Crunching on a slice of bacon, Sue thought about how much their lives had changed since Beth and Martin and the kids have moved in.
She and Quentin had wanted kids, but after she’d quit working to start their family, they’d discovered that it wasn’t going to happen, at least not in any traditional manner. Back then she’d been too distressed to go back to work; she’d wondered how Quentin could do it, knowing he’d been as broken up as she was.
They’d always shown him that being afraid wasn’t the purpose of fear. Fear was to help you do something. If there was something scary in the dark, you should either run or kill it, but you’d never know which if you don’t shine a light on it. If there was a feeling you didn’t know what to do with, fear could help you be considerate about how you shared it, but it wasn’t a reason not to share it.
Jake’s fears had never stopped him from doing things. He’d learned early in life that if you lived with fear, it was more than happy to hang around, but if you used it as a tool, it left as quickly as it came.
The clatter of plates and knives and forks and cups took the place of voices. There’s something unique about a family breakfast, but they’re also very much the same.
Beth looked around between bites. She hadn’t realised how much she’d love being with her sister all the time. She’d been so focused on helping Martin and caring for the kids that she’d only obliquely considered what she was getting out of all this.
“And it’s just about time, pal.” Quentin and Sue came through the back door, squeezing past Jake. Quentin put a hand out toward Jake’s hair, then stopped, glared at Jake, and sat at the table.
Sue sat next to Quentin and picked up a fork and knife, and started banging the butts on the table. “More pancakes! Less grown-ups! More pancakes! Less—wait; didn’t we just tell him to grow up? Quentin, help me out here.”
“Oh, I still wanna be Jake. But you’ve got to admit, Sue’s pretty impressive.”
Beth leaned against Martin’s back. “Yeah. Yeah, she is. But so are you.” She put her hands on his arms and tugged, turning him around. “Do you have any idea?”
“Yeah, sometimes I wonder if there’s something she doesn’t know how to do. I wanna be her when I grow up.” Martin glanced over his shoulder at Jake, who was looking at his mom in the doorway.
“Who do you want to be? And why on earth would you grow up? That’s no fun.”
After a quick stop in the bathroom Jake stood at the top of the stairs. He heard the first pancake hitting the bacon grease in the frying pan, then a few seconds later, the wonderful doughnut smell floated up the stairwell, tell him it was now or never.
He stepped down the stairs without trying to be quiet. He swung around the banister to the right and into the kitchen.
The smell of the bacon and the pancake spices reminded him that it was Saturday. Was it? Yeah, Saturday.
Jake rolled over so the soft light from the window was on his face and lay there with his eyes closed. He knew if he could smell the bacon in the oven it wouldn’t be long before his dad would be calling them down for breakfast.
This summer, when it had happened more often, he’d been so glad he could just lay on his bed and let his head catch up. Sometimes he didn’t even sleep; just lay there until he felt something again. Other times, especially later in the day, he’d wake up at three in the morning and crawl under the covers and go back to sleep.
After the storms, the music was quiet. Jacob wondered if that was why he didn’t feel anything; if the music might be his feelings. Probably not. But it was connected. It was the only time he was really aware of silence in his head.