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You give him a rough, crooked, honest smile, standing up and out of your chair. The one only an uncle could’ve pulled off to a favorite nephew. And for a moment, you forget about Caroline and Jean’s troubles as you behold the result of your sacrifice – one very alive, and slowly recovering godson. “Hey, kiddo.”
Before you know it, he’s running like a bat out of hell, stumbling over his pajamas in a haste to reach you. You move without thinking, running to catch your godson in an awkward embrace as he jumps and wraps his arms tightly around your neck.
Tom’s always been light. At one point, <span class="mu-i">dangerously</span> light to the point of skin and bones. You were never that small as a child, even with the worst of how rationing had gotten. The faintest hint of antiseptic wafts off his clothing as a constant reminder of his ongoing treatment.
“Uncle Sinleq!” he cries joyously.
“Whoa, whoa!” you laugh (<span class="mu-i">laugh!</span>), spinning him around. “Easy there! Don’t overexert yourself.”
“I haven’t seen you in so long! Why haven’t you visited us sooner!”
“I’ve been busy, is all,” you reply, ignoring the way Caroline rolls her eyes. “Sorry about that.”
Tom pulls away, scrunching his face up in a frown. Truly, the child of his mother. “Are you really?”
“Really-really. Scout’s honor. Think you can forgive me?”
That seems to do the trick. He nods firmly. “Sure. But…did you bring me anything?” he asks innocently. “It’s my birthday soon.”
“Tom!” scolds Caroline, utterly mortified. “Don’t be rude.”
But you laugh. “No, that’s…more than fair.”
Unzipping the dufflebag, you present to him no less than three boxes. Everything that a young boy his age could have wanted, from both the bottom of the ocean, as well as Market Square. A rare, fist-sized fossil from a dive near the Duck, an assorted collection of Jules Verne novels, and a tablet salvaged off the <span class="mu-i">Caribbean Courier</span>.
“You can open them if you want,” you assure him.
Tom looks eagerly to his mother for permission. He receives nothing but a stern look and a critical eyebrow. Erring on the side of safety, he goes for the smaller package that you know contains the fossil. Wrapping paper goes flying across the living room in excitement. The last of it doesn’t even touch the ground before it’s out in the open.
“Megalodon!” Tom’s eyes are wide as he holds the tooth up to the overhead light. He looks to you excitedly. “Where did you find this?”
Chuckling, you squat down to his level, sketching out the scene in the empty air with your hand. Admittedly cribbing a bit from Old Man Larkin, but he had rubbed off on you after so many years of stories. “Eight hundred meters deep, Reggie and I were clearing the way for a new wellhead for the Duck. The only light we had was from our PUEXO’s and flares we’d shoot into the void. I almost missed it, if not for HOPI pointing it out on the ground...”
(cont.)
