Page 59 of Haunted By the Storm
"Yesterday," Emily says casually. "When he was helping me with my butterfly wings. I told him I want to learn but I’m scaredof falling, and he said he'd teach me and that falling is part of learning but he'd make sure I didn't get too hurt."
I look at Storm, touched by this revelation of a conversation I hadn't been privy to; of how he's been forming his own relationship with Emily separate from mine.
"I was going to mention it," he says, looking slightly sheepish. "Just hadn't found the right moment."
"It's okay," I assure him, reaching for his hand under the table. "I think it's wonderful."
Emily, apparently satisfied with the conversation, moves on to more pressing matters. "Can I have cereal now? I'm starving!"
The mundane request breaks the seriousness of the moment, bringing us back to the practical realities of life with a seven-year-old. As I get up to prepare Emily's breakfast, I'm struck by the strangeness of this situation; discussing life-changing relationship decisions one moment, pouring Cheerios the next.
But maybe that's what family is: the big moments and the small ones, all woven together into the fabric of a shared life.
Our house feels smaller somehow, as if in our absence either it's shrunk or we've grown. The familiar walls and furniture seem like they are from a different life, one that feels increasingly distant with each day spent at the clubhouse.
Emily runs from room to room, checking on favorite toys and books, exclaiming over things she'd forgotten she had. Storm follows her, letting her give him the grand tour, responding with appropriate interest to each excited explanation.
I stand in the living room, taking in the space that's been ours for three years. It's a good house, neat, comfortable, in a decentneighborhood with good schools nearby. I've worked hard to make it a home for Emily and me, a safe haven against the world.
But now, looking at it with fresh eyes, I see what's missing. The emptiness I never noticed before, the spaces that could be filled by someone else's presence. Storm's presence.
"Everything okay?" Storm asks, coming up behind me, his hand settling at the small of my back. Emily has disappeared into her room, busy deciding which toys are essential for our return to the clubhouse.
"Just thinking," I say, leaning slightly into his touch. "About this place, about us, about what comes next."
"And what conclusions have you reached?" he asks, his voice carefully neutral.
I turn to face him, needing to see his expression for this conversation. "I don't think I want to come back here," I admit. "At least, not to live. Not right away."
Relief flashes across his features before he schools his expression. "You don't have to decide anything now," he says. "There's no rush."
"I know," I assure him. "But being here, it just feels... like a step backward somehow. Like returning to a life that doesn't quite fit anymore."
He nods, understanding. "The clubhouse isn't exactly ideal for raising a kid long-term, though. It's secure, but it's still a clubhouse."
"What about your place?" I ask, remembering that he mentioned having his own home separate from the club. "You said you have a place, right?"
"I do," he confirms. "Nothing fancy, just a two-bedroom house about twenty minutes from the clubhouse. It's small but it's mine. Paid for, not just a rental."
The thought of Storm having his own home, a place separate from the club, surprises me. Somehow I'd assumed all the brothers lived at or near the clubhouse.
"I'd like to see it," I say. "If you're comfortable with that."
His expression softens, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "I'd like that too. It's not much, but it's got a good yard for Emily and decent schools nearby. And it's secure. I made sure of that."
Of course he did. Security would always be his first consideration, especially now.
"Maybe we could go there after this?" I suggest. "The three of us? Just to see it, to get a feel for the place."
He nods, a light in his eyes I haven't seen before. "I'd like that," he says simply.
Emily comes bounding back into the room, arms filled with stuffed animals, books, and what appears to be her entire collection of butterfly figurines. "I'm ready!" she announces. "Can we go now?"
I laugh at the mountain of "essentials" she's gathered. "Honey, we can't take all of that. Just pick your absolute favorites, okay? We can always come back for more later."
She sighs dramatically but returns to her room to make the difficult choices. Storm watches her go with obvious amusement.
"She's something else," he comments. "Always at full speed, isn't she?"
