Rewritten: 3.18.17

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Come Saturday, I couldn't even get out of bed to let Olivia in.

Everything was dirty clothes and piled dishes and words on pages floating past me hour after hour. There were the footsteps of my boys and the rumbling of cars outside. Then there was the roiling dread spiraling in my stomach, weighing me down like a heavy stone.

Two days, two entire days it had been and I had still received no news. The only other call I got was from another Cuban police officer, assuring me that the US embassy had been notified of the "accident" and they were doing everything they could to find my husband. The story might be on the news, soon, he warned me. He didn't know about the American press, but he figured pirates, no matter where they were, would make for a good TV story.

Luckily, no names had been released. If they had, I might have had the added challenge of a lawn crawling with reporters to deal with.

As it was, there was no one on our lawn. I didn't call anyone to watch the boys, didn't go grocery shopping, didn't even shower. I could not talk.

In all honesty, I had never been more disappointed in myself. I had always thought that in a situation like this one, I would step up to the plate and tackle my demons. I thought I would be calling people and doing things -- whatever people you called and things you did when your husband got kidnapped by pirates.

Pirates. Agh. No.

I hated that word. The people who stole my husband were not the glamorous thieves that came to mind when one thought of the word "pirate". They were not dashing young men with exotic accents and excessively polite mannerisms. No, these were scoundrels. Cowards. But technically, pirates.

I could hear Peter's footsteps in the hall as he galloped about, proclaiming his excitement. He was all dressed up (which I only knew because he had come in about an hour ago to ask for ice cream) in his pirate gear: an eyepatch, a bandana, his cowboy boots, and a tank top. He looked ridiculous. I could only hope Olivia would have the sense to find him something else to wear.

Of course, I could have done it myself, but just thinking about going to his room sapped all my energy away. Oh, well. If my five year old son wanted to embarrass himself in public, who was I to stop him?

There was a knock at the door. Then another. Then another.

"Aunty Olive!" came Peter's shrill voice. "Aunty Olive! Yay!"

I heard a faint mumble from the other side of the door, no doubt Olivia telling Peter to unlock it.

"I can't," he replied matter of factly. " 'Cause I'm only this years old--" surely holding up five fingers that Olivia couldn't see "--And my mommy says I don' need to open doors cause I don' think I can reach so high--"

Another mumble cut off my son's rambling. I heard the familiar click of my lock opening followed by the clomp of Olivia's boots on our welcome mat. She just picked the lock, didn't she? My little sister just broke into my house.

"Yay! Aunty Olive!" Peter shouted again. His voice grated on my ears with its high pitch and childish cadence. He said something else, but it was muffled, probably by Olivia's shoulder as she embraced him. Aiden's footsteps pounded down the hall a moment later, setting off another volley of greetings and hugs.

And there I was, shivering and alone in my bed, listening to all of this with hot tears stinging in my eyes. I rolled onto my side, wiping my eyes on the sheets. How could they all be so happy in there while Corey was off being tortured by pirates?

They hadn't sent a ransom note yet. No one knew what they wanted.

"We're going to be pirates!" Peter cried out. My heart burned with the cruel irony of it all.

Then I heard Olivia's voice, clearly heading toward me: "Yeah, yeah. Just let me say hi to your mom first, then we'll be off."

I burrowed further into my blanket cave, wishing I could disappear. The last thing I wanted to do right now was talking to Olivia. How dare she break into my house and take my kids, then expect me to talk to her?

When she appeared in my doorway, I looked away. Seeing her just made me feel even more atrociously pitiful than I already did.

She had her long, honey-blond hair loose with a bandanna wrapped around it like a headband. Her skin glowed a light, healthy brown, dyed by the sun. She wore a white tank top and black denim cutoff that showed off her toned, muscled legs. I could see the outline of her abs through her shirt. Strength seemed to radiate from her when she walked, her entire body a warning sign.

And me? I was sickly pale with a bed head and a pillow over my face.

"Hey, sis." Even her voice sounded strong, its chords healthy and robust. I pulled the pillow closer to my face. She walked over to my nightstand, dropping something next to my lamp. Knowing her, it was probably a bottle of lamb's blood or a brush made from the hair of a virgin. "What's up?"

What's up?

I looked up from my pillow, giving her a bleary-eyed stare. "Corey's ship was attacked by pirates, that's what's up. Why didn't you pick up your phone?"

Ignoring my question, she squinted at me and asked, "Was that a joke? I can never tell with you."

"I wish it was."

She gave a slow nod. "Well, what ship was he on?"

Now it was my turn to squint at her. "Why does it make a difference to you? And aren't you going to ask if he's okay?"

"Well, I assumed you would have told me if you knew that," she snapped. "And I don't know, okay? I'm just curious. What ship?"

"The Carolina." I searched her face, feeling like I was missing something. My panic-addled brain took in her outfit, took in the situation, took in Peter's ramblings over the past days and thought, what if . . .?

But no, of course not. My little sister could not be a pirate. That was ridiculous and I knew it.

Before I could say anything, though, Peter came bursting through the door. He grinned wide, showing the tooth he was missing in the back. "Arrr!" he growled, knees bent like a sumo wrestler. Then he straightened up and launched himself into his Aunt's open arms. She lifted him onto her hip like he weighed nothing. "Can we go treasure hunting now?" he asked.

"Sure thing."

"Yay! Can we get ice cream, too?"

"I don't see why not."

And just like that, my boys were off pirating.