The Pilot (ON HOLD)

Part 2

Brendan appeared in the kitchen while the early morning was still full dark.

I was leaning against the gray soapstone counter wrapped in a down comforter sprinkled with faded cornflowers.

Kneeling in front of the fireplace, he lit the fire he had set in the grate the night before, and asked, "Did he survive the night?"

Opening the cupboard door, I retrieved a mug just as the kettle on the stove began to whistle. "He did." I said as I tipped spoonfuls of his favorite instant coffee into the mug, adding the boiling water. I filled my mug as well, watching the stainless steel tea infuser bob to the top.

Brendan accepted his mug from hand, "Any idea what's wrong with him?"

I snuggled into my comforter, "Nope."

Bren stirred his coffee, "No guess?"

"If he has serious injuries I can't find them."

"Really?"

"Scout's honor." I hold up four fingers for him to see. It makes him laugh, every time, my botched salute. "Covered every inch, I swear."

"I'll bet you did." He sips his steaming coffee.

I smile at him with a little wink.

"You didn't have to enjoy it so much."

"Yes, yes I did. It was mandatory."

He sits down on the hearth, shaking his head.

Shuffling over, I sit beside him, "Are you still planning on going to the array today?"

"Do you think I should?"

Contemplating my steaming mug, I nod slowly. "I don't want to be without power this time of year and we both know what happens when we don't check it regularly."

"Yah. I was thinking I'd take Jake and Dillon, unless you need them here?"

I'm nodding in agreement with him before he finishes his sentence. "They've already done the feeding and the milking and are out checking the trap lines. When they get back, they're all yours. They both have history assignments due tonight before bed."

"They think you're going to let them watch 300."

"I am going to let them watch it, if they can walk me through the actual historical battles, one skirmish at a time. Don't roll your eyes at me, it's not my fault an IT degree is light on its history. Pitiful."

He doesn't bother trying to argue.

"He hasn't regained consciousness, opened his eyes once but that was it. We need to think about what we're going to do with him. It's what, Tuesday? Sarles will be here Friday, Saturday at the latest to butcher the pig. He notices everything. "

"If he's been in Lincoln, he'll know about the crash."

"Everyone knows about the crash, I'd say."

Brendan nods in agreement, "But Lincoln likely scavenged the site, don't you think?"

I shrug, "Probably, they're the closest. How long has it been since we've heard anything about Lincoln?"

"The last time Sarles was here."

Standing, I glance through the door of my room, "What was she thinking bringing him here?"

Bren dumps the last bit of his coffee into the sink, "After everything, she still has a soft heart."

I say nothing for a moment. It's some kind of record for me where this subject is concerned. "Whatever." So much for my record.

He turns, shaking his head, "You just can't let it be, can you, Val? Can't let her have her reasons, can't forgive her."

"Don't you start." I warn him.

He's about to say something I'm going to make him regret bitterly, when his eyes focus on something behind me.

I turn. "Good morning Bee." I say to the slim girl hesitating at the doorway. "Come get warmed up, do you want granola or eggs this morning?"

"Have you skimmed the cream yet?" she asks.

"Nope, I'll let you have a bit, right off the top."

She nods, her serious demeanor not changing. "Did Claire already go out to the hen house?"

"Yup." I say.

"With the dogs?"

"Mm hm."

She chews her bottom lip nervously, "I haven't checked my phone yet."

Brendan clears his throat, "Bee, why don't you walk with me, I'm going right past the coop on my way to the tool shed. You can check your phone later."

Bee's solemn hazel eyes study Brendan for a moment. She nods her agreement and they head for the mudroom. I hear her tell him as they shrug on their coats, "I'm sure today it will work. I need to call my mom; I'm grounded for sure if I don't. I hate it when she takes my phone. "

"Nah," Brendan's low voice rumbles, "we'll explain it to her. Val will smooth it all over, you know how she does."

Bee's twelve-year-old voice changes pitch as they open the back door, "Oh, it's so beautiful! We must have gotten a full six inches at least! I have to make an angel, Bren, will you pull me up so it looks like a real angel?"

The door shuts behind them and I pull Bee's Iphone out of the cupboard and plug it in on the desk tucked into a corner cubby of the kitchen, making sure it's charging. I resist the urge to pick it up and open Safari. In the end, I only prevent the action by brutally reminding myself how depressing that message has become.

Cannot connect to network.