kids.” She frowned. “I know they’re for younger kids, but . . . I wasn’t sure so . . .”
He looked at her blankly. His baka had told him he must never ever tell anyone she’d taught him to read. His baka had told him it would be very dangerous. But this woman was his mother, or so she said. He didn’t have to tell her he could read, but he didn’t have to lie and say he couldn’t either. “Thank you,” he finally said, but couldn’t help adding, “when you come back, will you bring me more?” Not baby books, he wanted to say, but didn’t. He didn’t want her to take back the ones in his hands. He held them tighter.
“Of course. Yes.” She let out a breath, smiling and stepping away. She bent, picking up her bag again and moved toward the back window. “I’ll be back. I will.” She smiled again, bigger this time, but there was hurt in her face and her body was even more jerky than it’d been. “I just need to get well and then I’ll be back. Until then, you take care of yourself, okay?”
Jak nodded and she opened his window and began climbing back through, out into the snowy night. “Wait,” he called and she turned. “What’s your name?”
“My name’s Emily.” She paused, turning back toward him. “But you can’t mention me. Don’t tell anyone I’ve been here, okay?”
Jak nodded. But he didn’t understand. Who was he going to tell? And he didn’t get why everyone always wanted him to keep their secrets. He didn’t know who was protecting him, or who the bad men were. He was all twisted inside and had no idea who to trust, or if he should trust anyone at all.
She turned away again, starting to duck out of the window, but then paused. “What does he call you?” she asked over her shoulder.
He knew she was talking about Driscoll, but Driscoll didn’t call him anything at all. And he didn’t know if there was any point in saying anything about his baka, wherever she might be now. Why did Driscoll and his mother not know what the other called him? Who am I? he wondered. “Jak,” he said.
She nodded, still turned away from him. “Jak’s a good name. I called you Lucas.” She sounded very sad. “I know that’s not your name, but when I was carrying you, that’s what I called you. I’m sorry that in the end, I never even gave you that.” She ducked out the window then, landing in the snow with a soft crunch.
He watched as she turned on her light and walked into the woods, the light fading in the darkness, along with the woman who’d called herself his mother but had left him alone again.
Jak read the books, three times each, memorizing the words, and then got back under the blanket on his bed and lay staring at the ceiling. But the books didn’t make sense. Wolves were good, not bad. Pup had been his best friend. Wolves had families and mates that they stayed with for life. They sang love songs to the moon and rolled on their backs in happiness at the smell of the rain. It was wild pigs who were mean and bad and greedy for their mushrooms. They liked the smell of blood and laughed at things no one else could see. He shivered when he thought of them, and the memory of Driscoll’s words came back. Pig is going for lots of money in town. Bring me one, and I’ll give you a bow and arrow. He hadn’t found any pig yet, not that he had looked very hard. He couldn’t seem to make himself want to do much of anything the last few months. He missed Pup. He hated the loud and empty quiet.
The other book, the one with the little boy and the red balloon just made him more sad. The old lady in the chair made him think of his baka, made him know there was no one sitting in a chair in his room, or anywhere else, watching over him. No one to make him food, or make sure he was warm and happy. The person who called herself his mother had left him that story and then walked away from him. He had a feeling she wouldn’t be back. Just like when she must have given him away to his baka. But why? When? He didn’t