Filed To Story: Wild Dark Shore Book PDF Free by Charlotte McConaghy
“This wall here?” Raff repeats, pointing at the eastern wall of the seed vault.
“That wall.”
“But that’d cave in the whole place.”
“Yes.”
“You told this to Dad and he didn’t care?”
“He’s hoping the ship will arrive before that happens.”
“But you don’t think so.”
“I dunno.” I stretch my aching legs as we peer at the wall.
I can’t imagine how Hank could have worked here every day and not have noticed this issue, and if he did, I can’t imagine how he would just up and leave the seeds here to drown.
We stay the night in the field hut. Raff wanted to head home, but I convinced him it wouldn’t be safe to travel at night and I guess I was right because he conceded. We didn’t bring any food and the hut has been cleaned out of everything except a few muesli bars, so we sit, hungry and cold, watching the long twilight.
“Remind me why this was a good idea?” I ask through the chattering of my teeth.
He grunts.
I don’t know when I’ll get the chance to spray the luminol. I guess I am waiting for him to fall asleep, but he is upset about something. I can see the whites of his knuckles, the clenched jaw.
“Orly mentioned your friend,” I say. “Alex.”
Raff doesn’t react.
“Do you miss him?” What a dumb question. Raff doesn’t bother answering it, which is fair enough. “Is he your boyfriend?”
“We weren’t together.”
“Oh sorry. I got the wrong idea.”
He shakes his head, frustrated. “It’s just we never talked about that. It seemed too?… small.” Like an explosion he is up and pacing the tiny room.
“Talk to me,” I say.
“I just need the bag,” he mutters.
The punching bag. “Why do you need that?”
“For when the poison comes. You have to punch it out.”
I frown, searching his face. “That’s what your dad taught you?”
Raff nods.
“Okay. Well. We can just talk. It might even be better.”
He is silent for what feels an eternity. Then he says, “Dad doesn’t like to talk.”
“About what?”
“About anything that matters.” He thinks and then amends, “About anything that hurts.”
I consider this. “Your dad’s from a generation of men who were taught that speaking about their feelings was a weakness. Which means they didn’t really learn the skill. And it is a skill, you know. Figuring out how you feel and then articulating it. It’s not easy. But I think it’s important to try or you just?… there’s too much to carry on your own, you know? Especially when you’re bereaved.”
“What’s bereaved?”
“When you’re grieving. When you’ve lost someone.”
“When I think about her,” he says, and I can hear his voice wavering, “when I see something amazing, I feel this rage. That she doesn’t get to see it. She would have
loved those whales. It isn’t fucking fair.” Without warning his fist slams into the glass of the window and leaves a snaking crack down its center. I watch him warily, but that seems to be the end of it. He rests his head on the glass and breathes deeply.
After a few minutes have passed, he dashes the tears off his face but can’t look at me, mortified by the display. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to?… I don’t want to frighten you.”
“This isn’t gonna work for you. You can’t just punch things,” I say. “You have to find something else.”
It unsettles him, the thought that I could be giving him contradictory advice, and maybe Dom will be angry with me again but right now this kid needs help.
“I want you to know something,” Raff says suddenly, and a hardness has come over him, and he is looking at me directly now, almost provocatively. “My family has been really lonely. My dad in particular. So you need to be careful with them.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean they might be inclined to trust you.”
My heart picks up. “Why shouldn’t they?”
“Because you’re married.”
I stare at him, confused. “Are you?… Do you mean you’re worried about us getting too close?”
“Orly’s always wanted a mum.”
“Oh Jesus.” Something in me rears back in horror. “You don’t have to worry about that. I’m not built to be a mother.”