Chapter 24: Leaving the Table

I told Jesse in the barn that night, because I had promised him no more secrets and I had promised myself the same.

He was oiling a saddle he no longer had a horse for.

I laid the letter on the rail in front of him and stood back.

He read it standing up.

His face went through three things and ended on none of them.

"Mom wrote this," he said.

"Yes."

"She told him to say it was mine."

"Yes."

"Dad said she'd die of it." He put his hand flat on the page. "He said it for two years. I took his word. I never asked her one question."

"She never asked you one either."

He folded the letter along its creases, carefully.

"I want to go up there," he said. "Right now."

"I know."

"I want to ask her why she let me."

"She has an answer. I've heard it." I put my hand over his on the rail. "It isn't enough, and it isn't nothing. Don't go tonight."

"Why not?"

"Because she wants to do something Saturday, and I'd rather she did it than blew it up on your porch."

He breathed in and out.

"You're not going to leave," he said. It wasn't quite a question.

"Not tonight."

"After?"

"After is mine," I said. "You said you'd let me say no. I haven't said it yet, Jesse."

He looked at the letter, and at me.

"All right," he said. "I'll stand next to you. Wherever you stand."

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