Desolation

One of the two cell phones resting on the table’s plans rang. Max reached over and grabbed his, not looking up. “Yes?”

“Mr. Thompson, this is Frank Spade. I have an update on the Kings. They’re going to Rocky Point again in two weekends.”

“Great.” He looked up, eyes filled with excitement, focusing now on his attorney’s words. “And how did we do on those two beach houses?”

“They’re yours. Agreements are signed and you should have the equivalent of a closing just before that same weekend. Should I book a flight?”

“Yes, call my office so they can coordinate my schedule.”

“Will do, Mr. Thompson.”

“Thanks, Frank. Great work.” Max pressed the end button on his Brick and set it back on the table.

“Sorry, Preston, continue.”

“Well, if you look over there…” Preston pointed to the southern and northern boundaries as he launched into describing all the defensive systems that would be built around the complex.

55. Writing It All Down

300 Days A.E.

New Mexico, Territory

“Come, hurry; your son is kicking.” Darla shinned an inviting smile, like a new day’s sunrise, at her husband. She grabbed his tentative hand and placed it on her swollen belly.

“How do you know it’s a son?” Steve asked, touching her warm roundness gingerly, afraid of pushing too hard and causing harm to mother or child.

“You might say it’s… a gut instinct,” she said, snorting at her own joke, baby and belly jostling under his hand.

“Ha-ha-ha… Whoa, I just felt it, I mean him.” His lips curled into a grin. He leaned over to her, while she rested in Herb’s comfy leather chair. “Thanks,” he said before kissing her softly, and then more passionately.

“Come on, that’s what got you into this mess the first time,” bayed Olivia Wright, whose belly was showing a significant swell of its own.

“You’re a fine one to talk.” Darla snorted some more, as she pulled back from Steve and cast a mock glare at her before breaking into another brilliant smile. Truth was she was ecstatic to be sharing her pregnancy experiences with someone who had been through this before, especially after they had shared so much loss getting here.

Steve withdrew. “I’ll let you finish your writing. I’m going to help Wilber and Herb with a special project today,” he said, already making his way to the home’s back door.

“That sounds mysterious. What have you boys been up to anyway, working late every night? Are you ever going to show us poor little ladies what you boys are doing?” Darla wheedled in her best southern belle accent, daintily touching her cheek with a fingertip and batting her lashes.

Steve played along, tipping his baseball cap. “Maybe today, ma’am.” His southern accent left much to be desired. “If the chow is good, we’ll let you in on our big surprise.”

Darla reached behind herself and whipped her back-support pillow at his head. It connected squarely and knocked off his ball cap. Both pillow and cap landed in silence on the floor.

“Fine, I’m out of here then,” he said, lightly tossing the pillow back to Darla in a long arch.

Darla grinned as she caught it and slipped it back into position, bringing relief to the ever-present ache.

Settling in, she unscrewed the cap to an elegant fountain pen, a gift from Herb, whose deceased wife had loved using it to write her letters. She opened the composition notebook, one of her better scavenging finds during their long travels here. Scanning what she had written on the first page, she turned to the next and started a new entry.