Chapter 8
“My name is John, and if Jackson believes you’re strong enough to be Luna, then I trust his judgement.” Jackson’s father, who I now know is named John, said.
“Plus, who are you to judge her based on her condition when you completely accepted mine when you met me?” his mother signed, giving her mate a ‘you know I’m right’ look. Almost as if she was daring him to disagree with her statement. His only response was to look away and act like something else in the room caught his attention.
Shaking her head slightly at her mate’s antics, she turned her attention back to Jackson and I. “Allow me to apologize for John’s behavior. With the recent rogue attack he’s on edge and very suspicious of outsiders.”
“It’s okay. I understand,” I replied, before my attention was drawn away from my current situation by my phone vibrating in my pocket. Unlocking the device I saw I had a text.
FROM: MISS MARY
TO: LEANA
Got off of work early, when are you coming home?
“Who is it?” Jackson asked peering over my shoulder.
“Miss Mary. She wants to know when I’m coming home.” I answered.
“We can start heading back that way now. After all she needs to know what’s going on, and I can help you start packing some of your stuff.”
“Pack my stuff?” I asked looking at him slightly confused.
“Eventually you’ll need to move here. Not right away, obviously, but if we can pack some of your smaller possessions now, it’ll make the moving process easier later.”
FROM: LEANA
TO: MISS MARY
Heading home now! See you in a bit!
I nodded in understanding. “Okay, let's go! I know Miss Mary would love to meet you.”
We bid our goodbyes to Jackson’s parents before heading back to Blood Moon Pack territory. While Jackson sang along to the radio, I once again drifted off in thought. The Blood Moon Pack was the only pack I’d ever known. After my father was taken away, I was able to stay in the pack due to Miss Mary offering to foster me. Other young, parent-less wolves aren’t that lucky. Other orphaned wolves usually have to leave their packs. Jackson’s pack is the Lunar Dusk Pack, and I can’t help but wonder how the pack functions. What are their traditions and rules? Who was the Beta? What are his kids like? Questions like this swirled in my mind as I blankly stared out the window, not really paying attention to the trees and buildings that passed by. And then, before I knew it, we were pulling up to Miss Mary’s.
Getting out of the car, the scent of roast beef, mashed potatoes, and corn floated out from the open kitchen window; indicating that Miss Mary was cooking dinner. Walking up to the door with a smile on my face, I lead Jackson inside and to Miss Mary.
“Leana! You’re home, who is your friend?” she asked peeking her head around the corner after hearing the front door open and close.
“My name is Jackson, ma’am. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” he answered giving a slight bow to show that he respected her.
“Well Jackson, I’m making plenty of food. Would you like to stay for dinner?” Miss Mary responded with a slight bow in return.
“I would love to, especially since we have some things to talk about,” he answered with a nervous smile.
So as Miss Mary finished cooking, I took Jackson to the extra bedroom I used as an art studio. Canvases where in piles leaning against the walls, my painting apron hung on the back of the door, and an unfinished oil painting sat on my easel with my pallet and brushes on a table next to it. A stack of sketch books and other art supplies sat on my desk in the back corner.
“Wow, you’re really good.” Jackson said, shock evident in his voice.
“Thank you.” I replied.
“So what’s your favorite painting you’ve done?” he asked as he flipped through different stacks of canvases.
That was an easy question. I immediately went to a stack by my desk and grabbed the most important painting I’d ever done. It was a painting I did of my mother. A few years ago before my father’s execution, I decided to go through his and mom’s things, and found a close-up picture my father took of her soon after they were married. She was standing in an empty field that my father said was deep in the woods, a sun flare behind her giving her a magical, angelic kind of look.
But I wanted to have my father buried with it, even though everything he did to me was awful, and many would deem it unforgivable, he was still my father. After all of that he was still my dad, and before mom passed away, he was the best father any girl could ask for, and I knew my mom wouldn’t have wanted me to let him be buried alone. So instead, I copied the photo and kept it with me for years after that, but as most things do, as time went on, it started to fall apart. Noticing that it wouldn’t last much longer, I opted for painting it.
“Wow, it’s amazing. Who is it?” Jackson asked appearing beside me.
“My mom.” I answered as I smiled at her, wishing that she was still here. I wonder what she’d think of me, what she’d think of what dad had done. What he had become. Then I wondered what she would think of Jackson, would she like him?
Just as tears started to well up in my eyes, Miss Mary called us to the dinner table, allowing me to focus on something else. That something else being Miss Mary’s delicious cooking. So as quickly as I could, I carefully put my painting back and practically ran to the dining room, with Jackson following close behind me.