Always Florence by Muriel Jensen Read Free Book Online Page B

him a napkin.
    “Maybe I could be an artist, too.” Sheamus twisted his sandwich cookie apart and scraped cream off the bottom half with his teeth.
    “Maybe you could. I have paper in my office. We’ll get you some.”
    “Artists use special paper.”
    “Right. Maybe Dylan will give you a sheet.”
    Sheamus gave Nate a look that told him he knew better than that.
    “My mom would buy me something to make me feel better,” he said, trying another tack. “Maybe some different kind of art stuff.”
    Nate pushed his cup aside, crossed his arms on the table and leaned closer. “No, she wouldn’t. She never let you whine, remember? And she didn’t like it when one of you had to have something just because the other one did.”
    Sheamus’s eyes filled with tears suddenly. Nate could see this was no artful manipulation, but real emotion. “I don’t like to remember,” he said, a quiver in his lips.
    Nate reached for his arm and drew him onto his lap. “I know. Sometimes I don’t, either. But if you don’t ever think about them, then you can’t remember the really nice things.”
    Arnold whined in concern and came to sit beside them.
    Sheamus leaned into Nate and kicked out with a grubby tennis shoe. “When I think, all I think is that they’re not here.”
    “Yeah.” He couldn’t deny the truth of that. “I really miss them, too. When your dad and I were little, we were a lot like you and Dylan. We did a lot of things together and we fought a lot, but when we got older, I realized how smart he was. We stopped fighting so much and started helping each other. Someday, you and Dylan will be like that.”
    “I don’t think so.”
    “I do. And when your dad met your mom, I would have been jealous because she was so pretty and so special. But she and your dad were so happy, and when you guys were born, it was hard not to be happy with them.”
    There was a moment’s silence, then Sheamus asked worriedly, “Do you think they’re still happy?”
    “I do. They’re together, so they’re happy.”
    The boy thought about that, then sat up in Nate’s lap and rested an elbow on his shoulder. His blue eyes were troubled. “Okay, but you’re not going anywhere for a long time, are you?”
    “No, I’m not.” He prayed that fate would support his conviction.
    * * *
    N ATE DROPPED THE boys off at school Monday morning, then detoured a block and a half to the Astoria Coffee House to pick up a triple Americano. By the time he parked in the transit center lot just steps from his office, his cup was almost empty.
    It had been an awful morning. Mondays were tense for the boys anyway after two days of not having to conform to a schedule. But today was Halloween and Sheamus was so excited he was practically airborne—without benefit of a spiderweb. Nate hated to think what the added sugar after trick-or-treating would do to him.
    Dylan pretended to be taking the day in stride, but Sheamus was driving him into a foul mood more easily than usual. The ride to school had been loud and contentious. Trying to focus on the road, Nate had heard Sheamus accuse, “You’re on my side of the seat!”
    Dylan rebutted with typical hostility. “How can I be on your side? You’re in a stupid little-kid seat!”
    Nate looked in the rearview mirror just in time to see Sheamus fling a hand at Dylan. His brother caught it and squeezed. Sheamus’s screech felt as though it drove a spike through Nate’s ears.
    He’d pulled up to the school and turned to frown at both of them. Sheamus was crying and rubbing his hand, and Dylan’s expression could have drawn blood.
    “I’d love to make this trip once,” he said, suppressing the bellow in his throat through sheer force of will, “without the two of you screaming at each other before we even get here.”
    “He broke my hand!” Sheamus wept.
    “You hit him first.” Nate came around the car to help Sheamus out of his seat. “When you react by hitting, you have to expect the other