Page 27 of Four Calling Birds

“Greg, son, what’s happened?” I pleaded, wanting to know what had hurt my boy so much. What had haunted him so much?

I wanted to bring him into the house and feed him. The instinct was so strong, it was taking everything I could to remember that we were expecting people -badpeople - soon.

Mack grabbed me by the bicep, and with a slight turn of his head, he let me know that we’d talk about it later.

Something had happened to this team. Something I wasn’t privy to.

“Go drop your things, then come back for a good meal,” I pleaded. He looked gaunt under all that hair. I bet if I hosed him down, he’d be like a cat, losing all his fluff and revealing the skinniest of bodies underneath.

16. The Kids Aren’t Alright

Mack

Jesus,shehadmisseda lot. I forgot that she wasn’t there for the whole Veder-Griffith war, and then the subsequent Griffith-Taz conflict that almost turned into a full-on Tombstone shoot-out. Christ, she didn’t even know about Goose.

I had so much to catch her up on, but I had no idea where to start. We watched through the window as Greg “VD” Veder grabbed his olive, dirty rucksack and sleeping roll and trudged to the barn.

“He looks awful,” she lamented, her little brow creased down the center. “Did he walk here?”

It sure looked like it. There was no vehicle, and no tire tracks on the gravel.

“The kids aren’t alright,” I said, reaching out to take Lotte’s hand in mine. She laced her fingers with mine, our palms squeezing together.

I could already feel the stress headache coming on. The mental load of taking care of these warriors and all of their intense feelings, and even more intense personal problems, had threatened to send me into an early cardiac arrest. But just having her here lessened my burden immensely.

Just having her here would make things better. I just knew it, the same way I knew that the sun would rise in the east tomorrow.

There were creases on the edge of my wife’s mouth.

I wondered what she’d look like if she had a little gray in her temples. She was always the prettiest thing in a room, of course, but the prospect of watching her age did something to me. Something good. It gave me a sense of comfort, and warmth.

Hell, my grays were from these guys. So maybe she’d catch up soon enough.

“I don’t even know if I have time to get into it,” I said, looking down at my phone as it alerted me of another visitor. It was a sky-blue minivan, which could only be one person. Tristan “Goose” Goss, dad extraordinaire. His vehicle came to a squeaking halt on the gravel, and he stepped out in what could only be described as “dad-wear”. A button-down Hawaiian shirt with doggy silhouettes in lieu of flowers, cargo pants, and tennis shoes.

The guy was clearly dressing to amuse his kids, having now been consumed by his parental duties.

Like Veder, he had a beard, but his was trim. It looked like scruff from a few days of no shaving. It looked like a product of a lack of time, rather than an attempt to push people away.

“That’s… that’s Goose?” My woman asked, and I pushed her out the door.

She’d want to greet this one. And I hoped that he could do me the courtesy of telling her his tale. Saving me from the gut-punch.

“Momma Mack!” Goose said, his arms wide open as he gathered her into a tight, spinning hug. “Ah! You’re a sight for sore eyes.” He looked over at me from over her shoulder as he put her down. “Hope I didn’t miss anything. I had to drop the kids off at the in-law— their grandparents.”

I tilted my head, understanding his hesitation. Were they still his in-laws? I wasn’t sure.

“How are the kids?” Lotte asked, looking at the family stickers on the back of the minivan. “Is the High School Honor Student for Tyler? Oh my God! I can’t believe he’s in High School already!”

“Sure is, Momma,” Goose beamed with pride. “Just started his freshman year. He’s in all Honors and AP classes this year. Thank God, he’s smart like his mother.”

“That’s amazing!” Lotte beamed, clasping her hands together. “And Mary?”

“They’re both doing great. Running me ragged, but great.”

“How’s Sandy?”

And there it was. The fall of the axe.

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