He took it out and poured himself a splash. Found himself wandering down the hallway to the stairs, then into the family room where Winnie had chosen the couch. He walked past it, looked into her room. It smelled clean and fresh, with maybe a hint of Ivory soap.
He went back and sat on the red velvet sofa. It was very comfortable. Another sip of Brennevin, its sharp, spicy flavor familiar and pleasing. He would not be depressed. He was a successful man, relaxing in his beautiful home. He had everything.
He picked up the remote control and turned on the TV. A football game was on. He sat for a minute or two, calculating the brain damage each player was sustaining through each helmet-to-helmet crash. Humans were so fragile. Stupid, too, to risk brain function for a sport that might support them for a few years. Nevertheless, he admired a particularly clever block and the long pass the quarterback then threw.
Well. Not really his thing. A movie? Again, not really him. A documentary, then. Or nothing. There was a new reference manual on robotic and computer-assisted surgery. Or he could reread The Emperor of All Maladies for fun.
There was a joke in that last line. He wished someone were here to say it.
The house ticked and hummed around him, and he found himself listening for footsteps or a voice.
He did not appreciate feeling lonely in his own house.
And suddenly, there was noise upstairs. Sibling noise. “Lorenzo? You home, brother?”
He went up to find Dante and their sisters in his kitchen, pizza boxes stacked on the island. Dante was stashing beer in the fridge. No spouses, no kids. “Hi there!” Sofia said, giving him a hug. “We thought we’d bring you some unhealthy food, since you missed Thanksgiving.”
Isabella hugged him too. “Sorry you had to work last weekend, pal,” she said. “We missed you.”
“Beer?” Dante asked, holding up a can.
“No, thanks,” Lorenzo said, indicating his own glass. Then he set that down and said, “Actually, sure. Thanks. How was Thanksgiving?”
The three exchanged amused looks. “You know how it is,” Izzy said. “Mom in a state of near panic, Dad getting in the way, Aunt Barb telling Mom her stuffing needs salt, Uncle Lou asleep in front of the game before we even sat down.”
“William had a tantrum because I wouldn’t let him have a bite of the sponge,” Sofia added. “Cried so hard he threw up on Lark, who then also threw up.”
“But in a trash can, and beautifully,” Dante said.
Before Lorenzo knew it, Sofia had gotten out plates, Izzy had grabbed glasses and a bottle of pinot noir, and Dante was patting the chair next to him.
It occurred to Lorenzo that he and his siblings had not eaten a meal, just the four of them, ever.
“This is the first time we’ve done this,” he said, then regretted the comment.
“I think it is,” Dante said. “At least, as adults. When we were little and you were home, Lorenzo, Mom and Dad would go out for a movie once in a while.”
A memory stirred. Yes. That was true. He’d been put in charge occasionally. And because the other three were eating already, he took a bite of greasy pizza. God, it was good, and so, so bad for them.
“Remember the time Izzy cut her hand?” Dante continued. “She broke a glass and sliced herself pretty good.”
Lorenzo did remember. He’d been fourteen at the time, unable to drive his sister to the ER. He’d wanted to stitch her up, but of course, his parents didn’t have a suture kit, so he’d improvised Steri-Strips with gauze and painter’s tape. By the time their parents had gotten home (it hadn’t been a 911 type of emergency, he had decided), the bleeding had stopped.
“Oh, my God, I cried so hard,” Sofia said. “A lot harder than you, Izzy.”
“Yeah. Then you fainted and stole my thunder,” Izzy said. “And you, Dante, couldn’t stop laughing at Sofia. But at least I had a proper big brother to take care of me,” Izzy said. “I was probably your first patient, Lorenzo.”
“Pretty sure I was his first patient,” Dante said. “I was, I don’t know, three? Scraped my chin, and for some reason, I went to Lorenzo instead of Mom or Dad, and you put a Band-Aid on me.” He paused. “It’s one of my first memories, actually.”
Lorenzo remembered that one, too. His brother’s big brown eyes so trusting as Lorenzo held the wet face cloth against his chin. Dante had clutched Lorenzo’s shirt in one fist, the tears sliding silently down his cute little face. And then, when the scrape was bandaged, Lorenzo had kissed his little brother’s forehead and told him he was brave.
He hadn’t thought about that in decades. There was an abrupt stinging behind his eyes.
“I used to go into your bedroom and watch you sleep, Lorenzo,” Sofia said, her voice gentle. “It felt like Christmas whenever you were there.”
“I think I learned to count by asking Mom how many days till you’d be home,” Izzy said, covering Lorenzo’s hand with hers.
“And I cried every time you went back,” Dante said. “Stood at the window and bawled till I couldn’t see the car anymore. So I guess what we’re all saying, brother, is that we missed you, too. We knew you were smarter than the rest of us combined?—”
