Rita Gordon worried about her son. The good Lord knew that she worried. Jackie was all she had left in this world; she'd lost her parents, she'd lost her little brother, she'd lost her husband. It was just her and Jackie now. And she was scared, she was so scared for him.
She could not articulate her fears. She could not explain the icy hands that gripped her heart when she looked at her only child. All she could say was that the trepidation was there. She supposed it was little things. She didn't see much of him nowadays; he spent so much time in his room. He didn't go out to see his friends. He was so serious all the time. And sometimes she'd look at him and she'd swear she could see the weight of the whole world bearing down on his shoulders. He looked old in those times, so much older than his seventeen years. And he would tell her nothing, insist that he was fine.
He was scaring her, and she didn't know how to help him.
She would watch him sometimes when he didn't know she was looking. There was a sadness that was deep and old that had crept into his eyes. She wondered where it came from. She wondered if there was anything she could do to get rid of it. Jackie used to shine like the sun, but it seemed the sun had straight gone out.
Jackie had tried to spare her, tried to hide his pain and guilt from her. But she knew her son; she was catching on. Perhaps that was for the best: there'd be no way to shield her once they found him.