This whole thing is so beautiful, but one section in particular stood out for me.
She loves the way he talks about his sons. M’boys, he calls them, low and gruff, still a little wondering. It’s the same way Bill talks about Jo, the same awestruck, fearful cadence men of faith use to talk about God. A little bit of I did this coupled with a helluva lot of what if I fuck this up?
“Dean, he’s faster’n me, sometimes,” John says. “Can pick up a trail in a night so dark I can’t see my own hands, and follow it clean.” He runs a finger over the creased and re-creased photo of himself, his wife, his legacy. “Sammy, now, Sammy’s the bright one. Learned to read in the backseat, Dean taught him some, but he picked it up mostly by himself. Almost nine now, and the kid knows more about the research than most hunters I’ve met.” Smiling wistfully, he tucks the picture back into his wallet. “Mary, I think, I mean, she would’ve been--”
Ellen aches for him, a deep burning pain that crowds her lungs and makes it hard to breathe. “She would’ve been proud, John,” she murmurs. “Any mother would be proud, such beautiful boys.”
“I hope so,” says John, “because sometimes I-- I just. Hope so.”
no subject
She loves the way he talks about his sons. M’boys, he calls them, low and gruff, still a little wondering. It’s the same way Bill talks about Jo, the same awestruck, fearful cadence men of faith use to talk about God. A little bit of I did this coupled with a helluva lot of what if I fuck this up?
“Dean, he’s faster’n me, sometimes,” John says. “Can pick up a trail in a night so dark I can’t see my own hands, and follow it clean.” He runs a finger over the creased and re-creased photo of himself, his wife, his legacy. “Sammy, now, Sammy’s the bright one. Learned to read in the backseat, Dean taught him some, but he picked it up mostly by himself. Almost nine now, and the kid knows more about the research than most hunters I’ve met.” Smiling wistfully, he tucks the picture back into his wallet. “Mary, I think, I mean, she would’ve been--”
Ellen aches for him, a deep burning pain that crowds her lungs and makes it hard to breathe. “She would’ve been proud, John,” she murmurs. “Any mother would be proud, such beautiful boys.”
“I hope so,” says John, “because sometimes I-- I just. Hope so.”
That section is just PERFECT.