With Everything I Have by R. Cooper Page B

for the key but Peter stopped him, putting a
hand on his arm then quickly withdrawing it.
    “No, no. It’s good that you have it.” Peter
stepped back with no warning, holding still as Sebastian passed him
to enter his suite of rooms. He dithered for a moment before
closing the door behind Sebastian then followed after him.
    The smell of lemon furniture polish was the
first thing Sebastian always noticed. Peter’s rooms were nearly
wall to wall glossy oak cabinets and brass fixtures for a multitude
of lights. There were telephones on more than one table. For some
that would have been an ostentatious sign of wealth. With Peter it
was a sign of how rarely he left his home, although Peter was in
possession of a considerable fortune. It was the one good thing
Peter’s father had left him.
    Sebastian noticed a computing machine. Peter
must have had it installed recently. Sebastian could not imagine
what he used it for. Avoiding face to face communication by using
the clacking keyboard might suit Peter’s tastes but Peter could be
impatient, and it would have been faster to walk a letter across
town that it was to use something dependent on the city’s telephone
wires. Queen Victoria could have walked a message over faster.
    The rest of the series of rooms were
connected by doorways, each with sliding doors that had never been
closed in Sebastian’s memory. Sebastian ignored the sitting room
and went straight to the bedchamber. He dropped the basket on the
desk in Peter’s bedroom, the one before the curtained balcony that
Peter never used, and shoved aside some heavy tools and a few
grease-stained rags. Then he swept across to Peter’s bed, being
sure to first grab the half-empty bottle of wine in the basket and
take it with him. He pulled out the cork with his teeth, spat it
out, and took one last drink before handing the bottle over to
Peter.
    A fine Burgundy, his favorite and Peter’s
too. Peter hummed his gratitude at him before tearing into the
basket. Peter himself had a scent that was a mix of bay rum and the
same grease on his cheek. He hummed appreciatively again around his
first mouthful of bread.
    “I haven’t eaten, thank you,” Peter mumbled
after a dry swallow and took a quick drink from the bottle.
    “Harold and Maisie were concerned you would
forget to eat. You see I’m not the only one.” Sebastian grinned to
show teeth. Peter slowed enough to shrug away the uncomfortable
thought of someone’s well-meant regard for him and continued to eat
his cold supper.
    Sebastian was not done in his attempt to
remind Peter that he was loved and his absence always keenly felt.
“Aside from the delicious food, the party was charming. A small
gathering, mostly fellows from school. You would have enjoyed
yourself once you relaxed.” The Burgundy would have helped.
Sebastian leaned back on the bed, supporting himself on his elbows
for a moment. “They asked after you.”
    Peter made a stubborn face, closing his mouth
tight. Sebastian didn’t know what it meant and didn’t ask. He was
no longer in the mood to be clever and too tired and tipsy to
attempt it. He liked socializing but there were limits, and a party
full of people who thought of him, perhaps rightfully, as Peter’s
public face had been taxing.
    Peter was ready to argue the simple point.
“My autowagons. That’s what they asked about,” he remarked around
the last of the chicken. He’d eaten fast, even for him. Somewhere
in this room or down in converted house where he built his autos
there was probably a lunch tray that he had forgotten to eat.
    Sebastian felt his mouth tighten into a
straight line, more at the truth in the words than at Peter
skipping a meal or two. Peter always remembered to eat eventually,
but nothing would ever convince him that people wanted anything
from him except for one of his creations. It was especially irksome
that at the moment he was right.
    Nevertheless Sebastian straightened while
Peter disappeared into another