105. Goodbye, Uncle Jake

Third Person POV:

Rose stood on the porch, arms crossed over her chest, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the soft fabric of the oversized sweater she had thrown on.

The early morning air held a lingering chill, wrapping around her skin like a phantom touch, but she barely noticed.

Instead, her eyes were fixed on Jake as he packed the trunk of his car, methodically placing his luggage inside with the practiced ease of someone used to traveling.

There were quiet a big number of bags there for a business trip, leading her to wonder either her uncle packs like a girl or- how long will he be gone for?

The thoughts so stark they made her both chuckle and then sigh with despair. 

The dull thud of a suitcase hitting the backseat pulled her out of her daze. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other before speaking, her voice quiet but firm.

"I could've driven you to the airport myself. I have a legal license for that too you know."

Jake glanced at her over his shoulder, giving her a small smile before shutting the trunk with a soft slam.

"Yeah, and then what? The nearest airport is the next town over and you'd be driving back alone, at night, through that long-ass highway with nothing but trees and sketchy gas stations? No way, Rosie."

His voice carried the warmth of affection but also the weight of finality. He wasn't going to budge on this.

"You're turning into a boring dad you know?" She teases.

"Boring, perhaps. But at least not balding; I'll take that any day."

Rose gave a small laugh before huffing, wrapping her arms tighter around herself. "But seriously, I can handle myself, Jake. You don't have to treat me like I'm some dumb kid."

Jake chuckled, walking over to ruffle her hair as if to prove his point. "Oh, I know you're tough. But humor me, will ya? I'd rather not spend my entire trip worrying about you getting lost or getting a flat tire in the middle of nowhere."

Rose rolled her eyes but didn't protest further.

If he gets worried over that kinda stuff then Rose was glad she didn't tell him what he really should be worrying about. He'd loose his mind, for sure.

Though, he was right. The airport was in the next town over, and the thought of driving back alone along miles of empty road didn't exactly sit well with her either—not that she'd ever admit it.

Instead, she exhaled, watching as her breath curled in the crisp morning air before speaking again. "How long are you going to be gone?"

Jake leaned against the driver's side door, crossing his arms. "A few days hopefully, maybe a week? Depends on how smooth things go." he hesitates before adding, "could take longer too."

A week. Perhaps even longer.

She forced herself to nod like that information didn't send a slow ripple of dread through her veins.

She could do a week. She can... she has to survive till then. Perhaps when he returns, she could even tell him everything. Not right now though.

She'd lived alone before. It's not like she was completely incapable.

Then why did the idea of being in that house—alone—feel so dreadfully smothering?

"Don't burn the house down while I'm gone, will ya?" Jake teased, snapping her out of her spiraling thoughts.

She smirked, pushing down the uneasy feeling clawing at her chest. "No promises."

"Figures." He shook his head with a fond grin before checking his watch. "Alright, I should head out before traffic gets bad."

Rose swallowed, nodding again but staying put as he opened the car door.

"Jake?"

His name slips out of her lips as a cry for help, something that was completely involuntary, as if he body was begging but her mind was forcing it to quiet.

Not yet.

He paused, looking up at her expectantly.

"Drive safe, okay?" After a pause she simply said what felt appeasing to the situation.

His expression softened. "Always."

With that, he got into the car, started the engine, and pulled out of the driveway. Rose stood there, watching the red glow of his taillights disappear down the road, feeling the silence settle in around her.

And for the first time since moving here, that silence felt unbearable.