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“Come eat breakfast with me.” It wasn’t a request; it was a
command. Thom waited for Charles to ease out of bed and walked
to the dining room with him.
They’d barely begun eating when their father leaned away
from his untouched food and clicked his heavy gold pocket
watch open and shut in a beatless tick that made Thom want to
scream.
Finally their father snapped the watch shut and put it away. He
didn’t look at either of his sons as he said, “You’re going away for the
summer. To Maine, to take the ocean air for Charles’s health.
Agnes will pack your things.”
Thom stuttered in disbelief, “Why? Since when?”
Their father stood, straightening his tie with a slight tremble
in his fingers that Thom hadn’t noticed before. “It’s already
decided.”
He left the room without another word. Charles shrugged
impassively at Thom. “Could be fun, right? Gotta smell better
than the city in the summer.”
Without answering, Thom hurried after their father, catching
him at the elevator. “Dad?”
Edward Wolcott didn’t turn around. The ramrod-straight
lines of his shoulders and back were sloped today. Everything was
off, everything was wrong.
“Why are we going to Maine? And who was that woman here
last night?”
When Thom’s f
ather turned to face him, his steel-gray eyes
looked haunted. “Your brother is dying,” he whispered.
Though Thom knew it was true — had known for months
now — hearing it spoken like an inevitability shook him to
