Journal Entry

The harmony broke today.

Elliott stepped on one of the boys' toys and broke it.

In her defense, we don't leave things on the floor around here. Not after everything that's happened. If we need to move fast, stuff gets left behind.

But I understand why he got upset.

It was one of the last things he brought from home.

I'm going to see if I can fix it.

Dad says every family fights eventually.

I guess we're officially a family now.

The first week with new people had been fun.

The second week started with school.

Nobody was happy about it.

Especially the boys.

"Why do we have to do this?" Harry asked, staring at the workbook in front of him as though it had personally insulted him.

"Because you're ten."

Harry frowned.

"That's not a reason."

"It's the only reason you're getting."

Beside him, Jonas let out a dramatic sigh and dropped his forehead onto the kitchen table.

"This is torture."

Across from him, Elliott nodded immediately.

"Agreed."

James looked up from the notebook he was organizing.

"Traitor."

"You said school was boring." Elliot called out her brother.

"I said algebra was boring." He corrected.

"That's still school."

James pointed a pencil at her.

"I hate when you use logic."

"You taught me logic."

"That sounds made up."

"It literally isn't."

The kitchen erupted into laughter.

School had become the cabin's newest routine.

Every morning after breakfast, the adults disappeared downstairs.

Karen and Anderson barely lasted long enough to finish their coffee before vanishing into the lab.

John usually made it another ten minutes.

Then he disappeared too.

James wasn't even surprised anymore.

Occasionally one of them emerged for food, notebooks, or sleep.

Mostly they stayed underground trying to save the world.

Which left the kids.

Which somehow meant James.

Again.

"Math."

Three simultaneous groans echoed through the cabin.

James ignored them.

"Fractions."

The groans got louder.

From the corner of the room, Maggie lowered her book.

She'd spent most of the morning curled up in an oversized chair by the window.

"You enjoy this way too much."

"I really don't."

"You look happy."

"I look powerful."

That earned a genuine laugh.

Small.

But real.

James counted it as a victory.

Twenty minutes later Jonas knocked on the table.

James looked up.

The boy was raising his hand.

Suspicious already.

"Yes?"

"Can we learn to shoot?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because you still don't know what a denominator is."

Jonas frowned.

"What does that have to do with shooting?" He continued.

"Everything."

"It doesn't."

"It does in this house."

Jonas sank lower in his chair.

Five minutes passed.

Then:

"Dad said he learned when he was nine." Harry started up.

James didn't even look up.

"And?"

"I'm ten."

"Congratulations."

"So I should learn."

"No."

"That's not fair."

"Life's tough."

Across the table, Harry slowly raised his hand.

James pointed at him.

"No."

"I didn't even ask yet."

"I know what you're going to ask."

Harry grinned.

"Can I learn traps?"

"No."

Maggie laughed into her book.

By lunchtime James was exhausted.

The boys had asked about guns fourteen times.

Crossbows six.

Knives three.

Traps enough times that he'd stopped counting.

The younger kids attacked their sandwiches while James collapsed into a chair.

Maggie sat beside him.

"They ask you this much too?"

"Every day."

"How do you survive?"

"I don't know."

"Helpful."

"Thank you."

She rolled her eyes.

James considered that another victory.

The afternoon chores went even worse.

Apparently adding children multiplied the amount of work required to keep the cabin running.

Who knew?

"Jonas, firewood."

A groan.

"Harry, help him."

A louder groan.

"Elliott."

She looked up immediately.

"No."

James blinked.

"I haven't even said anything."

"Whatever it is, no."

From the couch, Maggie laughed.

James pointed at her.

"You're helping too."

Her smile disappeared.

"Excuse me?"

"You live here now."

"That's rude."

"It's also true."

A minute later Maggie was carrying laundry baskets.

She looked deeply offended by the arrangement.

James found it hilarious.

An hour later everyone was working.

Unhappily.

Which meant the operation was a success.

Firewood got stacked.

Laundry got folded.

The dishes got washed.

Mostly.

The boys somehow managed to splash more water onto the floor than into the sink.

James chose not to investigate.

Some mysteries were better left unsolved.

The disaster happened just before dinner.

Which somehow made it worse.

Everyone was tired.

Hungry.

A little cranky.

The perfect conditions for catastrophe.

Elliott came sprinting through the living room carrying one of her dolls.

James opened his mouth.

Too late.

Crunch.

The sound stopped everything.

Elliott froze.

Jonas froze.

Harry froze.

Even Maggie looked up from her book.

At Elliott's feet sat a small toy truck.

Or what was left of it.

The front axle had snapped.

One wheel had broken free.

A crack ran down the middle of the body.

Nobody moved.

Then Jonas exploded.

"You broke it!"

Elliott jumped.

"I didn't mean to!"

"You always run through here!"

"It was on the floor!"

"You broke it!"

His voice cracked.

Not with anger.

With grief.

The room went silent.

Elliott's eyes immediately filled with tears.

"I'm sorry."

Jonas stared at the truck in his hands.

"It was my grandpa's."

That changed everything.

Even Harry stopped talking.

Maggie slowly closed her book.

"He carried that thing everywhere," she said quietly.

Jonas looked away.

Embarrassed.

Like he'd said too much.

James crouched beside him.

"Let me see."

Jonas hesitated.

Then handed over the truck.

James turned it over carefully.

The damage looked bad.

Not impossible.

Hopefully.

"I think I can fix it."

Jonas frowned.

"Really?"

"Maybe."

Not exactly confident.

But it was honest.

The workshop smelled like sawdust, oil, and old projects.

John looked up from the workbench as James entered.

"What happened?"

James set the truck down.

"Family happened."

John smiled immediately.

"Already?"

"Apparently."

He picked up the truck and examined the damage.

His expression shifted from concern to concentration.

After a moment he nodded.

"Yeah."

"You think?"

"We can fix it."

We.

The single word warmed something in James's chest.

He smiled despite himself.

"Good."

The repair took almost an hour.

There was glue involved.

A tiny metal pin.

Sandpaper.

Several tools.

And considerably more swearing than either of them admitted to afterward.

Eventually the truck sat on the workbench again.

Not perfect.

A crack remained visible.

One wheel didn't spin quite right.

But it was a truck again.

That mattered.

The entire cabin seemed to hold its breath when James brought it back upstairs.

Jonas stood immediately.

James held out the truck.

The boy took it carefully.

Like it might disappear.

He turned it over.

Studied every repair.

Every crack.

Every mark.

The room stayed silent.

Finally Jonas nodded.

"Thanks."

James shrugged.

"No problem."

Elliott stepped forward.

"I'm really sorry."

Jonas looked at her.

For a second James wasn't sure what would happen.

Then Jonas sighed.

"Stop running in the house."

Elliott nodded instantly.

"Okay."

"Like actually."

"I said okay."

"Because you always say okay."

"I mean it this time."

Harry started laughing.

Maggie followed.

Then James.

A second later even Jonas smiled.

The tension finally broke.

That night the cabin felt normal again.

Not perfect.

Not peaceful.

Just normal.

Kids argued.

Things broke.

Feelings got hurt.

Then everybody worked through it.

James sat at the kitchen table finishing his journal.

The repaired truck rested beside Jonas on the couch.

Elliott had fallen asleep holding her doll.

Maggie was reading again.

The adults were still downstairs.

Probably forgetting food existed.

Again.

For the first time since the Andersons had arrived, the cabin didn't feel like guests sharing a space.

It felt like family.

Which, James was learning, was kind of cool.

Kind of a pain.

And apparently impossible to get rid of once it moved in.