4338.208 · July 27, 2018 AD
What the Ground Gives Back
The tent collapses for the third time, but when Jamie storms over to confront the others, he finds them huddled around something impossible. The miracle feels more like a warning. Then another vehicle arrives and Joel appears over the rise. Not asking for help. Offering it.
Nothing stays fixed here. Nothing stays still. Everything wants to fall apart.
The tent surrenders to gravity again, and Jamie's patience surrenders with it. But the scene waiting on the other side stops him cold: Karen and Chris crouched in the dust, Glenda watching with scientific wonder, and between them—impossible green shoots pushing through soil that shouldn't sustain anything.
Seeds crack open in seconds. Roots anchor themselves with hungry determination. Leaves unfurl like flags of conquest. Jamie backs away from Karen's "blank canvas" philosophy, from Glenda's enthusiasm about masterpieces. Hope is dangerous. Hope gets you killed.
Then Glenda's BMW arrives—immediately bogged in the dust, because nothing here comes without complications. And Joel appears over the rise, moving with the careful steps of someone still testing his limits. Jamie's heart lurches with protective fear.
"Help," Joel croaks.
But he's not asking. He's offering.
Watching his son insist on carrying something, on contributing, on being more than a patient—Jamie feels something shift. Kate raised a great lad. And maybe, just maybe, there's room for him to learn who that lad is.
