Triptych by J.M. Frey Page A

beacon of integration . Of accepting new ways. That’s gotta go, too.”
    Gwen frowned, looked back up. Her cheeks were dry, and Basil’s words on her stubbornness flooded back to Evvie. Gwen still refused to mourn for Kalp.
    “They picked Kalp because of us. Because we were  — ”
    “ —  exactly . So it was all — ”
    “ — and they would have to target people we knew, people they thought were the worst offenders — ”
    “ — like us, like Kalp — ”
    “ — set him up and put him in a position to be murdered, without the onus being theirs, the bastards  — ”
    Gwen and Basil stared, gap-mouthed, at each other for a moment.
    Basil reached down, fingers shaking, and wound them around Gwen’s hand tightly.
    Gwen sniffed, her chin shaking. “I never cried for him,” she said, eyes shining. “I hated him and I never, I never cried …he died reaching out for me and I couldn’t…touch him.”
    Basil pulled her flush against his chest, buried his nose in the thready curls below her ear.
    Gwen wept, and all Evvie could think was finally, finally, finally.
    ***
    They returned to the house, Basil buzzing with caffeine and new purpose. Gwen retreated to the master bedroom to have some time alone, her eyes red and puffy, her face blotched, exhaustion and weariness and grief pulling at her shoulders. Evvie felt, strangely, both hollow and filled. Too filled.
    Mark left Gwen the room and went to go start the dawn milking.
    Eventually Gwennie woke and fussed for breakfast, disturbing Gwen through the baby monitor. She stumbled out into the hall, bleary and looking no more rested than she had when she’d gone to lay down. Mark was still in the barn, so that left Evvie to juggle Gwennie and her bottle. Gwen was willing enough to help, and held her squirming self at the kitchen table, watching the red face, the chubby fingers, the bandage on her head.
    Basil came up the stairs sometime after Gwennie settled. He had a piece of metal, roughly a box, cradled in his arms, three empty mugs clutched awkwardly in one hand and his strange flat, unbelievably small computer in the other one.
    “Cheers,” he said, when Evvie swooped in and took the mugs.
    “Basil,” Gwen said, looking up from where she was holding the bottle to her younger self’s lips. “It has a big red button. ”
    “Yeah, I know, ” he said with the excited grin of a child with the best shiny new bike ever. He was practically vibrating with geeky (endearing) excitement. “Cool, innit?”
    Now, if only Evvie could get him to wear tight jeans and ask for a second helping of apple pie. Evvie had no pie to offer, so instead she said, “Shower? Breakfast before you go?”
    Gwen nodded, looking down at herself, sniffing surreptitiously. Then she said, “Ehg. Yes. Shower.”
    Basil wrinkled his nose. “Oh, yes please.”
    Evvie gestured at the stairs, then held out her arms for Gwennie. “I assume you know where the towels are?”
    Gwen flashed Gareth’s twinkling smile at her mother. It was real and it was a relief, and to Evvie it felt like it melted a burden (guilt) away. Gwennie changed hands with nothing more than a perturbed blink.
    “I’ll leave fresh clothes out on my bed,” Evvie said after them as they walked up the stairs wearily, and tried very hard not to think about the fact that she could distinctly hear both sets of footfalls walk into the washroom together.
    Evvie busied herself with dishes and laundry and Gwennie.
    When they came back downstairs, Gwen was wearing the dark jeans and the bright teal sweater Evvie had laid out for her. She was shifting her shoulders around, grimacing. “Shoulder pads?” she asked, gesturing at them. “They’re hideous.”
    “Lady Di wears shoulder pads,” Evvie said, reaching out and adjusting them to sit properly.
    Basil made an unflattering sound in the back of this throat. He was wearing his uniform pants, as none of Mark’s were big enough. A clean,