But instead, to his surprise, his father flicked his hand, urging Tristan closer.
“Come and sit with me,” his father said. And so he did.
When he crouched down beside him, he noticed that his father's hands were shaking. Then he spotted one of the decanters that usually sat on a cart in the drawing room. Tonight, it sat next to his father.
Tristan’s heart froze when he saw something else next to his father. One of the dueling pistols that was kept in an enameled case in Papa’s study. He'd shown them to Tristan once, told him that he would inherit them one day, but that he hoped he never have cause to use them.
So what was it doing here with Papa? Was he afraid of someone or of something? He thought maybe Papa saw a ghost and it frightened him. Maybe Mama appeared to his father, even though she had not appeared to Tristan. But he knew his mother wouldn't be a frightening specter. She was never frightening, only loving, only kind.
“Can I help you, Papa?”
His father shook his head and let out a long, weary sigh.
“My son, I want you to listen, and listen well.”
His father’s words were slurred, but Tristan could understand.
“Someday, you will choose a wife and you must choose wisely. Somehow who is respectable and can manage a household well.” His father reached for the decanter and drank deeply of the amber liquid inside. “Don't give your heart away, my boy. It's a dangerous business to give your heart away.” Papa’s voice broke and Tristan thought he’d said all he meant to, but then he went on. “Because when you love someone dearly, and you lose them, you…lose yourself too.”
Tristan didn’t know what to say or what his father might expect him to reply. He wondered if perhaps he should remain silent. But finally, he whispered, “I love you and Emma, Papa.”
His father let out noise that sounded like he was pained and pressed a hand to his chest. “And I love you and your sister, my boy, but it is a different sort of love I speak of. In a dozen years, you will understand.”
Tristan didn’t quite understand, but he nodded, nonetheless.
“There's the sort of love,” his father said on a ragged whisper, “that makes a man feel as if he’s drowning. It consumes him and yet it also fills him up too. It is like climbing to the highest peak, but climbing so high is a terrible risk…” His father turned to look at him, and his eyes were glassy and filled with tears. “Because you can fall. It can all come crashing down. I would not have you feel that sort of pain.” His father swiped a hand across his face and leaned a little closer.
“Do you understand?” he asked.
Tristan wasn’t sure if he did, but he nodded.
“It is agony. I do not know if I can…” His father shook his head. “It frightens me how much I miss her.”
This Tristan did understand. “I miss her too, Papa.”
“I know you do, my boy. And that is understandable. She was an excellent mother.” Under his breath, no more than a murmur, he added, “I know I must find you another.”
He tried to smile at Tristan, but it wasn’t a smile. More of a grimace, as if he was in terrible pain. Tristan wondered again how he could help him.
“Part of me has fallen away,” he muttered. “I'm not whole anymore and won't ever be again.” He reached out and ruffled Tristan’s hair. “You should go back to your room, my son. I do not wish you to see…”
Tristan got to his feet, wishing to follow his father’s instruction. He didn't completely understand all that his father had said, but he knew Papa was in enormous pain. It felt as if it was vibrating off of him, filling the room.
He missed his mama every day, but it was clear that papa felt it even more deeply.
“You’ll understand what I’m saying one day, and I hope you will remember it. Make a good choice, son, but protect yourself so that you might be happy.”
Tristan started to turn away, but then couldn’t resist asking, “Were you not happy, Papa?”
His father licked his lips and a tear slid down his cheek before he quickly swiped it away. “I was. Oh, I was.” He sniffed, then added, “But if you follow my advice, you can have a measure of happiness, yet have it without the pain. And without giving up a bit of your soul to it.”
“Yes, Papa.”
“Promise me,” his father rasped out. “There’s much you must do, but you cannot do any of it if you are broken.”
“I understand.” He wasn’t sure if he did, not entirely, but his father was so sad that he would have promised him anything.
Suddenly, his father reached out his arms, and Tristan rushed into his embrace.
