Page 2 of Jacob

That seemed impossible. The whole town was talking about it.

If he somehow was sick, she’d take care of him. She was good with sick people. She wanted to study medicine. If he hadn’t heard about her folks, she’d tell him and then they’d cry together.

He loved her folks, too.

She rode her bike over the muddy track. The rain was like a waterfall now, coming down so hard it bounced off the ground, and it was hard to see. There weren’t that many trailers. Inside of twenty minutes she’d seen them all. Some were boarded up and looked abandoned. Some looked abandoned even though there were signs of human habitation. Those were sadder than the empty ones.

Jake had never described his place, ever. Never spoke about his father. She didn’t have a clue how to find him, which trailer was Jake’s. They all looked equally awful. Finally, she put down the kick stand on the bike right in the middle of the forlorn, muddy intersection and got off.

“Jake!” she called. Her voice was hoarse and low. Probably no one could hear her over the drumming of the rain. She made a megaphone of her hands and yelled “Jake!” at the top of her lungs.

She turned around, yelling, in a full circle.

God, what would she do if Jake wasn’t here? And if he wasn’t here, where was he?

Her heart thumped painfully in her chest. He wasn’t—? No, he couldn’t be. God couldn’t be that cruel, to take her parentsandJake away from her. Besides, Jake was so tough. Tall and big. Death wasn’t going to get him any time soon.

That was her grief talking.

“Jake!”

It was pouring down now, soaking her to the skin. She was shivering uncontrollably. She hadn’t eaten and hadn’t slept in two days, and she could feel it now. Feel the effects of the shock, of the funeral.

“Jake!” Her voice broke on a sob and she stood under the rain, head bowed, rain soaking her to the skin.

“Shut the fuck up, bitch!”

She lifted her head, wiping the rain and tears from her eyes, looking around. It couldn’t be someone talking to her. No one had ever called her bitch before. But it was the first sign of life in the trailer park. However rude the man was, maybe he knew Jake. Knew where he was.

She walked around until she saw a man standing on a ramshackle porch made of badly poured concrete with splintered wooden handrails attached to a rusted trailer home. It wasn’t even on the road. She walked over, hand on her forehead, shielding her eyes from the rain.

He was dressed in filthy, torn jeans and a stained tank top. What she’d read once was called a ‘wife beater’. He looked like a wife beater. He looked mean, mouth twisted in a nasty sneer. He was tall and big, including a big belly, and held a half-empty bottle of beer by the neck. There was dried blood on the side of his face.

“The fuck you want, girl?” he said, swaying.

Alex stopped well away from him. Even through her pain she recognized this was a man you didn’t want physically near you. That was instinct talking because she’d never seen anyone like him in her life. “I’m looking for Jake Simpson. Do you know where he lives?”

He snorted. “That pussy? What you want with him, girl? To fuck him?” Horribly, he clutched his crotch. “You need a man, not a no-good kid. Useless little snot.”

A sudden chill shuddered through her. She stepped back and swallowed heavily because this was… this was Jake’s father. Once you saw it, it was unmistakable. Jake was lean, his features sharp and this man was a blob, features hidden beneath blubber covered by black stubble, but he was definitely Jake’s father. He was an awful and creepy and drunk version of Jake.

Oh Jake, she thought, her own sorrows forgotten for a moment. No wonder he never spoke of home or his father. The door to the trailer house was open, banging against the aluminum siding, and she could see inside. Could see filth and disorder in the few feet visible from the outside. A gust of wind brought a stench of beer and feces. She stepped back again. Just being here, just seeing this man made her feel even sadder.

But awful as the man was, maybe he knew where she could find Jake. She had to try. She needed Jake.

“Do you know where he is?”

“Gone.” The man’s face closed up like a fist, pinched and cruel, eyes squinting. “Fucker’s gone. Leaving, he said. Good riddance to the little shit.” He swayed forward and for a horrible second Alex thought he would step down the porch stairs and come after her, but he didn’t. He turned around and slammed the door behind him. The door bounced back open, and she saw him inside, in profile, fat belly protruding over his belt, opening another beer. With the bottle to his mouth, watching her, he reached out and pulled the door closed.

Alex stood in the rain, looking at the door as if it could tell her where Jake was. She was weary beyond belief, exhausted, brought so low she had to stiffen her knees to remain upright. The temptation to drop where she was and howl her sorrow to the winds was enormous.

But she didn’t. The torn cloth covering a grimy window twitched to the side and the man eyed her. He seemed to enjoy watching her in the rain. She’d never come across anyone like him in her life but something deep inside her, as old as humanity, told her he was the kind of man who enjoyed other people’s pain. She’d rather die than give him pleasure.

Fucker’s gone. Little shit.It had shocked her down to her bones to hear a man describe his son like that. Nobody in her life would be remotely capable of describing their child in those terms.

She’d barely taken in his words when he spoke them, but as she rode back into town, she thought about them. Gone. Leaving. He’d said Jake was leaving. She was so tired she could barely think straight. But leaving could only mean one thing for Jake—a bus. The bus station was on the other side of town and buses left all the time. Chances were she’d never get there in time if he were catching a bus.

But she had to try,hadto. There was a lump in her throat, something huge and hard and dangerous and she had to see Jake, had to see if he could help her cry her way past it. Otherwise she’d choke to death on it.

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