Page 47 of No One Aboard
A clap of thunder made him splash beer down the front of his sweat shirt. “Dammit.” He’d meant the words to be gruff, but his voice broke.
The two women looked at him.
“It’s okay, Jerry,” Lainey said, not unkindly. “It’s just lightning breaking the sound barrier.”
“Who taught you that, kid?” Madden asked.
“My dad. He always had answers like that. He didn’t say things to comfort me, though, just to point out how I misplaced my fear.”
Madden unscrewed her bottle. “He dead or something?”
“To me.”
Madden snorted. “My pa always said it was God’s angels bowling. ‘The bigger the boom, the better the score.’”
Another clap quieted them all momentarily. Madden lifted the bottle heavenward. “Strike.”
Jerry set his beer on the table, then thought better of it as it careened sideways with the ship. He cocooned it between his hands and leaned forward. “I ain’t scared,” he insisted, though no one had said otherwise.
Storms reminded him, was all. A stormy sky had been the last one Steve had seen. Jerry wondered, if his brother had survived that night, whether booms of thunder would have sent him out of his skin for the rest of his life.
He drank deep, settling back again into the seat where the missing family used to sit.
Did the Camerons take their breakfast here? Did they watch TV and fight over the remote? Did they talk about the future like it was something inevitable? Something already belonging to them?
And, just like Steve, was a storm at sea the last thing they saw?
Chapter 24
Rylan Cameron
Call sign: Minnow
Day 4 at Sea
The Camerons breakfasted together in the salon, seated around the table on the cream chenille sofa built into the wall. The twins sat opposite their parents, Rylan stabbing at his potatoes but never finding the appetite to bring them to his mouth. Tia poked at her eggs, seemingly in a similar predicament.
Francis was supposed to be on watch, Rylan thought with a glance at the schedule. Of course, without MJ in the rotation, Nico, Alejandro, and Francis should have each been pulling extra weight.
But here Francis sat at the salon table with them, sawing his sausages in half and sipping freshly squeezed orange juice out of a crystal glass.
Lila—who often insisted on eating a different meal than the rest of the family—took a dainty bite of her blueberry parfait, then laid her spoon on the table. “I think...” She cleared her throat. “I think we should be planning our next family activity! We have—what?—three or four days left of our lovely little vacation, and it’s about time we make an itinerary since diving may no longer be the highest of priorities.”
Very smooth, Mom.Rylan shoved some diced potatoes in his mouth.
Lila reached over and rested a hand on Tia’s arm. “I know. Why don’t we plan a nice spa treatment? I have all the supplies. You could let me get one of my hair masks on you. And maybe tonight we could play some family poker?”
Tia stopped eating.
Here we go.
“Omigod, yes, and maybe while we do chemical peels and drink cucumber juice we can finally acknowledge the fact that MJ just died.”
Well, there it was. Rylan leaned back in his seat as Lila rubbed her temple and all three of them turned their eyes on Francis.
Francis tilted his head to one side, then took a large bite of sausage. He chewed. Swallowed. Drank some orange juice. Swallowed.
Rylan began to think his father wouldn’t answer at all and the silent meal would resume, but Francis set down his glass and smiled. He had wanted them to wait.
