Fractured: Shadows Landing (The Townsends #6)

Prologue

Rowan Townsend was the quiet Townsend, which was saying a lot considering there were nine Townsend siblings in total. He was also the one who caused his mother the most trouble at night. He didn’t mean to. He just couldn’t fall asleep at bedtime.

“Are you excited for your seventh birthday tomorrow?” his mother asked from where she sat by the roaring fire in their Upstate New York house.

Rowan stepped from where he was hiding behind the couch. Everyone else was asleep except for his mother, who was sitting by the fire sewing and mending clothes for all the Townsends.

“How did you know I was there?” Rowan asked, sitting on the floor beside her sewing basket. The fire was warm at his back as he watched his mother’s nimble fingers work the needle.

“I’ll tell you a secret. Mothers always know where their children are. Now, why aren’t you in bed . . . again?”

“I’m not tired. Again.”

His mother smiled and pushed the basket full of clothes towards him. “Then make yourself useful. Find the pants you ripped the knees out of last week when you and Forrest decided to ride your bikes down that steep hill covered in ice.”

Rowan absently rubbed the scabs that now covered his knees. “What do you want me to do with them?” he asked, grabbing his torn pants.

“Look in that basket for scraps of fabric that match your jeans. Then flip your jeans inside out and sew the patch on,” his mother told him as she never took her eyes off her sewing.

“But I don’t know how to sew. And isn’t that a girl’s job?”

His mother’s eyes snapped to his and he didn’t know why his question was wrong, but her look told him it was. “There are no girl jobs and boy jobs.”

“Boys can have babies?” Rowan asked, his mouth dropping wide in surprise.

His mother rolled her eyes. “Having babies isn’t a job.

Girls can work on motorcycles just like boys can sew.

Now, did you find a scrap of jeans that will work for a patch?

” Rowan went digging and held up a little piece of denim fabric.

“Good, Ro. Now this is how you thread a needle. And you’ll need a thicker needle because jeans are thicker than this fabric.

See?” His mother held out the dress she was working on and he touched the fabric and nodded in understanding. “Now, this is how you sew.”

Rowan’s tongue stuck out slightly in concentration as he tried to do what his mother taught him. It took an hour to sew the one patch on. His stitches looked nothing like his mother’s. But when she turned the jeans back around, he saw that the patch worked. He’d done that all himself.

“Good job, but now it’s time for bed. You can patch the other knee tomorrow night.” His mother leaned forward and kissed the top of his head and ruffled his dirty blond hair.

The next night, he patched the knee in fifty minutes.

The following week, he patched both ripped knees in Forrest’s pants in one night.

Over the next year, he got better and better at patching until one night his mother handed him a paper cutout of a pair of pants.

“These are going to be a pair of pants for you to wear at school. Cut them out and I’ll teach you how to use the sewing machine. ”

By the time he was sixteen, he could sew by hand, by machine, patch rips, reattach buttons, hem anything, and even embroider a monogram by hand.

He’d even made two of Penelope’s ballet costumes for her recitals.

However competent he became, sewing was a skill but not a passion for him.

He didn’t want to go into fashion or design. He didn’t know what he wanted to do.

“Ro,” Damon, his oldest brother said, pulling him from the monogram he was embroidering on Penelope’s new backpack. “I know the other week you and Forrest told me that you’d been so busy going to all of our stuff that you two never had your own things.”

Rowan nodded. First, they’d been dragged along to Stone’s hockey practices and games.

Then to Olivia’s debates and academic team matches.

The list went on with each sibling. They skipped over the twins, Forrest and Rowan, and went straight to the ballet recitals for Penelope, the youngest Townsend.

Last week, the twins had pointed this out to Damon, who had promptly found the perfect outdoor survival camp for Forrest. Yet, Rowan, the quiet one, was once again forgotten.

“I didn’t forget you, Ro,” Damon said as if reading his mind. Damon stepped forward and tossed several brochures on his bed.

“What’s this?” Rowan asked, deep into his monogram, so he didn’t want to stop and pick it up.

“Ideas for your thing for your college applications.” Damon picked up the first one and showed it to him. “They need clothes for the NICU babies. Standard onesies are too big. Then, while you’re at the hospital, you can take their Junior Responder’s First Aid class.”

Rowan looked at him and frowned in confusion. “You think I should be a first responder? Like a cop? I’d make a horrible cop.”

“No, like an EMT,” Damon told him. “You’re always cool under pressure.

Remember when Pen fell from the rope swing and broke her finger?

Everyone was freaking out, but you made a splint for it and calmed her right down before I could even pull the car around to take her to the doctor.

This program actually teaches you how to save people’s lives. ”

“Sewing and CPR. Great.” Rowan sighed when he saw Damon’s face fall. He was being a jerk while his big brother was just trying to help him. “This is actually a good idea. Thanks, Damon. When do the classes start?”

“This weekend. And this brochure tells you about what the NICU needs.”

“Okay. I can probably whip out several outfits before this weekend.”

Damon frowned again. “Don’t you have an AP Chemistry test?”

Rowan shrugged. “That’ll take me like ten minutes to study for. Chem is easy.”

Damon chuckled. “For you, maybe.”

Science had always been easy for him. Everything except English was easy for him. It’s why he had so much time at night to sew with his mom even through high school.

“Hey, you’re a night owl like Wilder and me. We like to work out at midnight. Want to join?”

Rowan had heard them working out, but he’d never been invited before.

Working out wasn’t his thing. But Wilder was a senior and would be leaving for college as soon as he graduated.

It might be nice to spend some time with them.

And, let’s be honest, girls liked muscles.

“Yeah, sure. Mom goes to bed at ten now, so I’ll study some after we sew together and then come work out with you two.

I don’t go to bed until one anyway.” Okay, sometimes closer to two.

He might go to bed at one, but then he’d read for another hour.

Rowan didn’t need much sleep to thrive. Five hours was plenty.

“Great. See you tonight.”

Rowan carried a bag full of six tiny outfits. His arms were sore. His abs were sore. His legs were sore. His butt was really sore. It hurt to sit down. But he’d loved the midnight workouts this past week.

Rowan followed the signs to the NICU. The hospital was alive with people walking around. It felt exciting as he approached the quieter part of the hospital where the NICU was.

He had to push a button on the intercom to even get inside. “Can I help you?” a nurse asked through the speaker.

“Hi. I’m Rowan Townsend. I made some clothes for the babies.”

“Slip on the booties and then wash your hands up to your elbows at the sink to your left. Sing Happy Birthday twice while you scrub. Then rinse. Approach the door across from the sink and I’ll let you in.”

Okay. That seemed awfully complicated to just drop something off.

Rowan set the bag down and followed the instructions.

The door was opened remotely and Rowan walked into the NICU.

Unlike the rest of the hospital, it was quiet in there besides the sounds of machines.

Rows of incubators were lined up with two nurses’ desks at the end of each row so that the babies were constantly monitored.

A mother stood at one of the incubators, her hand sticking through a hole to where her baby, who didn’t even look like any baby he’d ever seen, held on to her finger. His eyes dropped to the cheerful nametag on the incubator. ELLEN 2.2 pounds.

“You have some clothes for the babies?” a nurse asked in a low voice as if they might wake the babies.

Rowan tore his gaze from the rows of babies and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” He handed her the bag and she pulled out the clothes and set them on a desk.

“These are perfect,” she said of the two-piece clothes that allowed room for wires and tubes. “Tell your mom thank you.”

“Oh, no. I made them.”

The nurse turned to really look at him. “How old are you?”

“Sixteen, ma’am.”

“You did better than most of the grannies, so thank you. We use these when we know parents are coming to visit and when we take their first baby photos, since most of the babies won’t get the traditional newborn photos.

Ms. Pirus,” the nurse called out. “Come pick out an outfit for Ellen for her first baby photos!”

The mom, who looked to be in her mid-twenties, slowly pulled her finger from the incubator and joined them.

She looked exhausted and very sore as she walked slowly over, but her eyes lit up as she took in the little outfits.

“Oh my gosh, the one with the little tutu is adorable! Please tell your mother thank you,” she said to Rowan.

“He made them himself,” the nurse told the new mother.

Tears filled her eyes and Rowan didn’t know what to do. “She’ll look really cute. I can make some more tutu ones if you think the other moms would like them.”

“They’d love them,” Ms. Pirus said with a sniffle.

“Do you mind me asking, how is your baby doing?” Rowan didn’t know if that was allowed, and by the way the nurse’s eyes narrowed, he guessed it was the wrong thing to ask.