feel
infinitely
better." His sarcasm was overtaking his cheeriness, which made me stare. I watched the glass of wine going to his mouth.
"I thought you just got sober."
"I did."
"Well, could you stay that way a while, please? I'm not used to talking to my brother when he's smashed."
"I wasn't smashed, Evan. I was ... loosening the tight joints. Don't worry. If I start slurring, I'll go lie down. Guess we're both seeing each other in ways we're not accustomed to." He tore his eyes from the sea finally, moseyed over to the couch, and plopped down on it. "I'm not accustomed to thinking of you as being reckless."
"Reckless?" I realized grimly he must have heard me talking to Mn Shields about visiting Mr. Church. "I wouldn't call a little ride in an outboard across the bay reckless, Emmett. I was doing it in third grade. As for seeing Mr. Church..." I didn't know quite what I wanted to say about that. "Can we just leave it at you have your peace and I'll have mine? I don't mind your beliefs. I think you could extend to me the same—"
"Courtesy?" he broke in. "I always try to be courteous. I don't think courtesy is the issue at all. I don't think it would be discourteous for me to remind you—nicely—that my beliefs are a little more thoroughly investigated than are yours."
There wasn't a whole lot I could say to that, because "You're wrong" would have been somehow wrong, though it felt right. I bit my tongue.
"Besides, I wasn't ... at this moment ... addressing any belief system of yours that would propel you to the feet of a man like Church. I was talking about this Grey Shailey person. Is this the girl you were telling me about on Tuesday night? She's in Saint Elizabeth's?"
I nodded.
"She's in Saint Elizabeth's, and obviously she's got some kind of weekend pass or a release coming her way, and you are sending her to a man like Edwin Church."
I rolled over onto my elbows, bouncing my fingers off the carpet, thinking about this. The way he put it, yeah, it sounded reckless.
"No, wait..." I stumbled. "I'm just an innocent bystander in all of this. I have never told anybody I went to see him. She put it together called me up to Saint Elizabeth's, begged me to put her in contact with him. I'm just being
... diplomatic.
" It was a word I knew he liked.
"Well maybe we should be
courteous
to all but save
diplomacy
for those who are well. You were not a well person yourself when you, obviously, came down here last year and didn't feel the need to tell me."
I figured we were into it now, and I should just stand my ground. "Yeah? I was perfectly well when I came back."
He looked at me, almost with a flash of interest. Emmett didn't like things he couldn't explain, and usually he would have been a little more smug, I think. But he was drinking, and the look lingered on me long enough for me to feel maybe he was in some weird, vulnerable spot—away from his desk, his books, his dissertation, his cronies in the philosophy department. All he had was picture windows, wine, and me.
"I think ... I need to hear this." He lay down and stared up at the ceiling, probably so I couldn't read his eyes. He knows how I can read eyes and it spooks him sometimes. I couldn't see his eyes, but I sensed this was more of a curiosity question than something he planned to argue. It sounded almost resigned more than argumentative. He was searching for something ... in strange territory.
"Place makes you feel strange, doesn't it?" I crawled over to him, got up on my knees, and patted his hair sympathetically. He shut his eyes and turned them away from me, twirling the stem of the glass on his chest. I could feel pain crawling off of him, bad memories. Because he wouldn't let me see his eyes, that was all I could read, but I gathered that his pain was like mine had been. He wanted to know what had become of our parents.
"So ... what did our illustrious Mr. Church do to you, Evan?"
I decided to skip all of what might have amounted to gory
infinitely
better." His sarcasm was overtaking his cheeriness, which made me stare. I watched the glass of wine going to his mouth.
"I thought you just got sober."
"I did."
"Well, could you stay that way a while, please? I'm not used to talking to my brother when he's smashed."
"I wasn't smashed, Evan. I was ... loosening the tight joints. Don't worry. If I start slurring, I'll go lie down. Guess we're both seeing each other in ways we're not accustomed to." He tore his eyes from the sea finally, moseyed over to the couch, and plopped down on it. "I'm not accustomed to thinking of you as being reckless."
"Reckless?" I realized grimly he must have heard me talking to Mn Shields about visiting Mr. Church. "I wouldn't call a little ride in an outboard across the bay reckless, Emmett. I was doing it in third grade. As for seeing Mr. Church..." I didn't know quite what I wanted to say about that. "Can we just leave it at you have your peace and I'll have mine? I don't mind your beliefs. I think you could extend to me the same—"
"Courtesy?" he broke in. "I always try to be courteous. I don't think courtesy is the issue at all. I don't think it would be discourteous for me to remind you—nicely—that my beliefs are a little more thoroughly investigated than are yours."
There wasn't a whole lot I could say to that, because "You're wrong" would have been somehow wrong, though it felt right. I bit my tongue.
"Besides, I wasn't ... at this moment ... addressing any belief system of yours that would propel you to the feet of a man like Church. I was talking about this Grey Shailey person. Is this the girl you were telling me about on Tuesday night? She's in Saint Elizabeth's?"
I nodded.
"She's in Saint Elizabeth's, and obviously she's got some kind of weekend pass or a release coming her way, and you are sending her to a man like Edwin Church."
I rolled over onto my elbows, bouncing my fingers off the carpet, thinking about this. The way he put it, yeah, it sounded reckless.
"No, wait..." I stumbled. "I'm just an innocent bystander in all of this. I have never told anybody I went to see him. She put it together called me up to Saint Elizabeth's, begged me to put her in contact with him. I'm just being
... diplomatic.
" It was a word I knew he liked.
"Well maybe we should be
courteous
to all but save
diplomacy
for those who are well. You were not a well person yourself when you, obviously, came down here last year and didn't feel the need to tell me."
I figured we were into it now, and I should just stand my ground. "Yeah? I was perfectly well when I came back."
He looked at me, almost with a flash of interest. Emmett didn't like things he couldn't explain, and usually he would have been a little more smug, I think. But he was drinking, and the look lingered on me long enough for me to feel maybe he was in some weird, vulnerable spot—away from his desk, his books, his dissertation, his cronies in the philosophy department. All he had was picture windows, wine, and me.
"I think ... I need to hear this." He lay down and stared up at the ceiling, probably so I couldn't read his eyes. He knows how I can read eyes and it spooks him sometimes. I couldn't see his eyes, but I sensed this was more of a curiosity question than something he planned to argue. It sounded almost resigned more than argumentative. He was searching for something ... in strange territory.
"Place makes you feel strange, doesn't it?" I crawled over to him, got up on my knees, and patted his hair sympathetically. He shut his eyes and turned them away from me, twirling the stem of the glass on his chest. I could feel pain crawling off of him, bad memories. Because he wouldn't let me see his eyes, that was all I could read, but I gathered that his pain was like mine had been. He wanted to know what had become of our parents.
"So ... what did our illustrious Mr. Church do to you, Evan?"
I decided to skip all of what might have amounted to gory
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