“I—”
“Never again. Not me, not Eileen, not anyone.”
“I am—”
“Sal. I get it, I really do. And I know I can’t stop you, and I believe that you mean well, but we have to be able to trust you.”
“I—”
“We are not your pets, or dolls, and definitely not your children. We are independent, sentient beings—and I know your team doesn’t get that, but you do. Somewhere inside, you do.” I paused for a breath, and he nodded. “Good. Because I’ve never had an alien for a friend before, and when I need it, I’d like to be able to ask you for help.”
“Do you ever ask for help?”
“I’d ask a friend—if I needed it.”
“Friend.” He mouthed the word as if tasting a new flavor of cough syrup.
“I know you’d prefer ‘alien overlord’ but I refuse to encourage your delusions of grandeur.”
His eyes crinkled. “You seem to be feeling better. Your posture has improved.”
“Yes, funny, isn’t it? Could be the good night’s sleep—or it could be from standing up to you.”
“Most likely, the latter.” As always, the sun seemed eager to embrace him in a golden halo, every feature lovingly caressed by its light. It was a bit much before coffee.
“Alright, big guy. No doubt you could keep this up all day, but Eileen will be out of the shower any second now. Follow my lead, please. Interesting is good. Terrifying is bad. She’s just a kid.”
He inhaled deeply as if preparing for an impossible task. “We need to bandage your hands.”
Oh. Right. I inspected them as he walked past. The rising sun wasn’t nearly as kind to my skin as to his, and while small, the scars looked positively grisly. And trying to explain them . . . ?
A stray shiver made me thankful for my fleece. The sunshine was warm, but the porch planks were still damp from the night’s chill. I shivered again. They reminded me of the boat deck. The boat that I dreamed. The dream that was real.
Sal waited behind me, and I imitated him, drawing a deep breath before turning around. But he wasn’t standing there. A paper bag rattled in the kitchen, and in that second, I forgot how to exhale. Was a servant in front of me, waiting? Could they become invisible? Sal was close, so close, he would help—but I couldn’t call out. My lungs ached and my pulse thumped in my ears, but I could only stand there, frozen in fear of a single touch.
The raucous sound of a klaxon horn snapped me out of it. The ringtone on Eileen’s cell. Stale air out. Fresh air in.
“Not in the mood,” I told whatever it was.
Sal appeared at the doorway. “Who are you—”
“Can y’all make yourselves invisible?” At his expression, I opened the screen door and pushed past him. “Nevermind.” Who would be calling Eileen this early? What time was it, anyway?
“But I heard—”
“Don’t worry about it.” I found her phone in her rain jacket pocket just as it stopped ringing. Adam had called. Why? The screen showed 07:12. And why so early? I left her jacket on the chair and looked around. “Do you see my phone anywhere?”
“Beside the stove underneath the heat resistant textile.”
“Potholder,” I muttered, “Are you sure everything’s okay with Adam and Cara?” How did he know it was there?
“Yes, I—”
“You promised. I know,” I grabbed the phone and swiped, but the screen stayed black. “Damn, it’s dead.”
“What is wrong?” He took the phone from me, covered it in both hands, then passed it back.
“I don’t know . . . ” The welcome screen lit up, battery indicator showing a full charge. He was useful, no doubt about it. “He just called Eileen.”
As if on cue, the shower water stopped running.
“Mom? Was that my phone?” she hollered.
“Yes!” I yelled back. Mine was now showing a missed call, too. At ten o’clock last night. And three new voicemails.
Sal noticed. “He tried to reach you when his device was within range of a relay tower.”
“And you didn’t think to tell me that?”
“You were ill,” he reddened slightly, “and I did not think you were—”
“Up to it? Or just too weak?”
Eileen opened the bathroom door, steam eddying past her towel-wrapped head. “Who’s weak?”
“Adam tried us, but my phone was dead. I’m calling him back now.”
She glared at Sal before slamming the door. I sighed and dialed back. Please, God, can you send the coffee fairy?
Adam answered before I heard a complete ring.
“Are you alright?!”
“Yes! I forgot to charge my phone . . . ” I brushed past Sal and went out the back door to the far end of the porch. “How’s Cara doing?”
“Why didn’t you answer the house phone?”
“I disconnected it a few weeks ago.” Why was he angry? “Are you okay? What’s wrong?”
“It just kept ringing, and your cell was going straight to voicemail—”
“I’m sorry. We’re fine. We just . . . ” My throat tightened. Sal had been right. A normal person would have called. “I didn’t want to bother you last night . . . ” Adam’s tender embrace of his wife and baby had been real, too. “When Cara’s up for comp—”
“Bother? I’ve been worried all night!”
“Why? Is Cara okay? Traveler? Sal said—”
“They’re fine! They’re . . . he’s . . . he’s really something.” His voice softened, and I heard a slobbery gurgle. He was holding his son—probably hadn’t been able to put him down once.
“Told you. You’re gonna be a great dad.”
Eileen barreled onto the porch and made a beeline for me.
“I want to talk to him!” She snatched the phone, and her eyes widened. “Your hand!”
I shushed her, but Adam’s questions had already started. Taking the phone back, I gave her shoulder a squeeze.
“Yeah . . . I cut myself yesterday, and they look a little infected. Grossed her out, I guess.” She grabbed my free hand, tracing the scars across my fingers, and then sandwiched her own hands around mine.
“You cut yourself?” His voice sounded strained again.
“Stupid, I know. Carrots. Knife slipped.” What was she doing? Her eyes were closed, her lips pressed together . . . “Oh! Hang on, Eileen
