The Long and Winding Road (The Seafare Chronicles 4)

She grinned at us and said, “Super. Let’s get the eggs and bacon inside me cooking. Happy holidays, everyone!”

We gaped at her.

ON THE morning of December 16, 2015, Anna Thompson went into labor.

“No, Bear, you cannot stay in here and watch,” she said through gritted teeth in her hospital room.

“But how will I know what it looks like to be dilated!” I protested as Otter started to drag me toward the door.

“I’ll take pictures,” Creed called after us before he yelped in pain. I didn’t see what Anna had done to cause that, but I figured it was nothing good.

Ten hours later, their son was born.

Allan Jude Thompson. Seven pounds, four ounces.

“AJ for short,” Creed said a little hysterically when he came into the waiting room. “Since Anna couldn’t keep him in until Christmas, I got to pick the name, even after she vetoed Creed Junior. He’s so awesome, he’s healthy and awesome, and he looks like a hairless mole! I’m pretty sure Anna broke my hand, but Jesus Christ, AJ is here and he’s real. He’s fucking real. Dude, Bear, I’m a daddy. Again.”

He cried a little then.

I think maybe we all did.

LIFE IS funny sometimes.

It can knock you flat.

It can take away everything you love.

One moment everything is fine, and then it turns on a dime, and you’re standing on a beach, a phone pressed tightly against your ear, and there’s a voice saying I’m afraid I don’t know anything about a Theresa Paquinn and Derrick, that’s not why I called and According to the EMTs, he was T-boned on the driver’s side of his vehicle by a van that ran a stop sign. And everything can go to hell so fast that you have whiplash from it when you’re holding a Kid in your lap and watching as an old woman who means so much more than you ever told her takes her last breath. Because sometimes, these things are inevitable. They happen for no rhyme or reason, and as you’re reeling, as you’re struggling against the earthquakes, against the goddamn ocean that wants to swallow you into the deep, you think to yourself that everything would be okay if you just breathed.

But then there are those other moments. Those moments when the breath is knocked from your body in the best and most frightening of ways.

Otter’s phone rang on a Saturday afternoon in early January. I was sitting in the kitchen, a blanket on my lap, sipping tea while reading over essays, some of which were making me want to bang my head on the table.

The holidays were behind us, and the Kid was back at Dartmouth, making plans for himself. He’d told me that when he was ready to let me know what he was going to do, he’d let me know. And for the first time in a long time, I was trusting him with himself.

So I wasn’t really paying attention when Otter’s phone went off on the kitchen counter. He rubbed a hand over my head as he passed me by, and I made a little noise to acknowledge him, but nothing more.

I didn’t even look up when he sucked in a little breath before answering his phone.

“Hello?” he said, and I wondered if Davey Brewer had ever heard of spell-check, because I was dying. “Hey. Hi. Are you—yeah. He’s here. What do you—hold on. Bear?”

I looked up at him. His face was white, and his hands were shaking a little. “What is it?” I asked, heart suddenly thundering in my chest, because life, man. Life fucking turns on a dime. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m going to put you on speaker, okay?” Otter said into the phone, and I didn’t think I’d ever seen his eyes so wide. He pulled the phone away from his ear and punched a button on the screen. He set it down on the counter and held his hand out for me.

I was at his side in a second, gripping him tightly.

I looked down at the phone.

The screen said MEGAN.

Oh, Bear, it whispered. Here we go again. Just when you thought—

“Can you hear us?” Otter asked, voice tremulous.

“Yes!” a bright and cheery voice said. “Hi, Bear!”

“Hi, Megan,” I managed to say. “What’s going on?”