Page 60 of The Final Storm
“I throw you in the ocean!”
“Yessss,” Lewis draws out.
“And… why do I throw you into the ocean?”
“We don’t know,” they say in unison.
Lori pops her head through the doorway, eyebrows drawn together. I look up at her in confusion. “I know you’re still figuring out this parenting thing, Rowan, but damn.”
“Damn,” Lewis says back.
I snap my fingers at him, and he slaps his hand over his lips. “Sorry,” he mumbles through his fingers.
“Do we get Milo?” I ask.
“Don’t know,” Beau grumbles. “It stops when we go under the water.”
I stiffen and pull Beau against me.
“Milo’s getting so good at the slingshot,” Beau says into my side. “Almost as good as Tank.”
Lori groans from the other side of the room.
“But Milo’s better at trapping,” Lewis adds. I meet his eyes and smile. “Hank’s the best. I bet he hit this boat.”
“He did!” Beau pipes up. “I saw it. The rock went out forever.”
“Come here, Lewis.” He goes to my other side, and I wrap an arm around him. They aren’t focused, and I decide to let the subject drop for now. I’m too tired to fight their rambling, and I like to see them this way… happy.
“Boys, slingshot aside, as impressive as that is, I won’t let anything happen to you.”
“We won’t let that happen,” Lori adds. She walks over and sits down at the edge of the bed, running a hand over my shin. I give her a pleading look, and she tightens her jaw. “Everything is going to be all right,” she smiles, and I chuckle through my worry.
I let the boys regale me with tales of animal abduction, but all the while, I’m desperate to leave and find the rest of my family. We’re so close to being together again, and my skin itches with nerves that I can’t hold Morgan while they explain the nuances of a predator trap, which sounds horrific.
They’ve spent most of their time with Milo, who I thought was quite the grouch but has a soft spot for my boys.
He curses and kills small creatures. They all played together with the slingshot far too much. Milo doesn’t hold back his repugnance for most people, which is why the boys explain, it’s important we get him. The boys, in their mind, are his only friends. It doesn’t seem farfetched after meeting him.
They explain the visitors are afraid that Milo will hurt them with one of his many weapons, and they stay away. That piques my interest. Hunting guns and traps are one thing, but I never knew the islanders had a defense artillery hidden in our midst.
I can’t judge the man for being an unlikely role model. I curse, and I’ve killed people. I’m surprised, is all. There were some other children on the island, but the boys seem to have spent the past few weeks trudging along after him in the dirt and working.
When their chatter becomes interrupted by yawns every so often, I suggest they think about bedtime. Lori cleared her things out of the other room and readied it as best she could for the night. “It’s a mix of Tank’s clothes and theirs, so good luck,” she tells me, dropping a bag on their bed. “Not sure what’s clean, either. You know how men are.”
“I still need to talk to you about something,” I plead. She nods and pops in and out of the room, never long enough for us to speak.
I thank her and encourage the boys to brush their teeth in our sink and find something clean to change into. They even move their toothbrush in unison, and I watch them, amazed by how special they are.
I tuck them in and feel the dull ache in my skull when I bend down to kiss their cheeks. I don’t want the pain medication that might thrust me into an early sleep. I was out for an entire day according to Lori, so one night awake won’t kill me.
I rub their backs until soft snores escape their lips just when I hear the other door open and close. “I’ll be right there, Lori. We need to talk about who attacked you.” I meddle around the room, picking up the mess the boys made in such a short time.
Sam walks in, Morgan swaddled in his arms, and places her in the crib next to the boys. “They wanted to be with her, I heard.”
I struggle between slapping him across the face and throwing myself into his arms. Instead, I stand in the center of the room, holding the boys’ dirty socks in my hands with my jaw hanging open.
He adjusts her, making sure she stays asleep, and steps over, taking the laundry from me and tossing it to the corner. He takes my hand and leads me through the door between our rooms, but I yank back. “Just give me a moment, please,” I beg. He nods, and I go over to her and cradle her in my arms. She curls her fingers over the edge of the blanket while I sit on the bed staring, my heart aching when I think about what could have been.
