“Silas?” he said, drawing the door shut behind him as his brother turned to regard him. “What’s happened?”
“Does something need to have happened?” Silas replied with a crook of his dark eyebrow and a twist of his lips. “I was just admiring your collection here on the windowsill. The devil’s toenails. I still have some too.”
“Do you really?” Freddy crossed the room, looking down at the line of fossilized oysters he’d put on the sill, two on each side of the rushwork Brigid’s Cross that sat in the center. “You always seemed so bored on Tommy’s nature walks when we were children.”
“Iwasbored,” Silas replied with a chuckle, touching the edge of the cross. “But I suppose age brings us sentiment. What is this?”
“A talisman,” Freddy replied, blinking. “Ember made it.”
Silas looked surprised, turning to meet his brother’s eyes. “Did she? For you?”
He nodded. “She’s forgiven me. At least one of them has.”
Silas shook his head. “Dot forgave you too,” he reminded him. “Or she accepted your apology, in any event.”
“Not quite the same thing,” Freddy returned with a frown, drawing out a chair from the little table in the corner and falling into it. “But yes, I suppose that’s true. Millie let me live with her for a few months, so perhaps she did too. I’ve never asked outright.”
“You rarely do,” Silas said with a little chuckle. He brushed his fingers over the fossils once more and then turned to the table where Freddy sat. “I brought you something.”
“A gift?” Freddy guessed, knowing it was not a gift.
“In a way.” Silas turned to rifle through his jacket on the coat tree. From it, he withdrew two things: a crumpled envelope that had gone yellow at the edges and a little glass bottle of amber liquid.
“I don’t drink,” Freddy reminded him, casting a wary look at the bottle.
“Apple juice,” Silas returned, tilting it one way and then the other, as though the light filtering through the liquid could attest to its innocent contents. “If that is amenable.”
Freddy nodded, sliding out of the chair and moving to the sideboard to retrieve glasses. “Apple juice, eh?”
“I like sweet things,” Silas said without shame. “Don’t you?”
Freddy rolled his eyes, setting the glasses down and reaching to pour the juice. “What’s the occasion? Or were you just hoping to hide your filthy fruit juice habit from Dot?”
Silas chuckled again, which was more unsettling than he likely realized.
Once upon a time, Silas never laughed.
“I told you once,” Silas started, taking up his drink and holding it in the air, “that we’d toast your becoming a father.”
“After I’d earned it,” Freddy recited with narrowed eyes, remembering that promise all too well. “I recall.”
“Well,” said Silas, nudging the other glass in Freddy’s direction. “You’ve earned it.”
For a brief, thick moment, Freddy did not move. He did not think. He did not breathe.
“I …” He paused, attempting to swallow as his fingers found their way around the glass. “What?”
“To you, Freddy,” Silas said, sliding his own drink forward to click against Freddy’s, which was still on the table. “Congratulations on becoming a father. I think you will be a good one.”
“What?!” Freddy repeated, staring at his brother with more than a little wild confusion dancing at the rims of his eyes.
“Now you drink the juice,” Silas instructed with a patient sort of amusement, demonstrating the act of sipping liquid as a helpful visual aid. “Go on, Papa. You’ve earned it.”
“I … yes,” Freddy said, shaking his head and trying to clear his throat. He looked down at the apple juice, lifted it toward his face, and stared through the liquid at his brother. “Cheers?”
“Cheers,” Silas agreed.
“Right,” said Freddy, and he drank. The mercy of the sweet liquid restored moisture to his throat, and he took another gulp, relief battling with confusion on the surface of his skin.
