Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 359(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
New grill too, it looked like.
I exhaled.
“Uncle Ellie!” Blake darted out into the hallway again. “The patio looks good again!”
“What?” Elliott sounded confused, so I headed back there too. “I texted Madison, just so you all know. She’s been staying with Toby’s folks, and I figured if she wanted to get away for a moment, she could stay here whenever.”
I didn’t remember her exactly, but I knew she’d lost Toby, husband or boyfriend, but primarily, the father of her unborn child.
Piper carried the shopping bags into the living room.
“Have a look around if you want, boys,” Elliott told Nicolas and Mattie. “I want you to be comfortable here. Sorry about the mess, though—we’ll get that sorted.”
I didn’t think the boys cared. Nicolas held his brother’s hand and glanced around curiously.
I hoped I could get little Julian to trust me soon, partly so Elliott could get a bit more space. Maybe be able to go to the bathroom without Julian getting upset and anxious.
Over the next ten or so minutes, it was easy to see Elliott was growing overwhelmed by the changes. His focus was on the boys, but I could tell his mind was spinning about Emerson and Danny’s gift. He reread the note from them and looked out over the deck.
I decided to intervene.
“Nicolas and Mattie?” I called from the kitchen. “You wanna help me reheat the food?”
“Okay.” Nicolas trailed into the kitchen with Mattie in tow.
“We’ll get you settled in one of the bedrooms tomorrow,” I said, unsure which one Elliott had plans for. He had four bedrooms, though one was his study now. “And you let us know if you’re missing anything, okay? We gotta get you more clothes too.”
Nicolas squinted and scratched his arm. “We slept on the couch at Dad’s place after Mom died.”
I see.
Each time he said something about their living conditions with their dad, I became all the more convinced they shouldn’t return to him. The man’s drinking habits had been mentioned more than once.
“Why isn’t Jules talking yet?” I heard Mattie whisper to Nicolas. “Elliott said it’s safe now.”
“I don’t know, it’s weird,” Nicolas mumbled.
I found an oven tray and set it on the counter. “Do you remember when he stopped speaking?”
Elliott had dug around carefully in an attempt to get a clearer picture of what we were dealing with, but trauma had a way of tampering with memories, and the boys had been missing for so long. We just had to wait for Mercier to fill in the blanks.
“Um.” Nicolas struggled to remember. “It kinda happened over time, I think. He talked less and less at Dad’s place, and he tried to make himself invisible.” Yeah, fuck that fucking asshole of a man. Keith Davis could rot. If Julian’s nonverbal period had started before he’d been in captivity, I didn’t fucking need any more evidence. “He talked a little with Marisa before we got on the big ship, and then nothing after.”
“I understand. I’m sure he’ll grow comfortable eventually—we’ll just have to give him time.” I began unloading all the food onto the tray. Tacos without the greens, ’cause we were adding them later, different kinds of quesadillas, taquitos, enchiladas.
Each item brought the boys a step closer, and Nicolas’s bruised eyes widened when I dumped a bag of chips into a bowl.
“That’s a lot of food.” He seemed mesmerized.
“We love tacos in this family,” I replied with a grin. “Here—” I set the bags of soda bottles and cans closer to them. “You can pick the sodas you want and bring them to the patio.”
He perked up. “We each get one?”
Jesus Christ, what had they been through?
“Or two or three. I always tell Blake, drink as much as you can because we only allow soda on the weekends and when we eat tacos,” I answered. “Otherwise, I try to stick to water and milk in the middle of the week.”
“I like milk,” Mattie noted.
“We’ll buy that tomorrow,” I said with a nod.
Mattie was coming out of his shell, which felt amazing. He wasn’t relying as much on Nicolas. He ate chicken quesadillas and guzzled his Fanta, while Nicolas wanted to try a little bit of everything on the oven tray.
Mattie kept looking toward the swimming pool, so maybe we could take a swim before it got dark. That was another horse I wanted Blake to get back on. I watched her take everything in while we ate—the pool, the new deck, the lawn, even the avocado grove farther away. But most of all, she looked up the hill, where I knew the attack had begun. That was where they’d come from.
“Can I take more chips?” Nicolas asked.
“You take all the chips you want, buddy,” I told him. “The guac is really fucking good too.”
He smiled carefully and grabbed a handful.
Elliott sat next to me, and he was beyond beat and hiding it poorly. He’d barely eaten anything yet; he was spending his last energy on getting Julian to eat a quesadilla.