Page 76 of The Storm
Max wanted to shout that Leo deserved a father who loved him and showed it, but that wasn’t what Leo needed. His issues with Peter were his own, and Max had no illusions that change would come quickly. If Leo felt more at ease with his father, that was all Max could hope for.
“I’m glad,” he said. “You’re going to make a wonderful father, Leo.”
“Do you think so?” Insecurity was written all over his face.
“I know you will. You’ve always taken care of me, and I’m not nearly as cute as your baby will be.”
Leo smiled. “I think it will look like Kyra. Grigori genes are strong.”
You’re strong. So much stronger than me to remain open and accepting of others and expect so little for yourself.Max felt a fierce wave of love for his brother. “Your child will have so many people who love him, Leo. So many. It won’t be like it was with us. I promise you that.”
“I know.” Leo brushed the back of his hand over his eyes. “I know that, but thank you for telling me.”
Max sat quietly for a few moments until he felt it again. There was a presence in the woods. An energy that felt foreign. It wasn’t Grigori. It wasn’t one of the Fallen. It wasn’t…
“Do you feel it?” Leo asked quietly. “In the woods?”
“Do you know what it is?”
“I’ve been thinking… it is Death.” Leo took a deep breath. “Like in Vienna.”
“Yes.” Max tried to remember what the angel of death had felt like, but his memories of that day were jumbled. “I think you’re right.”
Leo nodded. “This feels a little bit like that.”
“So not a bad thing?”
“No. Artis is ready.”
“I can’t imagine welcoming death. Can you?”
“Of course not,” Leo said. “We’ve just begun to live.”
They sat by the water until the sun went down. They didn’t speak anymore, but if there was one lesson Max had learned from his grandfather and his uncle, it was this: some moments were beyond words.
Chapter Five
“What is it?” Kyra asked. “Is it for the kitchen?”
The basket was tangled with ropes and looked like it was made from the grasses by the beach. Parts of it were worn with age, and parts of it were green from repair.
“No.” Artis picked up the hook and lifted it. “It’s a cradle.”
Ofcourseit was. Kyra felt a smile spreading on her lips. “A basket cradle.”
Sturdy rope suspended the finely woven basket, and colorful strings and trinkets were hung on the outside and the base. It was oblong and quite long, large enough for a toddler.
“I don’t know what you use in the south, but we liked these kind of cradles when we had babies,” Artis said. “You could put a hook anywhere in the house but also take it outside and hang it from a tree. They’re light because the basket is made from grass, not branches. One of the women in the village patched the places that were weak. It’s watertight too, as long as you let the grasses swell up before you put the baby in. Evelina used one like this and tied the ropes to the rocks by the stream. The water put the girls to sleep.”
“So clever.”
“You’ll be able to use it for your baby. If you want it.”
Kyra swallowed hard. “I love it. Thank you, Artis.” She fingered the colorful strings stacked with beads. There were tiny bells and decorative metal pieces hanging all around the basket. When the wind blew, they would act like little wind chimes, tinkling in the breeze. “I will enjoy taking it out to the garden, and I’ll make sure Leo puts a hook from the ceiling in the house.”
“This was his mother’s.”
“Then I like it even more.” Kyra smiled at Artis, and the old man almost—almost!—smiled back.
