Chapter 10 #3
“Did she say something to you? Anything that would make this make sense?”
From this angle I can’t see much of Jacob’s face, but I can see the way he opens his mouth then closes it.
He’s about to rat me out. I can tell. So I interrupt before it can happen.
“What’s going on?” I ask, but as I straighten and look out the window, the answer becomes clear.
Sheep.
We’re surrounded by sheep.
Their soft baa-ing is dulled by the plinking sound of rain, but they’re everywhere. A whole flock of them stretches out along the road.
A few people in front of us have gotten out of their cars, rain jackets on, hoods raised, and they’re lifting their phones, taking pictures of it all.
“We’re stuck,” Jacob says, unhelpfully.
“Yes, but how—”
“I went off the main road,” my father says. “Traffic was slow, and I thought this could be faster, but…”
A particularly loud baa erupts then, and the culprit’s white face peers through my window. It reminds me of one of those drive-through zoos.
“So, how long does this usually take?”
Jacob turns to look at me. “There’s nothing usual about this.”
“Why? Doesn’t this happen all the time?”
He snorts, and it raises my hackles.
“What?”
“You think we have sheep blocking the streets of Aberdeen?”
“Well, I don’t know.”
“Right,” he snaps. “You wouldn’t. You don’t spend any time there.”
“I—” Is he seriously making another dig about me not being here for the surgery? And doing it in front of my dad?
Jacob squeezes his eyes shut, as if he didn’t mean for the words to slip out. For a moment he looks, well, sheepish.
“Maybe you should stretch your legs,” my dad tells him. “We’re going to be here for a while.”
A silent conversation passes between them and then Jacob nods, exiting the car.
“I’m sorry,” my dad says a moment later. “He’s not usually like this. I think he’s just…We’re all a little out of sorts.”
“It’s fine,” I say, because how else can I respond?
“No, it’s not,” my dad says, his voice surprisingly firm. “But I’m sure he’ll apologize once he’s calmed down.” He looks out the window. “I’ve never seen him act like this.”
“Really?” I guess Jacob only acts strange and surly around me.
“Yes. Maggie always worries about him. She says he doesn’t talk that much. He always listens to her, but he doesn’t really share anything in return.” He rubs a hand against his jaw. “And I think he’s doing worse because he—he doesn’t do well in cars.”
My gaze lands on Jacob, standing a few feet to the left of us. His back, clad in a brand-new dark-blue sweater, is toward me, and he has a hand lifted to his forehead, likely shielding his eyes from the rain.
He doesn’t drive. He doesn’t like to sit in the back seat. And I remember how he was when I had to slam on the brakes, his skin turning gray, his hand clenching my knee.
Something sharp twists in my chest, and when I look at him now, I see how small he is standing against the green mountains. How vulnerable he appears. How alone.
“I see,” I say, keeping my voice neutral, even though my throat feels tight.
Part of me wants to prod further, to hear the full story, the why behind his aversion to cars, but I don’t need to because on some level, I know. And I know if I ever hear it, it needs to be from Jacob.
Not that that will be happening. If he doesn’t want to know anything more about me, I doubt he’ll want to share about himself.
I tear my eyes away from him.
“And how are you doing?” I ask my dad.
My dad startles. “I’m fine,” he says, but the word comes out strained.
“Really?” I ask gently. Because I’ve watched him connect with others. I know he’s capable of it. He’s never really connected with me, but maybe now that I’m here, that I’m helping him, that I’m part of this, he’ll try to meet me halfway.
But when he just nods, the movement sharp and crisp, my hope burns into disappointment, leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.
I sink back into my seat.
A few months ago, when we were in that phase of sending cordial emails to each other, I asked him about his health. And all I got in response? The same answer: Fine.
But he’s able to tell Jacob how he feels.
I guess this is all my dad is willing to share with me—all he seems to want from me. And that’s okay. I don’t need more than that from him. It was stupid of me to think he and I could have anything more than that. The way things are between us, all of it, is…fine.
The passenger door opens, and Jacob slides back into his seat, his hair damp and sticking to his forehead.
I involuntarily raise my hand to my bangs, adjusting them, remembering the way my hair was drenched that night at the pub, and when Jacob turns to put his seat belt back on, our eyes meet.
It’s not just his hair that’s wet, but his face too. There are tracks of water on his cheeks, and I can’t tell if they’re from the rain or tears. His eyes are red, but that could be from the wind. And his expression doesn’t help me figure it out. He’s completely unreadable.
The rain continues to fall, the dirt on the side of the road turning to mud, and I look away, hoping we’ll be out of here soon.