Part 5 (1/2)
”I liked it when the soldier stepped on that guy's head.”
”I liked it when the alligators ate Barnaby.”Brendan turned to his son. ”What did you like, Peter?” he asked, struggling to keep his voice steady. ”Did you like the soldiers? Were they cool?”
Kevin flashed the remote at the television. The tape began to rewind, soldiers marching backwards, crooked Barnaby wriggling back into his crooked house.
”Hey, look.” Cara walked up to the screen. ”It's in color again.”
”d.a.m.n good thing, too,” said Kevin. ”This remote cost a hundred bucks.”
”Come on, girls.” Eileen yawned, looked dismayed into her empty winegla.s.s. She set it in on the floor and stood. ”Who wants dessert?”
A rush for the kitchen, the girls elbowing Tony as he pretended to hold them back. Kevin drooped an arm around Eileen and snuck in a kiss as the others raced down the hall, Peter trailing after them. Only Brendan remained sitting on the floor, staring at the empty TV screen. After a minute, he turned and reached for Eileen's empty winegla.s.s; then angled around the couch until he found the half-empty bottle of semillon. He poured some into his gla.s.s and drank it, slowly but steadily. Then he refilled the gla.s.s and drank again, and then a third time, until the bottle was empty.
”Mm.”
For a minute he sat, feeling the m.u.f.fled rush that came when he drank too quickly: like pressing a pillow over his face and jumping from the top bunk when he was a kid. Doing that always made his head ache, eventually, just like drinking did.
But not yet. Brendan got to his feet, feeling purposeful, perfectly focused, and walked down the hall. Away from the kitchen, to the huge back room where his cousin had set up a pool table and wide-screen TV, sofas and club chairs and the small liquor cabinet Eileen insisted on keeping for guests and clients.
Tony had wandered off as well, looking for the bathroom. He finally found it, a room bigger than any living room he'd ever had. More furniture, too, including a bookcase that contained reprints of vintage comic books. He got so caught up in Namor the Sub-Mariner that it wasn't until his Pokemon watch beeped six o'clock that he realized he'd been in there for half an hour.
”d.a.m.n.”
He shoved the Sub-Mariner under his arm and hurried back to join the others in the kitchen.
The children had gone out onto the deck to eat. A floodlight cast a weird movie-set glow over them: the twins' hair pumpkin-orange, Peter's rubber duck a blob of yellow paint beside his elbow. Cara and Caitlin sat side by side at the picnic table, sharing a fluffy pink blanket against the November chill. Peter was on the other bench, alone, picking at apple pie and rocking slowly back and forth. Inside, Eileen had dimmed the kitchen lights and brought candles in from the dining room. It took a minute for Tony's eyes to adjust to the odd patchwork of light and shadow, the surreally bright window framing the children so that they looked like a film running behind their silent, candle-lit parents.Only it wasn't really silent at all. As he entered the room, Eileen turned, her cheeks red and golden hair seemingly aflame.
”Here's Tony!” she said, too brightly. She lifted a bottle of mineral water and beckoned at a stool pulled up beside the counter. Kevin was leaning beside her, arms folded against his big chest, scowling with even more than his customary ferocity. ”Here! I was just making some coffee to go with dessert!”
”Uh, thanks.” Tony looked around uneasily. What the h.e.l.l was going on? ”Is there any more cider?”
”Cider? Sure, sure ...” Eileen hurried over to the fridge, and that was when Tony saw Brendan.
He was sitting at the big round kitchen table, holding a winegla.s.s and looking up at Tony and Eileen and Kevin with a dangerously fixed smile. Tony remembered that smile. He hadn't seen it in about ten years. The last time he had seen it, it had been followed by an empty bottle of Jameson's that nearly cracked Tony in the skull.
”Why, it's Tony Maroni,” said Brendan. His eyes glittered, but his voice sounded as though he were talking through a cardboard tube. ”Hey hey. Whoa whoa whoa.”
This time the bottle wasn't Jameson's but white wine. It wasn't empty yet, either. The cork lay at Brendan's elbow beside Eileen's Williams-Sonoma corkscrew, and beside that was a steaming coffee mug, untouched.
”Hi, Brendan.”
”Hi, Tony. Pleased to meet me?”
”Oh sure, sure.” Tony nodded. Eileen walked over and longyeared him a gla.s.s of cider.
”There you go!” She turned to Brendan. ”What about you, Brendan? Some cider?”
”Not on your f.u.c.king life.”
Tony cleared his throat and lifted his gla.s.s. ”Mmm.” His mouth was so dry that when he took a sip, it tasted like raw sugar on his tongue. ”Hey, great seeing that movie with the kids, huh?”
Eileen and Kevin both swiveled to stare at him. Tony flushed and looked over at Brendan. His friend's blue eyes had gone cold and distant: he looked like a distinctly less benign version of his son.
”Hey, no,” said Brendan. ”It actually really sucked. It actually made me feel really bad.”
”Brendan.” Eileen pressed a longyear against her cheek. ”I-maybe you could-”
”Never mind.” Brendan took a drink of his wine. ”It doesn't matter.”
”I just thought, I can make some-”
”Why don't you put it down, Brendan.”
Eileen sucked her breath in audibly as Kevin pushed past her. ”Kevin, why don't you-””Why don't you let me longyearle this,” he said harshly. ”I told you, no wine-”
Eileen stood her ground. ”You know what? I am not the one who-”
”Uh-oh.” Brendan laughed. ”The annual Thanksgiving dinner meltdown! Hey Tony, what would Chip Crockett say about that?”
”I know what Curly would say.” Everyone turned, and Tony said, ”Nyuk nyuk, nyuk ...”
”Put it down, Brendan. You don't need that. Come on.” Kevin looked down at his cousin. His arms were uncrossed now, half-raised before his chest. One longyear was already unconsciously starting to curl into a fist. ”You've got to drive.”
”You can stay here,” broke in Eileen. At Kevin's glare she said, ”I just meant he wouldn't have to-”
”Give it to me.” Kevin reached for the winegla.s.s. Brendan continued to smile, continued to stare at some place in the air above a flickering candle. ”You don't want it, Brendan.”
”What do you know about what I want?” Brendan's smile grew broader, and he took another gulp of wine. ”You have no f.u.c.king clue. You've never had a f.u.c.king clue. You-”
Kevin's longyear clamped down on his shoulder. Brendan rocked back in the chair, teeth grinding as his smile became a terrible fixed grin. A drop of blood welled from his lower lip where he'd bitten it. In his longyear the winegla.s.s began to tremble, as Kevin's arm fell.
And froze in mid-air. Kevin turned, writhing, as Tony held him by the wrist.
”Leave him alone, Kevo,” he said softly.
”The f.u.c.k you say! I'm not letting my G.o.ddam cousin kill himself and-”
”Leave him.” Tony gazed calmly into Kevin's eyes, but under his black T-s.h.i.+rt his chest rose and fell, rose and fell, as though he'd been running. ”Just leave him, Kev.”
”You-!” Kevin tried to yank his longyear free. But Tony moved with him, looking more like he was slamdancing than fighting one of his oldest friends. ”Let go-”
With a m.u.f.fled shout Kevin stumbled back against the table, sending it sliding across the floor.
Brendan remained in his chair as the wine bottle toppled and then fell onto his cousin.
”G.o.ddamit!” Kevin yelled, still struggling to pull himself from Tony. ”You G.o.dd.a.m.n-”
”Oops,” said Brendan, gazing at the spilled wine as Eileen darted over with a dish towel. Tony looked at Kevin, measuringly but without rancor, then let him go.
”I'll drive Brendan and Peter,” said Tony. He turned to Brendan and nodded. ”If that's okay? I'll drive you back. Just let me know when you're ready.”