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George clears his throat to make sure he has my attention before he speaks. “We need to come in and talk. We have to find Miranda and get some information to her.”
I back up to open the door wide, silently inviting them inside. They cross the threshold, and I shut the door, not sure what I should say. I lead them a few steps further into the kitchen where the odor hanging in the air indicates my popcorn has burned.
“Shit!” I grab the bag from the microwave and throw it in the sink. I can’t deal with that issue right now.
“Ew, what’s that smell?” Phoebe hates everything about popcorn, especially the smell of it burnt. I watch in what feels like slow motion as my second born walks into the kitchen. Her oversized lavender sweatshirt with bunnies on it makes her look years younger than eleven. She still so tiny and innocent. And her entire world is about to change.
I wasn’t prepared when Jessie overheard the truth about Miranda, but this time I know in advance that Phoebe’s walking into a confusing scene.
“Um, hi.” Phoebe’s eyes drift to the younger, more familiar, though not by much, new person in the room. “George, right?”
He smiles tightly and nods. “Hey Phoebe.” His eyes flick to Jessie, who is still leaning against the doorframe with her eyes closed as if she’s wishing this entire day is just a dream.
Phoebe turns her face a fraction of an inch toward me but doesn’t move her eyes from George until she is mid-sentence. “Hey, Dad? Why is your personal trainer in Eliza’s beach house?”
Jessie moves directly behind her little sister and settles her hands protectively settling on Phoebe’s shoulders. “Yeah, Dad. Care to explain what’s going on?”
My chest curls inward. I do not want to be dealing with this. Not now. Not when my wife is out hunting a siren with her best friend’s husband on a crazy rescue mission. Oh, and I have a stranger and a kid standing in the room with us while I have to deal with it. Fan-freaking-tastic!
I take in a deep breath and let my words out in a fast sigh. “Phoebs, is thereanychance whatsoever we can discuss this in a little while? Or maybe tomorrow?”
She glances over her shoulder and looks at Jessie, whose single raised brow and pinched mouth tell Phoebe this is something big. My younger daughter looks back at me and shakes her head. “Nope. ’Fraid not.”
I brace myself on the counter and look at George. I still don’t know who this other guy is. “Fellas? Can you field this one maybe? George at least? You’re the expert.”
They look at each other, trying to figure out how to begin. I almost expect them to play rock, paper, scissors to decide who will speak next. Maybe they are, only mentally. Maybe it’s a skill they’ve mastered.
Finally, George takes a step toward us. His eyes are soft and squinted, like he’s in pain at having to explain things to the girls. His voice is soft and gentle, trying to lessen the blow. “Phoebe, Jessie, I’m not your parents’ personal trainer.”
“Oh, I know,” Jessie snaps. “I found out earlier today. I just want to hearyourexplanation for this. And letyouexplain it to my sister.” Jessie crosses her arms, self-satisfied with her attitude.
Phoebe furrows her brows and looks down, puzzling out what she just heard.
George squeaks out, “You know, Jessie?”
Phoebe’s stance hasn’t changed, but her brows are pulled down and her jaw is clenched tight. This creates even more tension in the room which I didn’t think was possible. She glares at Jessie and then George. “What exactly do you know?”
To his credit, George doesn’t waiver in his decision to explain. “I, I did not know you knew, Jessie. But that won’t change what I have to say.” He straightens his spine so he looks strong and reassuring. “Your mother is someone called The Guardian. Back when she was born, she was chosen to become a great protector of humanity.”
Phoebe’s brow is still furrowed, and it is her turn to cross her arms. She bites her bottom lip while staring into George’s face, deciding if she believes him. “Our mother. A great protector. From what? Like vampires and werewolves?” She shakes her head on the last words.
“Among other things. In the simplest explanation, mythological creatures are real, but your mom has to make sure our world doesn’t find out about them. Or fall victim to them? I guess is the best way to say it?” George no longer looks so strong or confident. He chews on the inside of his cheek as he waits for a response.
Phoebe’s eyes are wide, and she nods as she looks all around the room, trying to picture any of this being possibly true about the woman she knows, the woman she has known forever, the woman who has raised her and loved her and been there for her always.
Jessie takes deep breaths, trying to control the diatribe I know is floating just under her surface.
When no one speaks for few minutes, I look back at George’s companion. “And you are?”
He shakes himself out of the trance we’ve all been in and takes a step toward me, reaching his hand out in the process. “I am so sorry! I’m Benjamin. I’m Joanna’s docent.”
I stare at his hand, sigh loudly, and shake his hand. “And Joanna is?”
Benjamin stuffs his hands in his pockets and then blurts out, “Joanna was The Guardian before Miranda. And she’s my wife. And she’s missing.”
My eyes close as I breathe out loftily. My shoulders slouch under the weight of everything going on. “I thought Miranda was the first married Guardian.”
Benjamin clears his throat. “Joanna was 18 when she became Guardian. We weren’t married until many years later, after things had calmed down and The League had moved us out to the farm—not that this matters right now. That’s a story for another time.” He clears his throat and shrinks back down to take up as little space as he can in the kitchen that has grown thick with both people and truth.
