hours of sitting with Fletcher while he attempts to contact the coast guard and getting no answers.
Six hours of holding Atlas while he sleeps with his head on my lap.
Six hours of processing my thoughts. Unfortunately, my pain shapes my thoughts.
I hate that my mind wanders and obsesses over why he sought me out. Why hadn’t he told me?
And now, I might never get an answer.
The reality? My pain means nothing in comparison to what’s going on around me. There are four lives stranded at sea that might be lost forever.
As the sun rises, Atlas wakes me. Though we don’t want to tell him about his dad and uncle, he hears the radio transmission of them trying to locate the boat.
Beside me, Atlas sits with his chin resting on the table, socks that don’t match and worried eyes, looking for someone to soothe his thoughts. I can’t. There’s nothing I’m going to be able to say to him that’s going to make this any better. I know the process. The coast guard will search for them, and eventually, call it off. The dread, the connection I have with this child makes it that much more real. I’ve been in his position, albeit older, but I know his fears. I’ve had those scars burned into me, forced to face a life without either parent.
I have no promises to offer him.
I think of Lincoln, a pinch of sadness burning my eyes. I think of his touch, his warmth, that no matter what he said or did, or how he lied, something in the way he regarded me, held me, it wasn’t all because of her, was it? Somewhere during all this, I tell myself, I make the only promise I can, that I will listen to his side as to why he chose not to tell me.
Not long after I help Atlas make his waffles, the house phone rings in the background, snapping my attention toward Fletcher. Pacing the living room, he scrambles for the phone quickly. Answering on the first ring, his gruff quick reply scrapes against my skin.
Atlas and I turn toward him, even Coho is on his feet and waiting. He says something, and then hangs up. Breathing deep, slow breaths, he swallows and nods. I don’t know what it means, but thankfully his words follow. “They were picked up forty miles from Dutch Harbor.” I wait for him to continue, but he doesn’t.
“What’s their condition?”
“They don’t know yet. There’s been no update since the transmission came through.” Fletcher shakes his head, running his hand through his thick graying beard. “I imagine they’re a bit overrun at the moment.”
The wind kicks up again, the sound like a freight train approaching. Early morning light filters in through the windows as Fletcher reaches for his jacket. “I’m going to head down to the docks and check on my boat.”
I imagine he’s having trouble just sitting in this house and waiting. Atlas jumps up from his spot at the table. “I’m coming with you!” And then he takes off running down the hall to his room, Coho following close behind him.
The floor creaks as I move toward the door. “I should get back and check to see how the bar is faring in this.” I look down at my phone I’ve pulled from my pocket. It died at some point, and I don’t have my charger.
Fletcher nods and reaches for his keys. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
I return the nod and write my number down on a notepad, unsure what I’m supposed to say next that might comfort him, but it’s he who reaches for me and draws me against his chest. Emotion clogs my throat because I can’t remember the last time I’ve gotten a hug from a father figure. My tears fall before I can stop them, rolling down my cheeks and down my chin. “I’m sorry for everything,” he whispers, just before he pulls back.
“I know you didn’t mean to hurt me, and I appreciate what you did for Avie and me. You don’t need to feel guilty about what happened to my mom and dad.” I choke on the words, my breaths fast and quick. I can’t be in this house any longer, reminded of everything I might not get a chance to say to him.
Atlas catches me before I leave, his face confused. “Are you leaving me?”
My stomach drops. “No, no, I’m not. I just have to go check on the bar. I’ll come