Page 44 of Wintering with George

Toby looked at Kurt. “I was afraid those guys were gonna kill the dogs, but then George came and everything was fine.”

“And you’re not worried it could happen again?”

He shook his head. “Not anymore. George said in the car on our way here that his friend would take care of any more bad guys, and you and Mom said that maybe we would have a bodyguard, but if George’s friend is going to take care of the bad guys, do we need more strangers in our house?”

A valid question.

Thomasin glanced at me. “I don’t know. Do we? I mean, we talked about having help before we stopped to see your friends at the airport.”

True. “You know, I don’t know the answer to that yet. We’ll have to see who’s left over once Isaak is done.”

“Isaak is a cool name,” Toby imparted. “But it doesn’t sound scary.”

I nodded.

“George, have you killed a lot of people?” Dennis wanted to know.

“I have. In combat. Not like I did yesterday.”

“Is it different when you’re being a soldier?”

“It is,” I told him solemnly. “I do what I do to defend my country and people who can’t defend themselves.”

“Do you only save Americans?” Toby asked me.

“No. My team and I just recently saved a Polish reporter.”

“Oh, I know where Poland is.”

“Oh yeah? That’s good. How about China?”

He nodded.

“What about Belarus?”

His brows furrowed. “No. Can you show me on a map?”

“I can. Go check the bookshelves under the stairs,” I directed him. “I think there might be an atlas over there.”

“An atlas is a book of maps, right?”

“That’s right.”

Toby left to find the atlas, and Dennis walked over and took a seat next to me, leaning on my bicep, which was starting to turn into a habit with him.

“I hope your friend takes care of the bad people so we don’t have to have a bodyguard. I wouldn’t want someone to get hurt because of me.”

“I feel the same way, buddy.”

“I don’t want you and Uncle Kurt to go home.”

“How come?”

“Because you take care of all of us, and Uncle Kurt brings his dogs and your cat and makes me midnight snacks we don’t tell Mom about.”

“I’m sorry, what?” Thomasin asked her son.

“Midnight snacks are the best, Mom, and Uncle Kurt makes great s’mores.”