Page 37 of Broken SEAL'S Secret Baby
“Ok,” she says. “Aiken Drum liked green cheese, but his pants were made of haggis, and that doesn’t sound like anything comfortable. What’s a haggis? Is it some kind of wild animal?”
“No,” Charles intervenes before I can think of a child friendly explanation for a dish cooked in a sheep’s stomach. “It’s a kind of oatmeal food that Scots are supposed to like.”
“EW!” Cece exclaims. “Pants made from runny oatmeal. YUCK!”
That makes us all laugh, and we quickly finish up our meal. Just as I stand up to clear away the debris, the network screen sounds the all clear. An announcer comes on, directing people to be careful of fallen electrical wiring and unstable buildings.
Charles opens the outer door, and we go up the steps. Into chaos.
I quickly shoo the cat and dog back into the shelter andclose the door on them. One of the office desks is thrust through the wall between Charles’ office and bedroom doors. Late evening sunshine streams through the gap.
Cece clings to her father’s hand, staring around her with big eyes. “What happened, Daddy?”
Terror grips me, remembering the announcer’s cautions about unstable buildings.
“Wait here,” Charles says, transferring Cece’s grip over to me. “Let me take a look around before we do anything.”
I can see the living room, and it seems to be alright. My bedroom door and Cece’s are closed.
As we waited, my phone rings. I start. I don’t even remember putting it in my pocket. I pull it out and answer it.
“Katie!” James’ voice comes from the speakers. “Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call for hours. The weather announcers have been saying that some kind of mega storm went over KC, and that several of the taller buildings were sheared off.”
“We were in the storm shelter at the core of the Agri-Oil building,” I tell him. “I guess we don’t get cell reception there. We’ve just come out to look around, and things seem to be pretty much of a mess.” Or else Charles and I were too busy to pay attention. Another wave of guilt sweeps over me. “What about Mom and Dad?” I ask, feeling even worse that I’d not thought about them or James during the whole storm.
“Fine,” James says. “Busy playing shuffleboard in the Sunset Retirement Village’s shelter when I talked to them. Dad wanted to know about the wheat crop…he picks the weirdest times to be rational.”
My heart sinks. The winter wheat should have been ready for harvest in a week or two. Now, it is probably beaten into the ground by the storm. Farmers in the path of the storm would lose their crops. The price of wheat and bread would sky rocket.
“What about the drains and reservoirs?” I ask, hoping for some good news. “Are they holding out?”
“Looking good,” James replies. “That was one of the projects Dad planned. When the Old Man’s noodle works, it works well.”
Neither of us say what we already know, that we are slowly, inexorably, losing that fine inventor’s mind to the ravages of a neural disease. We are both quiet for a minute.
Cece tugs at my hand. “Is that Mr. James? Tell him I said hi.”
“Cece says hi,” I obediently echo.
Charles comes back down the hall, looking sober. Before my brother can reply, I add, “There’s Charles. Gotta go. Call if whatever.”
“Love you,” James says.
“Love you, too,” I reply and close the connection.
Charles scowls at me. “Who was that?”
“James,” I reply. The speed with which his frown smooths out is almost comical. “He was worried because I didn’t answer my phone.”
Charles smirks. A full-on, satisfied, proud of himself male smirk. Then he got hold of himself and asks, “Is everyone all right?”
“I think so. The wheat fields are flooded.”
“This is a problem?” Charles drops the smirk and looks puzzled.
I nearly sigh, but catch myself. It isn’t his fault that Charles deals more with the bank and industry end of farming.
“Yes,” I explain, “The first wheat crops would be just getting close to harvest. This storm is likely to have destroyed several fields.”
