“It's your dad,” he finally said, looking away. “He's here. He wants to see you.”
Florian stopped dead in his tracks. August stumbled to a stop a few steps ahead of him and looked back, eyebrows knit together with worry. His whole body had become cold, and it took a long moment before he could move any of his muscles. When he could, he realized he was trembling all over.
“My—my dad?” he repeated incredulously, shaking his head. “You're kidding. He's not—why would he be here? Why would you...?” He trailed off, unable to form the words. The last time he had seen his father, he'd been a small child. In his memory, the sky was grey as well, his uncle looked much the same, and the other man had a shadowy face and a far away voice. And that was all; his father had never visited. So why now? After twenty years, what could the man possibly want from him now?
“I know,” August said, taking a step closer to him. “I know, Florian, I understand, really. But I think you should hear him out. Give him a chance to explain. Family is... Family's important.”
“Family's important? Heabandonedme,” Florian protested. August put a hand on his shoulder in what was meant to be a comforting gesture, but Florian jerked back, pulling away from the touch. “No. No way. I don't want to see him! Why would you think I want to see him?”
“Florian, please,” August repeated, and there was a tenor to his voice that Florian had never heard before, some strange mix of desperation and understanding; immediately Florian was certain that August knew something he didn't. “He wants to see you, to talk to you. He wants to explain everything. Don't you think you deserve that, to know why everything happened the way it did?”
He looked away at that, tears suddenly burning at his eyes. It felt like a low blow, because hedidwant to know—had always wanted to know what could have possessed his father to bring him to Coral Shore to stay with his uncle and never return. August wasn’t even his own brother, but Florian’s maternal uncle. He had never understood why any of it had happened, had given up on ever knowing a long time ago.
“You don't have to do anything except listen,” August said softly, gingerly reaching for him again, and this time Florian didn't pull away. “I promise, Flor. All you have to do is hear him out. And if you don't ever want to hear from him again after that, then that's your choice. But I think you owe it to yourself to give him a chance. Not to him, but to yourself.”
“Fine,” Florian muttered, before he could change his mind. Part of him balked at the thought, but the quiet ache in his heart that had never really gone away—that was born the moment he was old enough to understand what had happened that day—far overpowered any resistance left in him.
August managed a slight smile. “Come on. It'll be alright.” His uncle started again for the shop now in sight on the corner of the opposite street, and after a moment, Florian followed.
