Page 68 of Perilous Healing

I shift my attention to a group of kids as they rush over toward me. Two boys, who look to be around ten, three younger ones who are likely six or seven, and a little girl who appears to be around Eloise’s age.

My chest aches thinking of her. I miss her. So, so much.

“Hey,” I reply.

A boy in front of the group, wearing tattered pants and a tan linen shirt, looks up at me curiously. “You are American, yes?” he asks.

“I am. You speak good English.”

He beams at me. “My mother was teaching me before—” He gestures to this, and I see anger blossom on his young face.

“How did this happen?” I question.

“They just showed up one day,” the boy answers. “And they promised that my parents would be rich. That we could buy whatever we wanted. So we let them put up their buildings.” He points to the house at the end of the street. “That was mine,” he says, pressing his hand to his chest. “It’s the only home they left standing.”

Fury sings through my veins. “They destroyed your homes?”

He nods. “Tore them down to put up these.” He gestures to the metal buildings lining the street. “I hear you are a SEAL. Is that true?”

“I was.”

“Are you here to save us?”

The weight of that question settles on my shoulders, so I squat down, putting myself just below eye level of the boy. “I’m going to do my best.”

The boy nods, then looks back as the little girl curls against his side. “This is my sister, Zela.”

“Hi, Zela. You know, I have a niece about your age,” I tell her.

She smiles.

“She doesn’t speak any English,” the boy says, then translates. The little girl’s smile widens and she asks a question. “She wants to know what her name is.”

“Eloise,” I reply. Just speaking her name makes that pain return. What is she doing right now? Is she wondering where I am? Why I left? “I miss her very much.”

The little boy plants his hand on my shoulder. “You will see her again,” he says. “I believe that.”

I can’t help but smile. “Thank you for that.” He nods, and I stand. “What is your name?” I question, realizing he introduced his sister, but not himself.

“Neo,” he replies.

I offer my hand. “It’s good to meet you, Neo.”

“You, too, SEAL.”

“Silas,” I reply.

“Silas,” the boy repeats, then tilts his head to the side and studies me. “I think I want to still call you SEAL.”

I laugh. “Go for it, kid.”

Another boy in the back leans forward and whispers something to Neo. He listens intently, then nods and returns his attention to me. “My friend has a question.”

“Okay. Go for it.”

“We were at the funeral last night, and he wants to know what that woman was talking about.”

My stomach twists because I have a feeling I know what he’s getting at. “What do you mean?”

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