Page 10 of The Final Storm
“I’ll go get you some fresh clothes,” Lori says, pointing to my room. “I’ll let you all… chat.” I know what she wants, and she’s offering us the space to do it. She steps into my room and shuts the door.
“Boys, Gemma isn’t here. And we need to keep our distance for a minute. They had someone pass away recently, and we need to be respectful of their community.”
“Pass away?” Beau raises an eyebrow.
“Die,” Lewis tells him, making a slit motion across his throat.
“Where did you learn that? Don’t do that!” I scold.
They both stare at me with wide eyes, agreeing in unison they won’t tell me. I blame Luke internally, but he’s hard to hate at the moment.
A part of me hoped when Morgan was born, some switch would flip and motherhood would feel somewhat natural. Every day I’m fucking them up, and my only saving grace is they’ve survived cults, murder, and an apocalyptic disaster. I’m doing decent, at best, and that’s on a sliding scale of catastrophe. It occurs to me that the kids’ favorite new toy is a giant weapon aimed at the military.
Oh, fuck, I suck at this.
“Boys, I know you’ve been spending a lot of time with Luke. He’s funny and likes to build slingshots…” I trail off, taking a deep breath.
“We’ll miss him,” Lewis mutters. “And you too, Mama. But you hate slingshots.”
I jolt a little, which sends a wave of pain to my crotch.
Fuck, motherhood is really trying my nerves right now.
“Miss me?” I ask through clenched teeth. My eyes move from boy to boy, both of them avoiding looking back at me.
Lewis shrugs his shoulders and faces me with a crooked smile. “You said to tell you our dreams if they were bad. This might be bad. But I don’t know.”
“Aunt Lori’s mad we didn’t tell her about yesterday,” Beau says to him. “Real mad. She said we have to be at the fish table for a week!”
“Don’t worry about that right now. I’ll talk to Lori. Why might it be bad?” I ask, trying to hide the tremble in my voice.
“So, do we have to do the fish today?” Lewis asks.
“Because it’s Hank’s turn,” Beau chimes in. “And last time, I helped him so I could get the first turn at the slingshot.”
“So he didn’t even do it,” Lewis whines, slapping his hands at his sides.
I raise my hands to them. “Please drop it with the fish. I’ll talk to Lori.” They frown and nod. “What’s the vision? What’s bad about it?”
“Gemma makes everyone wake up when the sun gets up. Do you know how early that is? It’s so early, mama,” Beau interrupts. “We can only catch worms at night. So we have to be up at night. So, how are we gonna wake up with the sun and get the worms for the fishing poles?”
“But if there’s no fish, then we don’t have to do chores at the fish table.” Lewis’s eyes light up.
“But we’d be hungry,” Beau grumbles.
I’ve missed a critical step in the conversation, and this often happens with seven-year-olds.
“Could you back up a bit? What’s all this talk about Gemma?”
“We live with her when you go to the boat.” Lewis points at the window. It’s not in the boat’s direction, but I understand his meaning.
“I-” I point to my chest to make sure I’m communicating clearly. “-go to the boat.”
They nod.
“With Luke?” I ask.
“And Dad,” Lewis adds.
