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A thin spine of wood stabbed through the skin of his palm.
“Yowch!” he yelped, grabbing his own wrist and splaying his fingers out so all witnessing could visibly see his pain. Annoying!
“It’s just a sliver,” Ford scoffed half heartedly, eyes tethered to his book like the anchor on their fix-me-up ship. On any other day his brother would’ve probably heightened the sarcastic tone, that sense of brotherly tough-love.
“Yeah, well it still hurt,” he said. Grimacing, he pinched the skin around the sliver of wood with his thumb and index fingers, picking at the spine until he’d pried it out. With a sigh, he leaned against the mast and slid down its length until he sat at its base, legs crossed in a childish fashion. At this precise moment in time, young Stanley didn’t want to ever move ever again. His bones felt sore. His heart was still trying to come to a rest from its recent escape from the pawn shop. Carefully, he touched at his cheek. It might have only been because of the afternoon sun’s warmth, but he could swear that a blistering heat still lingered in the place where Dad slapped him. Then, he hadn’t so much as let his face twitch in mild displeasure.
Ford hesitantly peered up, meeting his glance. The early signs of tears- crying, not something Stanley saw often from his brother- caught at the edges of his eyes. “‘M sorry,” he said with effort, words strained and soaking with feeling. “For earlier. It’s not fair! You shouldn’t have-“
He shook his head emphatically.
“Naw. It was all my fault, anyways. I was the one who got ya’ horsing ‘round in the shop.”
“But he was only angry at whoever broke it!” he protested. “I broke it, but now he’s just gonna be mad at you again, like he always is.”
“Good,” he said with a gap-toothed smile. “Better it me than you.”
At this his twin pushed aside his book, and came to sit next to him under the shade of the mast post. He hung his head. Stanley watched him begin picking at stray threads at the bottom hem of his jacket as if he were involuntarily sucked into one of those boring, predictable television programs his ma liked to watch in the evenings. The ones that were all talking and boring, not even one of the interesting ones! Even Star Trekkers, that science-y space show Ford was obsessed with, was more interesting than Ma’s programs.
“But...” Ford said shakily, “what if one day he’s mad enough that he hurts you more?”
”Geeze Sixer, what’s gotcha all thinkin’ ‘bout this?”
“Your face is still red,” he said in a quiet voice. “I think it’s bruising.”
Stanley frowned, rubbing at his cheek. It indeed still stung a lot. He wouldn’t be surprised. “Yeah, well... it’ll get better.”
“All we did was knock over a tiny snow globe and he hit you, and if not you, than me. Why would it get better?”
“You just gotta trust me that it will,” he said, trying to paste on a reassuring smile for the both of them. “And hey, no matter what happens, no matter what crazy crap Dad does... at least we’re always gonna be safe here on our ship, okay? Together?”
He shot to his feet, and held out his hand. Ford hesitated only a moment, wiping the wetness from his eyes with his sleeve.
“Always,” he completed earnestly, clasping his hand in his. Stanley helped his twin stand, and together they stared into the horizon’s endless mirage, hidden there like a jewel beneath the tides.
At least alone on the beach they could find a sense of solace.
At least, in the end, he could make good on the promise that they always would have each other.