“To be fair, a lot happened that night,” Veda says, then smooths down his blushing son’s hair. “Accidents happen, okay? Only Seers can’t brew, so you’ll get it right next time.”
Dinner is pleasant enough between a boy who doesn’t talk and the adults who don’t know what to say, but they figure it out. Afterward, Antaris leads her on a scattered tour of the house: first to Hiram’s makeshift office, then to his closed bedroom door, and lastly to Antaris’s bedroom.
Hiram lingers at the doorway while Antaris proceeds to show her every item he can get his hands on. The gifted lantern. His mother’s photo album. Paintings and a few of his own drawings that didn’t makeit on the fridge. His collection of bow ties. His stuffed bunny that’s losing more stuffing by the day. The tour concludes when Antaris puts on proper shoes for his nightly wandering.
Hiram explains once his son leads the way to the back door, “He wanders before bed.”
“Why?” she asks, interest piqued.
“Looking for what he’s missing, I’ve theorized.”
“Have you ever asked?”
He hasn’t. Every conversation with Antaris is a challenge he’s only beginning to tackle. The kitten meows from the corner of the room, and Hiram retrieves him.
“Aren’t you allergic?”
“I’ve been taking this terrible daily elixir.” He frowns at the cat pawing at his finger. “The things I do for what my son cherishes.”
“Maybe he’s drawn to it because of the similarities.” Veda reaches for the cat, and Hiram lets the wiggling creature go to her. She rubs behind the kitten’s tiny ears. “They’ve both lost the world they once knew.”
Hiram hangs back as she places the kitten in its play area once more, then they both follow Antaris outside.
Tonight’s walk is different. Antaris slips a hand into Veda’s and leads her to each spot, looking first, then inviting her to do the same. He seems to nearly speak up twice when he sees her wince, but Veda’s encouraging nod subdues him. Hiram marvels at how at ease Antaris is with her here, how he always finds his way back to her side. There’s trust, not hesitation. Belief instead of suspicion.
Hiram wants that. He’s been working hard to earn it, patient and trusting that he’ll get there. But tonight, the walk is less distressing because Hiram finds comfort knowing his son trusts someone. When Antaris finishes, they’re all clearly tired.
“I’ll start your bath,” Hiram says to his son. While he’s bathing, Hiram returns to the living room.
Veda is looking around, a curious frown on her face. “Still moving in?”
“Wasn’t planning to stay long.”
An understanding passes between them. “My walls at home are bare, too.”
“Not done running?”
Veda shrugs.
“I think I want to paint,” Hiram says casually.
“Put pictures on the walls. Something as pretentious as you are.”
“How about a fur rug in the great room?”
“That’ll work.” Veda snaps her fingers. “Oh, and an herb garden on the back porch for Antaris. He’ll like that.”
“Fresh herbs for cooking would be nice. Unfortunately, my thumb is black.”
“Your son’s is quite green.” Veda walks on, pushing her uninjured hand into her pocket. “You know what else would be nice? If your office had office-like things. For starters, a second chair.”
“Bookshelves, too. I bought two more, but we’re still running out of space.”
“I saw that, yes.” She nods. “Peter mentioned you read.”
“Voraciously.”
Something heavy rests between them, unspoken. The moment ends with her rolling her eyes and Hiram huffing a laugh.
