A Killing Frost. Hannah Alexander

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      The silence swelled inside the car as Fran waited for further explanation. None came.

      “Oh, honey,” Fran said with a sigh. “If you’re afraid of marriage because of your poor mother, then you can rest assured that you aren’t going to do what she did.”

      Jama cast her a brief glance. “How can you know that?”

      “Why, look at you. You’re the age she was when she left, and you’ve had the strength to make a success of your life. You’re steady and dependable. I know you still have regrets, but don’t we all? You’ve got to look forward to the life waiting for you, not backward.”

      “Dad never told me much about Mom’s departure. He only said that she was sick and not able to be the mother I needed.”

      “I remember the day Amy brought you home with her after school.”

      Jama nodded. The memories of that time were branded on her mind, too. Everything in her life had changed in one afternoon when she was seven.

      For years, she’d had nightmares about arriving home that day to find all the doors locked. She’d shouted and screamed and pounded to get in. Then she’d caught sight of her mother’s face in the window, just watching her. Cold and remote. Later, Jama had heard her mother tell her father that she didn’t want to be a mother anymore.

      Amy had found Jama that day outside the house. Jama remembered walking beside Amy down the long lane to the Mercer home. She remembered seeing later in Amy’s bedroom mirror that smudges of dirt and tears had been streaked across her face.

      How was a second-grader supposed to understand the dark world of the adult mind? Jama understood mental illness now, but she still wondered about her role in creating her mother’s sadness, and she still felt the pain of abandonment.

      Fran touched Jama’s shoulder. “My dear, something tells me this chapter in your life isn’t quite over yet. Give it some time. And thought. And give it a lot of prayer. Whatever is standing in your way with Tyrell affects your entire future.”

      Jama swallowed hard.

      “And when you look forward,” Fran said, “I suspect you’ll see Tyrell as an important part of it.”

      Jama grimaced.

      “Okay, sorry, honey. This is a conversation you should be having with him, not his mother. I cannot imagine a better match than the two of you.”

      Jama could easily imagine just such a thing.

       Chapter Nine

       T yrell paused in the threshold of his father’s cubicle in the E.R. at St. Mary’s Hospital in Missouri’s state capital. It was a busy place. Medical dramas were taking place around him in every direction. Despite the federal regulations about patient privacy, there was no way every word spoken in this department could be kept private.

      Monty Mercer opened his eyes and looked up, motioning for Tyrell to come closer.

      Tyrell stepped to his father’s bedside, willing away the anxiety in his stomach. He didn’t attempt a smile. His father would see through it.

      Dad remained awake, but it appeared to take an effort. “Glad you made it. D’you bring your mom?”

      “Jama’s bringing her.”

      Dad nodded and closed his eyes. “Then maybe you two can work things out while she’s here.”

      “Dad, we need to focus on getting you better right now.”

      “Something’s up with her.”

      “She’s not talking to me about anything,” Tyrell said.

      “Then you need to help her start talking. If you’re wanting to become her husband, you’d better find out how to get her to open up.”

      “I guess it’s a good thing I majored in agriculture instead of psychology.”

      Dad nodded his agreement.

      “I’ve given her every opportunity—”

      “She turned you down, right?”

      Tyrell nodded.

      “Did she say why?”

      “She said she wasn’t ready for marriage.”

      For a moment, Dad was so quiet that Tyrell thought he had fallen asleep again.

      “You remember that young pup Doriann found in the ditch, half-dead, three or four years ago?” Dad asked at last.

      “Humphrey?”

      “He turned out to be the best hunting hound I ever had, even if he does run off on his own rabbit trails every so often.”

      Tyrell waited. Sometimes his father had a roundabout way of getting to his point, but he usually had one.

      “You remember the shape that pup was in when Doriann first brought him home? Couple of broken ribs, blood all matted in his fur, and he was afraid of everything, even the barnyard kittens.”

      “I doubt Jama would appreciate being compared to a stray dog.”

      “I’m too sick to joke right now.”

      “Sorry. Look, I know Jama had a hard childhood. I was there, remember? I want to be there for her now.”

      Dad winced, reached for a tube in his arm, adjusted it.

      Tyrell placed a hand on his father’s shoulder. “Now is not the time for this discussion.”

      Dad ignored him. “That dog never did completely get over whatever happened to him as a pup. Any time somebody shouts or raises a hand suddenly, poor Humphrey cowers as if he thinks he’ll be hurt again. That’s how Jama’s been acting.”

      Tyrell thought about that. His Dad was usually very perceptive. So why hadn’t Tyrell seen this wariness in Jama for himself? As close as he and Jama had grown over the past few months, and with so much shared history—

      “Sometimes, I guess a fella can have trouble seeing through the haze of all those romantic feelings to a festering problem,” Dad said.

      “Maybe, but—”

      “Especially when that fella might be struggling with the same problem.”

      “You’re talking about Amy’s death? How can that be connected to Jama’s childhood traumas?”

      “It’s a resurrection of everything bad, son. Help her through it. That’s what a man does for his woman. Give her time.”

      “That’s what I’m doing.”

      “But don’t just go all silent on her. Draw her out.”

      “Okay, Dad, I’ll twist СКАЧАТЬ