Chapter Fifteen - NOLAN
I feel bad for cutting things short with Mac, but I’m on a mission now. A mission to be a better man. A better father. Maybe even a better everything.
“Halt!” one of the little masked miscreants yells as she jumps out of the jungle, pointing her stick at me. “Who goes there?”
“It’s me,” I say, annoyed. Then, “Ow, shit!” as the other little delinquent pokes me in the ribs. Didn’t even see her. Fucking little villains.
“You’re our prisoner!” the smaller one shouts. “March, prisoner!”
It occurs to me that it might take a little longer than I thought to warm up to them. “It’s me,” I say again. “Nolan Delaney.”
The taller one lifts up her mask and says, “We know who you are, Mr. Romantic.”
Jesus. What the fuck has Five been telling these kids? “Don’t call me that, OK? I’m just Nolan now.”
The taller one—Mathilda, I remember—squints her eyes. “Really?”
“Yeah, really.”
“Prove it,” she demands.
“How the fuck am I supposed to do that?”
The smaller one, Louise, snickers. “He said the f-word.”
Mathilda pokes me again. Harder this time.
“Ow, dammit! Stop fucking poking me.”
“You’re not supposed to swear in front of children, Mr. Romantic.” Mathilda sneers my name. Again.
“Yeah,” Louise adds. “Mommy says it’s inappropriate.”
“Are you inappropriate?” Mathilda asks.
“Sorry,” I say. “Just stop poking me with that stupid stick. I’m a friendly, remember? I need help.”
“What kind of help?” Louise asks. She lifts her mask up now too and points her wide eyes at me.
“We don’t help prisoners,” Mathilda says.
“Unless you pay us.” Louise laughs.
Then they’re both giggling.
“OK,” I say, rolling my eyes. Fucking kids. I take out my wallet and start pulling out bills. How much do kids get paid for shit these days? Five bucks? I hold out two fivers. “Here. One for each of you, how’s that?”
They giggle again. “Not with money,” Mathilda says.
“Yeah,” Louise chirps. “We can’t spend money on the island.”
“Then what do ya want?”
They both look at each other. Sly grins creep up their elfish faces.
“What?” I ask, getting tired of these games real fast. “Just tell me what the hell you want.”
They both poke me this time. Hard. “Jesus Christ, man! Stop that! I’m a friendly!”
Mathilda motions for Louise to follow her over behind some large palm fronds and they have a secret parley about me. There’s lots of whispering and dramatic sighs.
Maybe I should just resign myself to my fate as a totally inappropriate father and go find Ivy. She’s a great mother. Does Bronte really need me? I mean, really? These fucking kids are right. I’m not a role model and these thoughts about wishing for a boy just prove it. Not to mention I don’t even have the good sense not to swear in front of Five’s little wannabe She-Ras. I have this fucked-up reputation and one day Bronte is gonna read about me on the internet. Or worse, her friends will. And they’ll be the ones to tell her who I am. What I am.
I feel sick. Because there’s nothing I can do about that. Ever. I can’t erase history or take back all my mistakes, or nothin’.
I am Mr. Romantic. For better or worse. Forever.
“OK,” Mathilda says. “We might be able to make a deal.”
“I dunno,” I say, resigning myself to my fucked-up future. “This is probably stupid, anyway. Never mind. I’m never gonna turn into Mr. Respectable.”
I turn to walk back to the cabaña, but Louise and Mathilda both grab my wrists and make me stop. I look down at them. I wonder if they know who their father is. Really is. But Five Aston has flown under the radar for decades. He wasn’t accused of rape. He wasn’t given an ironic nickname. He didn’t do anything as far as the rest of the world is concerned. If anything ever leaks out and people find out about this island and his secret family he’s hiding out here, he’ll just be another eccentric billionaire who likes his privacy. And yeah, I read all about his father, Ford. And Rory and Cindy’s father, Spencer. And even though there are a few parallels—they were accused of murder, after all, and they fucking did it—it’s not the same. Being accused of rape is so much worse. Because people survive rape. They have to live with it. They remember.
No one remembers that guy they killed. No one cares because he was part of something sick and disgusting. And if they do remember anything about that whole fuck-up, it’s that Ford, Spencer, and Ronin were trying to save women, not hurt them.
“What?” I ask them.
“We can help you, Nolan,” Mathilda says.
“If I help you,” I finish.
“Yes,” Louise says.
“Well, what’s the price? I might not be able to afford you.”
They laugh at that. “You can,” Mathilda says. “Come with us.”
I follow them through the jungle for so long, I start to get paranoid. If they were a little older I might think this was a set-up. Five Aston has been one surprise after another from start to finish. Why wouldn’t his children be the same way? Maybe they’re gonna tie me up somewhere? Poke me with those sticks a little more? Then laugh in my face as they—
“OK,” Mathilda says, halting her little three-man brigade with one raised hand. “That’s what we want. If you get us that, we’ll turn you into Mr. Respectable. Deal?”
I squint my eyes out at the water and see nothing but… you know, water. “You want the ocean?” I ask.
“Not the ocean, doofus,” Louise quips. “Them!”
I follow her pointing finger to a few small specks on the water. Heads, I realize. Animals swimming. “What the fuck are they?”
I deserve the two sharp pokes to my ribs, but I’m about to protest anyway when Louise says, “Pigs.”
“We want a pig, Romantic,” Mathilda says. “A very specific pig.”
“And you’re gonna get him for us,” Louise says.
I watch from the safety of the jungle as they swim towards the beach. Then one by one they come ashore. The first one is huge. He’s got tusks and everything. I watch silently as a few more spill out of the waves after him, all of them equally as terrifying.
“Fuck that,” I say. “I’m not getting you a wild pig. Your parents would kill me.”
“No, not them,” Louise says. “Watch.”
I do that. And more pigs come out of the water. Smaller ones. Then, finally, one very tiny one.
“We want the baby pig,” Mathilda says. “It’s gonna die if we don’t help it. It’s too little.”
“It’s not growing,” Louise adds, her voice small and sad now. “We need to save it.”
“So if you get us that little pig,” Mathilda says, “we’ll help you.”