𝐂𝐀𝐋𝐘𝐏𝐒𝐎 | ᴍɪʟʟᴀʀᴅ ɴᴜʟʟɪɴɢꜱ

𝟏𝟏] 𝐀𝐏𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐏𝐎𝐏𝐒 𝐃𝐎𝐄𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄 '𝐒𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐎 𝐃𝐎

CHAPTER ELEVEN ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ APPARENTOY POPS DOES HAVE SOME 'SPLANIN TO DO!

     WELL THAT WAS A BUST.

     Once we had hopped and tripped and felt our way like a blind man through the woods and fog and reemerged into the world of sun and light, we were surprised to find the sun sinking and the light going red. Somehow the whole day had slipped away.

     At the pub, Dad was waiting for us, a black-as-night beer and his open laptop on the table in front of him. Jacob sat down and swiped his beer before he'd had a chance to even look up from typing.

     "Oh, my sweet lord," I sputtered, choking down a mouthful, "what is this? Fermented motor oil?"

     "Just about," he said, laughing, and then snatched it back.

     "It's not like American beer. Not that you'd know what that tastes like, right?"

     "Absolutely not," Jake said with a wink, even though it was true. Our dad liked to believe we were as popular and adventuresome as he was at our age--a myth it had always seemed easiest to perpetuate.

     We underwent a brief interrogation about how we'd gotten to the house and who had taken us there, and because the easiest kind of lying is when you leave things out of a story rather than make them up, we passed with flying colors.

     We conveniently forgot to mention that Worm and Dylan had tricked Jacob into wading through sheep excrement and then bailed out a half-mile from our destination.

     Dad seemed pleased that we had already managed to meet a couple kids our own age; I guess we also forgot to mention the part about them hating us.

     "So how was the house?"

     "Trashed."

     He winced. "Guess it's been a long time since your Grandpa lived there, huh?"

     "Yeah. Or anyone."

     He closed the laptop, a sure sign we were about to receive his full attention. "I can see you're disappointed."

     "Well, we didn't come thousands of miles looking for a house full of creepy garbage." I laughed softly.

     "So what're you going to do?"

     "Find people to talk to. Someone will know what happened to the kids who used to live there. I figure a few of them must still be alive, on the mainland if not around here. In a nursing home or something," Jacob said.

     "Like that little Olive girl," I said. "The one with the floating picture."

     Dad gave me a glance.

     "I don't believe that she actually flew," I said quickly. "But the photo was real, even if edited. She seems young enough to still be alive."

     "Sure. That's an idea." He didn't sound convinced, though.

     There was an odd pause, and then he said, "So do you feel like you're starting to get a better handle on who your grandpa was, being here?"

     I thought about it. "I don't know. I guess so. It's just an island, you know?"

     He nodded. "Exactly."

     "What about you?" Jacob asked.

     "Me?" He shrugged.

     "I gave up trying to understand my father a long time ago."

     I frowned. "That's sad. Weren't you interested?"