I was suicidal to admit I’d miss her.
So fucking much.
“I have.” He grinned. “She’s been an asset to this place. I’m so glad you two have been getting along so well.”
“Yeah.” I stared into my drink, wanting to talk about anything other than Hope.
I’d stupidly thought by eliminating the stress between us and becoming friends, we’d be able to work in peace. That my body wouldn’t have such highs and lows of irritation and affection.
I’d thought I could handle a friend.
That I would find comfort in company.
But no.
I’d only condemned myself to a living hell.
A hell that didn’t stop, that tortured me with images of her alive in my bed and then dead at my feet. The devil mocked me with a future of her by my side, sharing the care of Cherry River, and being family instead of just a friend, but in the same breath, he tore her away, delivered that undoubted pain, and crushed me beneath certain despair.
I hurt.
All the goddamn time.
“I’m also so proud of the way you’ve let us be closer to you. That letter you gave me was much appreciated.” Grandpa John leaned forward, his intensity searing into me. “We’ve missed you, Jakey. I was worried. Very worried. Ren wouldn’t have liked seeing you so closed off.”
I tore my eyes away, staring at the melting marshmallow in my mug.
I supposed I should say the customary thank you, but there was nothing to be proud of.
What he saw were lies.
Only I knew the truth.
The bitter, brutal truth.
Before, I’d been honest with my pain.
But now, I lied and hid it.
I was worse.
So, so much worse.
Grandpa John cleared his throat, changing the subject as if he sensed my unravelling. “So, have you decided to go ahead with your plan for the orchard expansion?”
My muscles clenched. I appreciated his olive branch, but I wasn’t there to talk about trivial stuff. He’d asked me here to discuss his illness. The subject we’d been avoiding since that fateful day at the hospital. My back was healed. My concussion no more. Yet Grandpa’s sickness hadn’t gone. It was still there, eating him alive. “You’re seriously going to talk about the farm?”
“I’ll talk about whatever interests me.”
“You’re only wasting time. Skirting the real topic.”
“No.” He shook his head. “I’m easing into it. Is that a crime?”
“It is when it’s taking everything I have to sit here and pretend nothing is wrong.”
He sighed, his beard fluttering with breath. “There’s nothing wrong, Jacob. Everything is how it should be.”
“Oh, don’t give me that crap.” I slouched, crossing my arms. “I don’t need to hear about God’s plan or life cycles. You’re not well. It’s shit. Don’t pretend it’s any better just because you’re okay with it.”
“I am okay with it.”
“Well, I’m not. So spit it out. Tell me how long I have to be mad at you.”
He laughed at my morbid humour. “Chances are, I’ll outlive you, my boy. Hope told me why you were at the hospital that day. Jumping that crazy animal without tack is just asking for an early grave.”
“That crazy animal has my back.”
“Kick you in the back, more like.”
“I’ve never understood why you all hate on him so much. I’ve had him for years now. He’s proven he’s trustworthy.”
He nodded. “You’re right. It’s not fair. We’re holding onto an old bias.”
“I’ll tell him you apologised.”
He chuckled, sipping his hot chocolate.
In the time it took him to swallow, the air switched from strained to outright sinister. The silence hissed about disease, and I stiffened until I was as wooden as the seat I sat on. “So…how long?”
His face lost any hint of humour. “I told you in the car park. A year or so.”
“That’s nothing.”
“I agree. That’s why I’m pleased to announce it’s more like two or three, possibly even five years. The treatments have worked. Bought me more time.”
Neither of us said it, but our thoughts were on Dad. About how he kept chiselling away at time. Just a little more. Just a little more.
Until there was no more.
Taking a sip of my drink, I dared meet the intense gaze of the wizened old wizard I called family. “We’ll find another treatment. Buy you even more.”
“I won’t chase miracles. I’m at peace with that timeframe.”
“So you’re giving up?” I bared my teeth. “Didn’t figure you for a quitter.”
He reached for my hand, but I slipped it off the table and into my lap.
He sighed. “I’m not quitting. I’m accepting. And besides, I’ve had a wonderful life. I’ve loved the most amazing people. And if I’m honest, I’m tired. I’m ready to see what else is out there.”
His eyes drifted to a sun-bleached photo of the grandmother I never met. A woman with kind eyes and red hair and a lemon-printed apron carrying a steaming casserole. “I miss Pat. She was the life of my heart. When she went, she took most of me with her. I didn’t wish away the extra time I’ve had with you guys, but I’m also not going to fight to stay.”