“Oh no I’m good!” he was already starting the fire the way his father taught him, before he walked through after her. “Now, I have…” he eased his backpack off carefully. “Some milk, cheese, bread and other stuff. We emptied out everything you see.” he said, opening the fridge to show it was off, and empty. He put the food in. “But there’s a market not fifteen minutes walk away that are always open every day of the year. We can pick up more from there,” he explained before taking her hand. “Let me show you the tour.”
First up was the lounge. Cozy with home sewn blankets and rugs on the sofas and chairs. There’s an old fashion television that looks like it could be twenty years old. Then the office, which was littered with books but most importantly photographs. Albums bulging with photographs from his father’s work. As well as transcripts of his mothers books that had already been printed by now. Another room, this one had paintings all over it, dusty, old paintings. Jack’s art room, it seemed.
“Okay and through here…” he shows her to a bedroom with a king sized bed. It was his parents room. His was on the other side of the house, only a single sized bed. “I think we’ll be best staying in my parents room.” he said, observing the single bed.
She blushed a bit, looking at the bed and then at Jack. “I-Is that okay? I-I mean..it was their bed…We could just stay in your room instead..”
Her heart was fluttering a bit, her mind going back to passionate embraces.
“My room isn’t big enough.” Jack said, “Besides I, I’m sure they’ll be fine with it.” he said, before realizing there was a photograph still where he’d left it. Of course he’d taken some photos with him to the city but he had… somehow forgotten this one. Jack walks over to the photo that sits besides where his bed is and picks it up. “…this is Gail.”
He holds the frame out to Katelynn. It shows a baby, small, wrapped in white hospital blankets. Her skin is dark, not as dark as Bonnie’s but her hair is thick and black. She’s being held by a blue, scrawny, eleven year old Jack. The boy isn’t even looking at the photographer; he’s looking at the baby who’s small eyes are shut.
“I kept asking my parents to send it to me but they’d already left by the time I realized I forgot it.”
Jack Maple 