Page 82 of Summer Holiday Lifeline

“Don’t worry about it, Jet.”

“But—”

“Jet, please. Let it go.”

Jet pressed his back against the hard slats of his chair, but for the moment, didn’t say anything else.

Myles should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.

Picking up on the tension, Shelly stood up on her chair, fork in one hand, knife in the other. “Uncle My-my, I want ’cakes.” She used her shrillest, loudest tones to voice her demand for the pancakes she had once refused to eat.

Heads turned.

The dining room lights flickered alarmingly before settling into a more soothing glow. Myles glanced around, but if anyone else noticed the lights, they didn’t show it, their attention focused on him and Shelly.

“Shelly, sit down.” Fearing she might fall, Myles took her arm, reaching to lift her into his lap.

Just as his fingers circled her bicep, she shrieked and went limp, flopping so he had to lunge to keep her head from impacting the tabletop.

Jet lunged too, across the table, knocking over juice and coffee cups and flipping his own unfinished plate upside down, spraying coffee, juice, eggs and home fries across both Myles and Shelly.

Jet got his hand between Shelly’s forehead and the table just in time.

Myles scooped her up, standing as he did, lifting her, still screaming, into his arms. “Tidy this up,” Myles whispered to Jet. “I’ll take her upstairs.”

Jet scowled but nodded, and Myles carried Shelly, still flipping out, through the dining room and up the stairs.

The door to their room, which he distinctly remembered locking when they’d left, swung open at his approach, and the main overhead lights came on. As soon as they were through, the door closed behind them.

Telling the house thanks for the assist didn’t even feel weird as Myles carried his now-sobbing niece across the room to sit her on the couch in the main area.

Crouching in front of her, hip complaining at the sharp and unrelenting descent into the crunched posture, he laid a gentle hand on each of her biceps. He breathed deep to push aside his discomforts before speaking. “Shelly, take a breath, baby.”

She gulped and hiccupped and sobbed harder. Little face red and tears tracking through the egg yolk splattered across one cheek, she gasped and gasped, like she couldn’t get any air.

“Shelly. Sweetie, you have to calm down.”

“I wa— I wa— Mommy!” She wailed and wailed.

Myles was sure the whole house could hear her. All he could do was gather her up and sit her on his lap, both arms around her while she sobbed, alternately limp in his arms, then thumping little fists against his chest or shoulder, wiggling and squirming to get away before collapsing into new waves of rage and crying.

She’d barely wept herself out when Jet came barrelling into the room, brandishing the lawyer’s letter. Because of course in the rush to get Shelly away from the other diners, Myles had completely forgotten about that dilemma and had left the paper behind.

“Nothing for me to worry about?” he shouted.

“Jet!”

Shelly jerked in his arms and started crying again.

“When you even going to tell me?” Jet threw the letter at Myles. It fluttered a few feet to land, bent and wrinkled, on the floor between them.

“Can we please talk about that later?”

“Or not at all. Why would I even want to know anyway?” He crossed his arms, chin out, eyes blazing.

Shelly whimpered.

“Jet—”