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A fair distance outside the safety of the van, he can hear the waves crash onto the coarse sand with a hellbent vengeance. Dull rolls of thunder originate in the waters far beyond the bay. Closer to home, the hail relentlessly pelts against the roof, each impact amplified tenfold thanks to the thin metal. The particles sound big. Even knowing this ol’ reliable hunk of junk’s weathered through worse storms, his heart can’t help but race listening to all the racket.
Wrapped up under their shared comforter, Greg clutches his five year old son tight. He’s crying, the poor thing. Started up the moment he heard the first thunder, and he hasn’t let up since. Greg runs his fingers through the back of little Steven’s hair, suddenly wishing he didn’t leave his guitar in the car wash office tonight. Music always helped calm the two of them down.
The next clap of thunder is loud enough that the kid lets out a shrill scream. Squirming his way out of his grasp, Steven slams his freed hands over his ears.
He’s quick to come to the rescue with reassurance and cuddles. “Shh-shh... look at me, buddy,” he gently prompts, scooting on the mattress so he can scoop him into his arms again. “Look at me. You’re okay, I promise. H-hey, remember what we learned about thunderstorms earlier? About how the rain starts falling when the clouds get really heavy?”
Steven hesitantly nods, wiping the snot from his nose. Trying his best to put on a brave face, Greg brushes away the remainder of tears from under his boy’s eyes.
“Well, those clouds can’t stay heavy forever. This storm will pass, soon enough. Everything does.”
He smiles... but it’s the sort of smile that’s tinted by that age-old vice, the scourge of all parents: the realization that ultimately, no matter how desperately you try to act as their shield, it’s impossible to protect your children from everything.
“And until then, you’ll always be safe with me.”