonged to a girl who loved puncturing old wounds with my full name.
“Hello, Jacob Ren Wild. Fancy seeing you here.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
Hope
* * * * * *
Twelve Years Old
I WISHED I had the power to rewind time.