"I take it this is a bad time?"
"It's no worse than any other," Oliver closed the ledger and set it aside.
"That," Theodore said, coming fully into the room, "is a truly dismal answer."
"If you have something to say," Oliver murmured, "you might as well get on with it."
Oliver was not in the best of moods, that was certain. If anything, he had taken to drowning himself in work as to not think about Alethea and her departure.
"I came to see how you were," Theodore replied, unruffled. "And before you protest, yes, I know you will claim you are perfectly well. You always do."
"Because it happens to be true," Oliver said, though his voice lacked conviction.
Theodore studied him, his brows lifted just enough to suggest skepticism.
"You've been…withdrawn, brother," Theodore commented. "It is not normal for you to lock yourself up in your study like this for hours on end."
"I'm occupied," Oliver shrugged, not wanting to elaborate further.
"Brooding is not an occupation," Theodore said evenly.
"It can be," Oliver's mouth curved in the barest suggestion of a smile. "Is there something particular which you wish to speak to me about?"
"Can't a brother say hello?" Theodore challenged, but Oliver knew better that this was not the reason for his visit. He could see his brother's curiosity plastered plainly across his features.
Theodore glanced at the decanter on the sideboard but made no move to pour a drink.
"A brother can say hello anytime he wishes," Oliver conceded, "though knowing you, I know that this is not typical of you. Either you wish to demand something from me, or there is something that you wish to know that only I can tell you."
"I was thinking of them today. Mother and Father," Theodore started. Oliver's throat tightened, but he did not look away. It was odd for his brother to suddenly bring up the subject of their parents. It was a topic that they scarcely ever talked about.
"Were you?" Oliver responded in a hesitant voice.
"Yes." Theodore's gaze shifted to the painting that hung above the wall. It had been commissioned especially for their parents. Mother seated in her garden chair, Father standing beside her with a hand on her shoulder. They had been painted that way the summer before Father died, and the portrait had watched over this room ever since.
"Can you believe that it has been so many years since their passing?" Theodore said, "I sometimes feel as though it was only yesterday that they were here with us."
Oliver drew a sharp breath. He could not agree with his brother. In earnest, it had felt like an entire life time had passed since their parents had passed.
"I do not think I agree," Oliver said, "If anything, it feels as though it's been an eternity."
"For you, yes," Theodore nodded. "I suppose it makes sense for you to feel that way, considering how you were the one who had to step up and fill their shoes."
It was a rare moment of acknowledgement from his younger brother. Usually, he refrained from making any sort of comments. If anything, his siblings took his parental role for granted. Which was not something that he resented, of course. It was just the way that things were.
"I can only hope that they would not have been appalled with the way that I turned out," Oliver admitted.
He had never really talked about it, but losing his parents meant that he had lost their guidance as well. Even though he had been there to take care of his siblings, no one had been there to take care of him.
"I don't think so," Theodore replied, surprising him. "They were too fond of you to ever be appalled. You, in particular, yes."
Oliver exhaled slowly, his hand resting against the edge of the desk.
"I doubt Father would have approved of everything I've done," Oliver admitted. In his mind, he held his Father to a high standard. One that felt impossible to fill, and he had thus spent his entire life trying to reach that level of perfection.
"No," Theodore agreed, "but he never expected perfection. You remember that, don't you?"
Oliver did not answer straightaway. His gaze lingered on their mother's serene face in the painting. She looked so at ease there, immortalized forever now in such a state. He liked to think that she was still in that state of calm now, wherever she might be.
