Jim clutched his book, his entire world focused on the dryness of the brittle paper crinkling beneath his fingers. The book, forgotten by the passage of time, cost a fortune. Unworthy of even a digital copy.
He took a strange satisfaction in asking his mother to buy it.
"Jimmy…" Winona's voice trailed off as Sam scoffed.
"Leave him alone Mom." The anger was rising in Sam's tone, coming to match the frustration and fear that haunted his every moment.
It was strange. Jim couldn't help but feel if people had cared more about books like Weisel's Night then maybe it wouldn't have happened.
Winona sighed, hand ineffectually rubbing and deepening the bags under her eyes, "I know it's difficult for you but-"
"Difficult? Really Winona? Difficult?" Sam exploded, missing the flinch Winona gave at the use of her name. Jim pretended not to notice either, focusing on the sharp contrast between the black letters and yellowed page. "You abandoned us with Frank, who made us miserable and just when I was ready to run away, had us sent to that stupid planet. Another three days and I would have been gone!"
It wasn't like schools didn't teach about the World Wars, but the older ones were rushed by in favor of the more recent Third World War. But the real lessons were all in the second war.
"One message Sam! Just one," Winona replied, voice rising for the first time since she picked them up from the space port. "How was I supposed to know? I was in space-"
"We shouldn't have to tell you anything! You should just know!" Sam was screaming now, his voice straining in anger and catching on words and the book faded. Jim looked up to the teenager in the red hoodie, screaming in anger at the guards when news first came out and the shot and the fall and the blood barely noticeable, deceptive at first-
"Jim?" The softness was out of place.
Jim looked up to see both Winona and Sam looking at him. He froze, not even daring to breath, unsure of what to do, what was expected. Unwillingly, all he could think of was the soldier's eyes.
He turned and ran to his room, collapsing and huddling against the door.
Sam ended up following through on his threats of running away. Or rather, he applied to college early.
Once accepted, he left without a backwards glance.
It took three months to officially take his name off the survivors list.
He was on his fourth reading of Night when it finally went through.
"It's supposed to be a trilogy Mom," Jim mentions, rather than answer.
Winona's lip tighten, but she says nothing.
"During the Second World War one group, who called themselves Nazis, thought themselves superior. They rounded everyone who wasn't them and killed them. I guess that makes us lucky." It wasn't a very graceful summary, but Winona didn't mention a therapist again.
A part of Jim was grateful she never insisted.
"We're going to the zoo today Jim, so dress warmly."
Jim looked out the window at the frost covered ground. He took another bite of eggs then pushed the plate away, half uneaten. His mother would insist he eat more, but until she forced him to leave he'd ignore her.
"If you're done, then put it away in the sink."
"Wha-" Jim started, shocked into speaking despite his plan to sit quietly. She never pushed before.
Winona continued to eat, and Jim was left staring in confusion. His mom hadn't told him to put away a dish since… since he was nine at least. As she glanced at him, then his plate, Jim flushed and picked it up. The smell was nauseating but as he stood over the sink to dump it he froze. To just throw it away – he couldn't. He turned and looked at his mom beseechingly.
She glanced at him, "What do you think I've been doing with your leftovers?" She sounded unconcerned as Jim felt his world crack.
"The Germans-"
"I don't want to hear about your book Jim." Winona stood with her own plate, meeting him at the sink.
"It's not just a book," he says, watching her rinse and set aside her plate, "It's history."
She gently takes his plate from his frozen grip and scraps the food off into the trash. After setting the plate next to her own, she guided him by the shoulders to the door. "We're going to the zoo."
He wasn't really Jim yet, but Winona wasn't as he remembered her either. She was there every morning eating breakfast with him, dropping him off at school and in the afternoon correcting his homework. He was dragged to parks, museums, and zoos. Taken on overnight trips camping, fishing, or hiking.
Sometimes, Jim wondered if this is what life would have always been like if nothing had happened to his Dad, the mystical hero he never got to know. Other times, he felt like nothing bad had ever happened and there was nothing wrong with him. At night, he never forgot.
Throughout it all his mother was there. Occasionally suggesting, at times ordering, pushing gently and consistently.
Winona bought him the rest of the trilogy.
"How come I only ever see you holding the first book?" She asked, the tension and stiffness gone. Night was no longer an aberration to be feared, just a book.
Jim was quiet, not out of terror or shame, but in thought. Night was more of a symbol, an object, a distraction. "I asked for this book because I overheard someone talking about it when I was hiding." He looked up with a faint smile, "I knew it would be hard to find, expensive."
Winona nodded, "And?"
"I never did anything," he whispered, looking down and losing his smile, "not once, to help someone else. A child was pulled from the crowds by a guard. Coughing. Shivering. Plain old terrified. Everyone was silent, nothing but a crowd of herded and starved cattle. When the guard brought his gun up I pushed to the back of the crowd and hid." He had his own cough. At the time, all he could think was how lucky he was that he wasn't pulled to the center of attention.
There was silence, then Winona reached for Night. "And this?"
"'Bread, soup - these were my whole life. I was a body. Perhaps less than that even: a starved stomach. The stomach alone was aware of the passage of time.'" Jim quoted from memory. "It helps a little. The reminder I wasn't the only one to survive something like this."
"I got really good at picking locks," Jim says. "Old school, electronic, whatever. First it was for food, but then it was for blankets, darkness, cover. Then it didn't matter, it was something to do."
Winona kept stirring the pasta, "What type of sauce do you want?"
"It was only a single guard. I was close enough I coulda broken his arm but all I did was ignore it. I had thought we were friends, but it meant I didn't have to worry about sharing my stash of food, pitiful as it was."
Her eyes were intense as she listened, nodding to encourage. So he told another story.
His throat tightened, "About an hour before we got rescued all the guards were worked up. I slipped past and stole a blanket. I had to step over a trampled man to escape again. He grabbed my ankle and I kicked him in the head so he wouldn't give me away."
Winona didn't offer a hug. It reassured Jim more than she knew. There was no smothering, no fixing him. Just acceptance.
When he had first returned, Jim had refused to leave the house. Then, Winona had to field well intended questions about his mental health or if he was sick.
These days, nobody could tell. He took a fierce satisfaction from that.
Winona was watching something on the TV, stretched out on the couch and three screens in sleep mode on the coffee table. Her feet had kicked one to the edge and Jim watched it wobble as she moved.
It was easy for him to join her on the couch, curl into her heat, and forget the nightmare.
"Hey baby," Winona said, tousling his head.
Jim smiled, "Hey Mom."
The silence was good between them, better at banishing his terrors than words could ever be.
"Why don't you hate me?" Jim asked, tremor in his voice.
The sun was hot, drying the paint before it could drip. Winona sighed and dropped her roller back in the bucket. "I think this requires shade."
So they abandoned their tools and sat on the porch swing.
She sent them into gentle rocking and tugged him close, "I see your father in you, did you know that Jim? Not only in the way you look, but in the way you think." She paused, gathering thoughts, "People forget, as they grab onto popularized images and stories, that heroes aren't born. You don't come into this world with every right answer."
"But-"
She ignored his attempt to speak easily, talking right over him, "If you never experience pain, never make the wrong choice, how can you know what the right one is?"
Jim let the question sit, then struggled to answer it, "I… I don't get it. You don't have to kill a person to know it's wrong. And I didn't even do anything, I just stood by and let it all happen. Heroes… they act."
"Why did you tell me everything? I never asked you to share, never forced you. What made you feel the need to tell me?" Winona asked. "A person who has only ever done good… there will come a time when the choices get more and more difficult, where the solutions become more and more vague. And some of them will do it – they'll continue making those right choices. But most of them… more of them will stop. Will reassure themselves with being a good person and giving it their best shot. You failed, you made a judgment call and were wrong. When the situation gets vague and there doesn't seem to be a solution – you're going to look back at these events and you'll make it work. Next time – what are you going to do Jim?"
Jim was quiet, before answering, "I'm going to act. I'm going to find the answer."
"And if there is no answer? No right choice?"
Jim looked up with intense eyes, "I'm going to act anyway. There's always going to be a right choice, even if I have to make it."
"Jim! Your brother is on the phone!"
Jim looked up from his reading. Sam hadn't talked to him since he walked out a month after they returned, a little short of eleven months ago. Jim wasn't sure if he wanted to answer the phone.
"Jim! I know you're up there!"
Sighing, he gently placed down the screen and stood, "Coming Mom." Tramping down the stairs he grabbed the phone and ran back up. "Hey."
"Hey Jimmy. See Mom's still around – any new bo-"
"Knock it off Sam." Jim interrupted, "Mom has been here every single day so don't say anything about her." He took a deep breath and tried to let go, "What did you call about?"
"Ah come on, you know why I called," Sam said, and Jim did. In a week would be the anniversary of their return. "I wanted to see how you were holding up, if you had any plans."
Jim was silent, wondering if it would matter if he did have plans or wasn't fine. After five seconds, he tried to say something, "Why? I mean, you never- this is the first time- Why didn't you call before now?"
"Well," Sam started, then stopped. His breathing was audible and Jim counted eight breaths before Sam started speaking again, "Well, I know I left in anger but… where I was… Jim, I couldn't help you. I was so angry, so violent- I couldn't drag you down with me. I needed to be sure I could stand before trying to pull you up. Do you- I'm not trying to excuse anything but I mean, can you get that?"
Jim wondered how long Sam worked up the courage to call him, how many therapy sessions he took to 'stand up'. Wondered if Sam was really in a better spot then he was. "I guess. And I'm not amazing but I'm not where I was either." He finally admitted, voice soft.
"Good. Good." Sam said, "So, next week?"
"What about next week?" Jim asked, "I mean, I know but, did you want to do something?"
The silence stretched, there was hesitation in Sam's voice when he finally spoke, "I actually have a girlfriend now. I was planning to take her out somewhere special." And though he didn't say it, Jim could hear 'and forget it ever happened' tagged onto that sentence. "But if you needed me…"
"No, no. Like I said, I'm better now." Jim forced a chuckle, "Actually, I think me and Mom were just planning to chill out here, do some stargazing after the sun set." They hadn't actually planned anything yet, but that sounded pretty nice. They could get some ice cream and a blanket on the roof.
"Good. And uh, you know how I said I have a girlfriend?"
"Yeah," Jim replied, the dread from the beginning of the conversation fading a little as the hardest part was over.
Sam laughed nervously and took a deep breath, though Jim wondered if he was supposed to notice, "Actually, we're pretty serious – I met her back around Christmas and… um, maybe you'd like to meet her sometime?"
"Serious, huh?" Jim felt a smile form, and looked up to see his mom in the doorway, "Does this serious girlfriend have a name?" His smile widened as he saw a smile grow on her face.
"Yeah, she does. Aurelan. Um… Do you think mom… I mean, we parted on bad terms but maybe-"
Jim interrupted before Sam rambled anymore, "Yeah. I think mom would like meeting Aurelan as well."
"Good." He laughed a little, "I seem to be saying that a lot, but that really is good. Look, I have to go but-"
"No worries. We can talk later, um, good luck?" Jim said, feeling wrong footed trying to end the conversation.
"Good Luck is probably a good sediment, I'm going to tell her about Tartus. I mean, well, serious right? Anyway, good luck to you too. Bye."
"Thanks. Bye." Jim listened for the click then lowered the phone, looking back to his mom.
Winona raised her eyebrows and came into the room proper, "Sorry for intruding but… it's been so long, I worry."
Jim smiled, feeling a bit silly, "You know what, I think Sam was too. About calling. He asked if you would be interested in meeting his girlfriend. He's planning to tell her about, you know, and uh…" Jim trailed off, unable to say the planet's name out loud.
"I'm more worried than angry with him," Winona said, moving to sit next to Jim. Wrapping an arm around him she murmured, "You're my child. No matter what happened I'd love you and Sam. But like you needed silence, Sam needed space to run and take control."
"I guess," Jim said. Happy to hear from Sam as he was, he couldn't quite ignore the feeling of abandonment. Sam might have needed to get better, but so had he and… It didn't matter. Jim had done pretty good for himself and it seems like Sam was fine.
"That couldn't have been all the call was about, what else did he want?" Winona asked, arm tightening around Jim despite her happy tone.
Jim pulled back a little and looked up at her, "What, serious girlfriend not enough for you?"
They both laughed, letting the stress go. Once they quieted, Jim shrugged, "next week and all, guess he just needed to know I was okay."
"And are you?" It was probably the first time she had come out and asked how he was doing when talking about Tartus IV. Her method had been one more of reminding him he had survived and all the good things that came with that.
Jim looked away, staring at a picture he had drawn when he was five. It was a mess of color and shapes and it might have been about the house, though there was a cowboy swinging a sword and a trail of ants crossing the sky. He smiled a little and looked back up, "No, but I am. I mean, I think I'm going to be."