10
James knelt at his mother’s side, clutching her hand. Her breath was shallow and her eyes glassy, but she turned her head his way when he came into the room.
“My boy.” The words escaped her lips in a faint whisper.
“I’m here, Mother, I’m here.” He brushed his knuckles over her cheek, feeling the fever that met his fingertips. His body and soul filled with a bone-deep dread.
“Where’s your father?” his mother asked. “I want to see him.”
James’s heart bled. His mother still couldn’t remember, couldn’t move past that period of her life when his father had still been alive.
“He’s—he’s out hunting, Mother. I’m sure he’ll be back shortly.” For the hundredth time he wished that his father really was out hunting, that he had never died. Another sob escaped Letty as she got down on her knee
