Finding Strength
The Searchers #5
Ripley Proserpina
Copyright © 2019 by Ripley Proserpina
All rights reserved.
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For everyone who still wants to see how this ends…
Contents
Prologue
1. Nora
2. Apollo
3. Seok
4. Nora
5. Ryan
6. Apollo
7. Cai
8. Seok
9. Apollo
10. Apollo
11. Apollo
12. Apollo
13. Seok
14. Matisse
15. Apollo
16. Apollo
17. Cai
18. Ryan
19. Apollo
20. Apollo
21. Apollo
22. Nora
23. Matisse
24. Nora
25. Cai
26. Nora
27. Apollo
28. Apollo
29. Nora
30. Apollo
31. Nora
32. Apollo
33. Nora
34. Nora
35. Apollo
36. Seok
We’re almost there
About the Author
Also by Ripley Proserpina
Prologue
Apollo, 9 years old
Apollo’s stomach ached, but it hurt worse when he opened the cupboard. What had been full before Dad left was long past empty. Before, it contained anything he could possibly want—Cap’n Crunch, Froot Roll-ups.
Goldfish crackers.
Now there was nothing. He’d eaten the cans of black beans and kidney beans. He’d eaten the cans of peas and sweet corn.
The only time he really got to eat anymore was when he went to school. But it was almost summer vacation.
Closing the pantry door, he let out a sigh. There was one way to mute the noise in his stomach. He made his way to the sink and filled up a glass with water. This would have to hold him over until tomorrow.
His belly rumbled, unsatisfied with what he’d done. A familiar roll of nausea swept through him and he swallowed hard, eyeing the flickering light from the living room.
Mom had been in there all day, staring sightlessly at whatever show happened to be on. She’d been wide awake when he woke up this morning, and he’d sat with her for a while, watching Saturday morning cartoons. Then when the grown-up shows came on, a news show, and then golf, he’d left.
“Mom?” he whispered, shuffling across the carpet.
Her deep brown eyes were dull, the way they often got when Dad was gone this long. His gaze flickered to the calendar on the wall, the one Dad made him before each deployment. Apollo crossed off the days, one-by-one, counting down until he came back. This one was long, eighteen months, and he’d needed two calendars. One was finished, thankfully, and they were in the homestretch.
That’s what Dad called it. The homestretch.
“Mom?” Apollo said again, a little louder. “There’s nothing to eat.”
“Yes, there is,” Mom answered tiredly. Always so tired. “I went shopping the other day.”
For a moment, he wondered if he’d missed something. Had she? Had she filled the fridge with Lunchables and those circle cheeses in wax he loved to unpeel?
But he’d checked the fridge. And there was nothing but a nearly empty bottle of mustard. Mom got like this—forgetful. She forgot what day it was.
She forgot if Apollo had a field trip and needed a bag lunch.
She even forgot about him sometimes. He’d walked home from school after baseball practice more times than he could count.
“There’s nothing in the fridge, Mom.” Apollo stepped back. He didn’t want to make her angry. If he pushed too hard, she’d be mad, and even though she looked listless now, all sprawled on the couch, she moved fast when angry. She could jump up and swat his ears and butt before he knew what was happening.
But he preferred that to what she did now. Mom broke down, starting to cry. “I did,” she said. “I went to the store, and I bought circle cheese and milk. I bought you Cheerios and bananas.” Her voice got quiet. “I swear I did.” She shifted on the couch, pushing herself to a sitting position, and Apollo had a moment of hope. “Baby. I’m sorry.”
She stared at him, tears filling her eyes and spilling down her cheeks. Arms outstretched, she reached for him, and he went to her. Her hair smelled funny, but Apollo didn’t care. He hadn’t gotten a hug in so long.
“It’s okay,” he answered. “Want to get dressed and we can go together?” His voice lifted in excitement as he imagined a day spent at the grocery store and then maybe McDonald’s. Maybe she’d go to the drive-thru and get him a Happy Meal. Maybe they could eat at the park near the beach since it was so nice outside now.
“Sure,” she said and let him go. Apollo smiled, he could feel it stretching his face, and he bounced on his toes.
This was good! Mom was up! His belly rumbled again, but he could ignore it because he knew in a few minutes they’d be out the door and everything would be okay again.
Mom stood and yawned before walking to her bedroom. After a second, Apollo followed, just to listen. He could hardly believe it. The shower came on, and he fist pumped in the air.
This was a good day. He could almost taste the ketchup and french fries.
A moment later, the shower turned off, and he backed out of her room. She didn’t like it when he hovered, said it made her anxious.
And if she was anxious, she got overwhelmed. And when Mom got overwhelmed, she got tired.
And then she went to bed or lay down on the couch, and who knew when she’d get up again?
The phone rang, and Apollo ran to get it. “Hello?”
“Hey, little man!”
Apollo jumped in the air. “Dad! Dad, we’re going to the store, and then we’re going to McDonald’s and the park!”
Dad chuckled. The sound was deep and so familiar he could almost see his dad’s face. The dimples in his cheeks, the way his eyes crinkled at the sides. Dad was so strong and so funny, and when he was home, things stayed good longer.
“Is Mom there?”
“Mom!” Apollo yelled and then stopped. Mom loved to talk to Dad on the phone, though the calls lasted only minutes sometimes. But if the call went bad, then Apollo was in trouble. And Mom might go back to bed.
He was too hungry for her to go back to bed.
His mom hurried from her bedroom, her dark hair in long wet spirals. “Dad?” she asked. The sparkle was back in her eyes. So far so good.
Apollo nodded and handed her the phone.
“Mac?”
Apollo paced around the kitchen, eyes glued to his mother. She smiled at whatever he was saying, and even laughed. “Yes, grocery shopping. Though this is the first time I’m hearing of the park and McDonald’s.” Mom met his stare and winked. Winked! “I think we can make that work.”
But then her face changed. Just a twitch of her eye, like the wink that happened a second ago, but this followed rapid blinking.
No, no, no. This wasn’t good. Dad needed to stop. Whatever he was saying, he needed to go back.
Undo it.
“How much longer?” Mom asked. She turned her back on Apollo, but he could see her twisting the phone cord around and around her finger. “Why?”
What was Dad saying? What had he done to take everything that was perfect and ruin it?
“Three months?” Mom’s voice rose, and Apollo winced. “Well, can we come to you? If you’re in the States why do we have to stay here?” She was quiet at whatever Dad said. “That doesn’t make sense, Mackenzie. You must get some time off during training. Lots of families live together during training. We can come to San Diego, no problem. I’ve been saving all of your combat pay; we have plenty for the tickets. Or a hotel even.”
The silence that filled the kitchen made Apollo weak-kneed. He gripped the counter, staring up at his mom. Her face began to twist angrily, and her nostrils flared.
Why was Dad doing this? He was going to make her angry, and then he was going to get off the phone, and Apollo would be the one who suffered.
“Fine,” Mom answered shortly. “Be safe. Love you.”
She hung up the phone and held onto the counter with both hands. She stared at the green countertop, her shoulders heaving with each breath.
Apollo watched, waiting for his moment. Maybe he could bring her back. If he said the exact right thing at the exact right time, he could salvage the day.
But his belly grumbled so loudly, Mom startled. “I’m going to bed.”
“Mom,” he began, mind whirring, searching for the magic words. “I’m hungry.”
She let out a breath and stepped away from the counter. Her entire posture changed. The person she could be, the one with the curly, sweet smelling hair and the sparkling eyes. The person who loved to dance and watch him play baseball, she disappeared before his eyes.
Gone.
“Get some cereal, baby. I’m going to bed. We’ll go to the store later.”
“There is no cereal, Mom,” Apollo cried, but she ignored him. He could run to her, grab her hand and drag her to the kitchen, but she still wouldn’t see. She wouldn’t hear him.
She was gone, and he was all alone.
Again.
1
Nora
Present Day
Nicole Boudreau, Matisse’s mother, thrust another plate under her nose. “This is meat pie. You have to try it. It’s an old family recipe.”
It was physically impossible for Nora Leslie to swallow another mouthful of food. Thanksgiving at the Boudreau house was an event, and like nothing she’d ever experienced.
First off: Matisse’s family lived in a mansion.
A mansion.
A literal, winding drive, white columned, garden so big it needed a gardener, mansion.
But if she’d expected a stuffy, overly polite family, that wasn’t what she found. Well, Matisse’s dad was a little stuffy, and awkward, but his sister and his mother were absolutely lovely. They’d welcomed her with open arms from the moment she’d arrived. Apparently, Matisse hadn’t brought home any girls before, so this was a big deal. And they knew Nora was with all the guys. Genevieve, Matisse’s sister, had cornered her the first night they were there.
“So, you’re with all of them?” she’d asked. “At the same time?”
Nora’s face heated as she shook her head. “Not like that,” she replied. “But all of us are in a relationship.”
“I always wondered if Tisse was gay,” his sister had mused.
“That wasn’t what I—” Nora started. “I mean, I’m in a relationship with all of them. They’re all just best friends. Like family.”
“Oh!” Genevieve answered. “Ooohhhh. Okay. That’s not as interesting, but okay.”
And that was that. Well. There were a few more side comments about how Genevieve could find herself a gaggle of guys—like the guys were noisy geese honking around a farm.
“I can’t eat another bite,” Nora told Nicole, studying her boyfriends. They were in a heated argument about football and whether or not they should go to Ole Miss’s game the next day. Matisse was against, Seok was for with Ryan and Cai egging each of them on. Maybe they were noisy geese honking at each other.
Nora tilted her head and squinted. Yeah. She could see it.
“I’m disappointed Apollo couldn’t join us,” Matisse’s father said suddenly. It startled Nora, and her fork clattered onto her plate.
“Sorry,” she said when everyone’s head turned toward her.
“Maybe next year,” Matisse said, off-handedly. “He has a lot going on right now.”
“He’s never not come when you all have,” his dad persisted.
“Guillaume,” Nicole said sternly.
The man turned his gaze to his wife and suddenly flushed. Nora suspected that Matisse’s bluntness was an inherited trait—his dad didn’t have a filter and blurted out whatever came to him.
But that was where the similarities ended. There was a hardness to Guillaume Boudreau, and a calculation, that his son didn’t have. So while Nora could understand he didn’t have a brain-to-mouth filter, she also suspected that he excused himself from taking responsibility for the impact of his words. It was as if he didn’t always care that what he said could hurt, or embarrass, other people.
“How about dessert?” Nicole changed the subject and stood. “Help me, Nora?”
Quickly, she wiped her mouth with her napkin and followed Nicole into the kitchen. “I’m sorry about Matisse’s dad. He says whatever pops into his head.”
“That’s okay,” Nora replied, accepting the pie Nicole thrust into her hands.
“Take off the plastic wrap and slice it?”
She accepted the pie server and sliced into the pie. “Is this pecan?” she asked, to which Matisse’s mother chuckled.
“Peh-kahn,” the woman corrected. “Not pee-can.”
Nora’s face heated. “Oh. Peh-can. Is that it?”
“Close enough,” she replied. “You’re a true southerner now.”
“Is she telling you how to pronounce pecan?” Genevieve asked as she came into the kitchen. She rolled her eyes. “It’s her thing. Pee-can, Mom. Peeeee-can.”
“Enough, Genevieve. I’m helping her fit in.”
Nora giggled as she plated each slice onto a pretty yellow dish. “Thank you for having me.”
“It’s my pleasure,” she replied, adding a dollop of whipped cream onto each piece of pie. “I must admit, I’ve been dying to meet you. The way Tisse talks about you, I knew you were important.”
Her face heated, but she made herself hold Nicole’s gaze. “He’s important to me.”
“I can tell.” With that, Matisse’s mother turned around and opened a cabinet. “Here.” She handed Nora a tray for her to stack the plates onto.
When they returned to the dining room, the guys were leaning on the table, staring at Matisse’s phone. “What’s going on?” she asked.
As one, they jerked back. “Nothing,” Matisse said, and put the phone in his pocket.
“I told you, no phones at the table,” Nicole said.
Nora placed the tray on the table and narrowed her eyes. “What were you looking at?”
Later. Matisse mouthed the words at her.
“Guillaume!” Nicole yelled, startling so hard she bumped into the table, shaking the glasses and cutlery. “No phones.”
“Matisse did it,” her husband complained, but slid the phone into his jacket pocket.
“You’d think one day a year we could look at the faces of our children instead of a screen,” she said as she gave each person a plate. Nicole lifted her perfectly shaped eyebrows when Nora waved off the pie.
I guess I’m eating pie. She accepted the slice.
“So, you have two days left. What’s the plan?” Nicole asked.
Nora had just taken a bite of her pecan pie and couldn’t answer, so she looked at Matisse. “Well,” he began. “I thought since I got so lucky with Nora, I could take her to a casino. Like a charm.”
Nicole wrinkled her nose. “A ca
sino?”
“I’ve never been to one,” Nora said, trying to be supportive of Tisse. Not that she had any money to gamble, and she wasn’t especially keen on wasting what little she had on a slot machine.
“What about New Orleans?” Genevieve asked. “Way more fun.”
“It’s not that far. An hour and a half.” Guillaume shrugged.
Matisse glanced at her, and she couldn’t stop the smile that spread across her face. New Orleans sounded perfect.
“Is that where you want to go, chére?”
Nora took a sip of water to give her a moment to check in with the other guys. What if they really wanted to go to the casino? But Cai, Seok, and Ryan nodded encouragingly.
“I haven’t been,” Cai said. “It’ll be the first time for both of us.”
“Where was that place Apollo loved to go to?” Genevieve asked. “It wasn’t the cemetery…”
“The Garden District,” Seok answered quietly. “It got us walking.”
Nora’s throat closed, and she placed her glass on the table. When she was certain she wouldn’t cry, she nodded. “I’d like that.” She would take pictures of it and send them to him. Not in a creepy way. She wasn’t a stalker. But she wanted him to know she was thinking about him. He wasn’t far from the forefront of her mind.
2
Apollo
“You’re not moving your feet.”
Finding Strength (The Searchers Book 5) Page 1
