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JUDY SITS IN THE CHAIR at the opposite side of the table to face her brother, knees folded up to her chest while she nibbles on her cuticles with anticipation. Across the room, JJ is buttering two very outdated slices of bread covered in blotchy patches of green mould. Pope voices a remark, to which he responds with something about mould being a 'natural organism', slapping the sandwich together and hurrying over to the table.
John B unfolds some sort of crinkled map, decorated with co-ordinates and polka straight lines creating a star-like effect on the centre of the page. His sister's stomach is already churning, squirming in the hardback seat. She doesn't know what any of this means, both logically and emotionally. Is Dad dead? Is Dad alive? Why did he leave the envelope for JB and not her?
She tears her gaze away, blinking away the stars floating around in front of her pupils.
"Oh. X marks the spot." Pope chimes.
"Longitude, latitude..." John B hums, moving his fingertip observantly around the map. "Wait, there's somethin' else in there." Shoving a hand back inside the envelope, he pulls out a chunky black and grey device.
"What's that?" JJ asks.
"It's a tape recorder, dumbass." Kiara mutters.
Judy doesn't look back. Not even when the button on the side is activated, emitting a tiny beep.
'Dear bird—'
"Who's Bird?" JJ pipes up, again.
"It's what my dad called me." John B clarifies.
'I hate to say "I told you so," but I told you so. And you doubted your old man. I suspect at this moment you're filled with guilt and self-loathing over our last fight, but... don't kill yourself just yet, kid. I didn't expect to find the Merchant either.'
A muscle feathers in Jude's jaw, nevertheless she has nothing to say at this moment in time. She's just listening, like the rest of them, intently.
'You were probably right to call me out. Wasn't exactly Father of the Decade. What can I say, kid? I could smell the barn. And hopefully we're listening to this in our brand new sugar-shack down in Costa Rica, livin' off passive investments and pulling on permits.'
Her heart drops. She can't help but feel left out of this vision, and a huge part of her feels selfish for that. So much so that tears prick the corners of her eyes, glassy and mirrored against the soft light of the yellow lantern.
