A knock at the door made every face in the room turn in that direction.
“Who knocks?” Welton asked.
“No one,” Dolores said. “Helen?”
Every person stood.
Foster First, Abraham, and Buck strode over to the door. Foster opened it, his huge body and coat blocking the entire doorway and the night beyond.
“Aren’t you going to invite me in?”
I knew that voice.
Foster stepped aside, and Robert Twelfth from House Orange walked into the room. Buck gave him one up-and-down look, then shook his head and walked away.
Foster stepped outside, looked at the dark yard, then walked back in and shut the door.
“You knocked?” Abraham asked. “Since when do you think this is a formal affair?”
Robert shrugged. “I didn’t want to startle anyone. It is late.”
“Never too late for a brother to arrive.” Abraham held out his hand, intending to pull him into that half hug they’d done in the abandoned garage, but Robert took his hand instead and shook it.
The last time I’d seen them meet, there had been a lot more smiling, some back patting, and general pleasure in seeing each other.
But now Robert seemed reserved, and maybe even suspicious of Abraham’s greeting.
I wondered if something was wrong.
“It is good to see you, Abraham,” Robert said with a stilted formality. “It is good to see you all.”
A few people waved or called out a hello.
“What took you so long?” Abraham asked.
“There were some House matters that needed my attention,” he said.
Still so formal.
“Food’s cold, but there’s plenty of it,” Dotty said. “Help yourself to it, Rob.”
“And bring me a beer,” Abraham said, slapping Robert on the shoulder.
From where I stood in the kitchen halfway across the room, I saw him scowl, but no one else was paying much attention to him.
He started toward the kitchen and then he saw me.
He stopped, and his body language changed. Robert was just a little taller than me, bald, and sharp featured, with a tight mustache and beard that circled his thin mouth. He wore a pair of rectangular glasses, the lenses of which were orange.
We’d met before. He’d called me sister. But from the way he was looking at me—surprise and a whole lot of what looked like hunger—I wouldn’t have guessed he’d ever put eyes on me.
“Matilda,” he said.
“Hello, Robert.”
“Beer, Rob,” Abraham called out. “Anytime now.”
And there it was again. The anger, the annoyance.
