Jake Morrison's Arc

Chapter 35 of 54

Jake reached the dock as the sun cleared the water. He ran up the path to the cabin where Marisol labored. The doctor met him at the door with a tired smile. Jake pushed inside and saw her on the bed, spent and sweating, holding two small bundles. Two. A boy and a girl. He knelt beside her. The girl had his blond hair and square jaw. The boy had Marisol's dark eyes and her mother's coloring. Both were perfect. Both were breathing. Jake pressed his forehead to Marisol's and could not speak. "You made it," she whispered. "I told you to hurry." Marisol had survived a bite scare, a storm, and eighty miles of open sea to get here. Now she smiled up at him like none of it had happened. Jake laughed and wiped his eyes. He touched each tiny hand. The children were the first born on the island. Proof the place was more than a hiding spot. It was a home worth keeping. Marisol had one condition when Jake proposed. Marry after the babies came safely. They were here. So the settlement went to work. Sofia, wide with her own pregnancy, planned the whole thing in a day. By evening the town square glowed with lights. Vines climbed the wooden arches. Fresh flowers lined a petal-strewn aisle. Fifty settlers filled the benches. Sofia stood at the front, one hand on her swollen belly, cradling the newborn girl. Marcus held the boy against his chest like a man afraid to breathe. "Never thought I'd wear a clean shirt again," Marcus said, grinning down at the baby. "Don't tell anyone I cried." Jake stood at the altar in a pressed shirt that felt strange on his shoulders. Marisol walked the aisle in white, her dark hair loose. She still wore her nose ring. Jake grinned when he saw it. The doctor spoke the words. Jake said yes. Marisol said yes. The whole square cheered. They danced first. Someone played guitar. Jake held Marisol close and turned her under the lights while the babies fussed in Sofia's and Marcus's arms. Then the town joined in. There was fish and bread and jars of something Marcus swore was wine. People laughed who had not laughed in months. Later Jake stood at the edge of the square, a baby in each arm, watching his people dance. Marisol leaned against him. "We did it," she said. Jake looked down at the two small faces and felt the weight change. Before tonight he had defended a place. Now he held its future. Two children who could not run, could not fight, could not hide. Every fence, every net, every drop of his strange blood had a name now. "We keep them safe," Jake said. "Whatever it takes." The music played on. But Jake was already counting mouths, walls, and days of food.