Bianca’s face became painfully focused. “Which plagues?”
“Bubonic plague, cholera, typhus, influenza, and many more.” I hesitated only slightly. “The nineteenth century had more than enough lessons in bad sanitation.”
Her eyes sharpened. “You know a lot about the nineteenth century.”
“I went to school and did my homework.”
Conrad made a faint sound of amusement. “That is becoming your most suspicious answer.”
“It remains a useful one.”
I picked up Bianca’s book on plagues and flipped through the pages.
“You hold books correctly,” she said suddenly.
I turned toward her. “Uh, thank you?”
“Most adults crack the spine.”
I pretended to gag. “Monsters. I would never.”
The corners of her mouth twitched into a rare, unguarded glimpse of a smile.
From the other room, I heard a weather report replace the nature documentary.
“Although the storm system along the eastern coast of the United States has begun to weaken,” the reporter said, “officials in the United Kingdom are warning of unprecedented rainfall and severe flooding across several coastal regions. Emergency services remain active tonight as river levels continue rising?—”
“That’s the storm system they were talking about last week,” Conrad said.
“Seems it saved the worst for them,” Bianca said.
The reporter continued speaking, but Billie asked whether rivers could get angry, and the conversation moved on. I turned back to the stove, though a thin unease moved through me before I could name it.
Flooding. Coastal regions.
A memory brushed too close to the surface, cold and dark.
I shut my eyes tightly.No.
I stirred the soup and forced the thought away.
Conrad coughed lightly, and I looked back before I meant to.
He had shifted forward in the chair, blanket around his shoulders, watching the children with an expression I could not quite bear. Gratitude, yes. Exhaustion. Something else too. Something fragile that saw this moment and knew how easily it could vanish.
I knew that feeling all too well.
A while later, when Billie had fallen asleep, murmuring about ghost frogs, and Bianca ate more soup, CJ came downstairs with pad tucked under his arm. He said nothing about it, which told me he had written more.
Conrad noticed too. His gaze met mine across the room, and there was that quiet communication parents and caretakers developed during a crisis: Careful. Do not startle it.
I settled CJ on the couch, then got him a bowl of soup and some tea. He accepted it with a grateful smile, and none of his usual theatrics.
Later, I helped usher the children upstairs one by one.
Billie, still fast asleep, required carrying, and she woke up as I tucked her into bed. She grabbed my wrist before I could step away. “Are you sleeping here again?”
“For a little while.”
