Page 7 of Haunted By the Storm
I lead them through the living room, so aware of Storm's presence behind me. In the kitchen, I gesture for them to sit at the table while I pour coffee.
"Black?" I ask Storm, not looking at him.
"Yeah," he replies.
I set the mugs on the table and take a seat across from them, wrapping my hands around my own cup for warmth despite the mild morning.
"So," I say, fixing my eyes on my brother, "what exactly is the plan here?"
Before Blaze can answer, Storm speaks. "First, I need to know exactly what happened yesterday. Every detail."
His tone is all business, which I appreciate. No pity, no patronizing concern, just straight to the point.
"I ran into Eric at Harrison's grocery store," I begin, keeping my voice steady. "He said he wanted to see Emily?—"
"Uncle Blaze!" Emily's excited voice interrupts me as she barrels into the kitchen, nearly colliding with my brother as he rises to catch her in a hug.
"Hey, squirt!" Blaze says, swinging her around. "Look at you, getting so big!"
Emily giggles then turns her curious eyes to Storm. "Who are you?" she asks, with the direct honesty only children possess.
Storm's face transforms. The hard lines soften and a small smile tugs at his lips. "I'm Storm," he says, his voice gentler than before. "I work with your uncle."
Emily's eyes widen. "Storm? Like thunder and lightning?"
He nods. "Exactly like that."
I tense, waiting for my daughter to show fear, to associate his name with the thing that terrifies me most. But instead, she grins.
"That's so cool!" she exclaims. "I love storms! They're so powerful and beautiful."
The irony isn't lost on me. My daughter, conceived during the worst storm of my life, loves the very thing I can't bear.
"Emily, honey," I say, finding my voice, "why don't you go play in your room for a bit while the grown-ups talk?"
Her face falls slightly, but she nods. "Okay. But can I show Uncle Blaze my drawing first?"
"Later, squirt," Blaze promises. "We've just got some boring adult stuff to talk about first."
This satisfies her, and she skips out of the kitchen, pausing only to give Storm one more curious look before disappearing down the hall.
"She's beautiful," Storm says once she's gone. "Looks just like you."
The compliment catches me off guard. "Thank you," I say, meaning it.
"Now," he continues, all business again, "tell me about yesterday."
I recount my encounter with Eric, not sparing any details: the threat to take Emily, his admission that he's been watching us, the fear that's been choking me since.
"He has no legal claim," I finish. "He's not on the birth certificate. He's never paid a cent in child support. He's never even met her."
"Has he tried to contact you before yesterday?" Storm asks, his fingers drumming lightly on the table.
I shake my head. "Not once in eight years. I honestly thought, hoped,he'd forgotten about us."
"Men like that don't forget," Storm says, his voice hardening. "They just wait."
The accuracy of his assessment sends another chill through me.
