Carrion (The Bren Watts Diaries #1)

Chapter 119

MIGUEL

The National Civil War Museum reminded Miguel of a college campus: mason-bricked colonial buildings, emphasizing their symmetry, looking like greek temples from online or had that horror gothic-facade, but that's just him. He never was much of an architecture guy. A building was just a building with a roof and four walls. Still, he couldn't ignore that the museum gave him the creeps once he laid eyes on it. A creepy style, perhaps, and Bren chose it as a meeting place.

The museum sat on top of a hill, surrounded by a lush grove of trees, open grounds, and fields that once Miguel and the others walked deeper into the park, it was as if they were back in the woods. Bernadette was still a little wobbly in her steps after that hit on her head, and Charlene was rightfully concerned that she could have a concussion. Though the best they could do was keep her awake for a few hours or so until her symptoms subsided, and the old woman must never fall asleep.

A helicopter flew over the hill, probably a thousand feet or so, passing through toward downtown. Miguel would do anything for a map, but he was glad he got to study it before they drove off from the parking garage. He was able to navigate around the roads and avoided the checkpoints to get to the museum. He waited until the helicopter became a tiny dot in the distance before he walked out from the tree line and headed for the main building.

"I see a map over there," Bernadette said, pointing at a sign that said VISITOR'S GUIDE. They walked over toward it and saw that the various buildings peppered around the hill were labeled. The entire park was a dedicated museum, and Miguel found where they needed to go, the one at the top of the hill merely labeled as the main building.

Miguel and Charlene walked ahead.

"I think she's getting worse," Charlene said.

"I think your mother will be fine. Once we settle in the museum, we'll give her plenty of rest and fluids. Trust me. My friends get a lot of drunken fights in alleyways, and I've treated them before. I already gave her some of my Tylenol to help with the headache."

Charlene shook her head. "No, that's not what I meant. I'm concerned for my sister." She glanced over her shoulder where Audrey and her two girls followed a few steps behind them. Audrey's eyes were red and puffy from crying—the children, too—but they had been marching in silence for an hour now under the summer heat, and sooner or later, it would take its toll. It was hard enough to convince Audrey to leave Colin's body behind, and Miguel had to remind her of the girls. Think of your daughters, he had said. They need you right now, more than ever.

Charlene added, "I'm worried about the children, too. They just lost their father. Poor souls."

Miguel looked away. "I'm sure they'll be fine. Let them mourn. Your sister just lost her husband."

"She's going to crack at a time when it's life or death for her and my nieces. I don't like seeing her like this. I know it's inappropriate to just forget about it and move on, but we can't wallow on it for long. Does that make me a bad person?"

"No, but you ought to have a little faith in your sister. She'll pull through."

"Don't get me wrong. I love my sister, and I will do anything for those girls, but I've known her for a very long time. She has always been the pampered princess in my family—the youngest child. My dad and my mom adored her, sheltered her even more than my brother and me."

"Hold on. Brother?"

Charlene frowned. "Yeah. Older brother. We've lost contact with Jejomar over the years after he graduated high school. He never got along with my parents, so he moved out the second he turned eighteen. The last time I heard, he lived in Utah as...well, frankly, I have no idea what he's doing. We see him like once or twice a year, and he rarely calls." She paused. "I hope he's okay."