Jack sat on the back of the horse, holding on to Boots, as the mare sauntered into the west, back to the prison that he could not escape from.
The breeze blew gently, and the smell of Boots filled his senses. It was surprising, half expecting the old man to smell of dirt and filth, he smelt like the pages of an old book from some secondhand shop.
The slow rhythm of the horse’s cadence set him at ease, and Jack’s mind slowly unwound. He could feel his strength returning to him, almost by mystery. He could not tell whether the little food that Boots had given him had restored his energy, or if it was the ride that infused him with newfound life. All he knew was that with each passing hoofbeat he felt better. Stronger. Restored.
The nagging question in the back of his mind surfaced as they walked on. “How’s Laura?”
Jack wasn’t sure if he wanted the answer. He wasn’t ready to see his wife’s eyes when they returned to the cabin. The silence. The glaring. The hopeless chance of trying to explain why he had done what he did. She would let him talk, but she wouldn’t listen. He had abandoned her. He could see that now. In his determination to get out of the cabin, he had thought only of himself.
“She’s fine,” Boots replied. “Worried, but fine.”
“I bet she’s pretty mad.”
“You think? Well . . . at least this walk taught you something. You’re finally starting to get how other people feel.”
Jack sat silently. It had been a long time since he empathized with Laura, had understood that she was her own thinking person, one with the same capacity to dream and wonder as he did. He just thought of her as a hanger-on to his ambition. One who should bask in his light as her benefactor.
“She say anything to you?” Jack asked, looking for some sign that the woman back at the cabin might be in a welcoming mood.
Hoping.
“She asked me to come get you. Pleaded. Said you’d die in a heartbeat out here by yourself. That woman knows you pretty well, Jack.”
The mare’s head rocked with each step, an organic metronome through the desert.
“I can’t believe you just left her, Jack. I’ll tell you what kind of man does that . . . a fool. You remember when I first brought you here? ’Course you don’t. You was half gone. I brought you in the cabin and started giving you some water. I filled up a quart jar from the hand pump and walked over to Laura, started pouring a bit in her mouth. You know what she does then? She opens her eyes after a small sip and says to me, ‘No, give some to Jack, please.’
“You hear that? Woman there dying of thirst and she tells me to give you a drink first.”
Boots spit to the side, his weight jerking the saddle, causing Jack to grab the old man for balance.
“Then what happens? I move over and start pouring some water down your throat. And you just keep drinkin’. No thought or mind for no other. Says more about you than you know.”
Jack didn’t respond. Though he didn’t recall the incident, it didn’t fall out of the realm of the possible. It certainly fit his nature, and he felt ashamed.