There was never a moment in time that Vincent Fischer did not think about his father. Despite the age he d been when the man disappeared forever from both he and Sam s lives, Vince knew enough about him that the man was committed to memory and planned to stay. Sometimes the younger would wonder if he d forgotten anything about Carl Fischer and tried to think of the small things that might have passed from mind. There were few successful instances in resurrecting those from the past. However few, he often found himself with a very dramatic pop of the head and quizzical arch of the brow recalling snippets of conversation he had with the man. Fatherly conversation. Papa to Son. Daddy. Padre. Pop. Father. Pater . What did he call the man in those days?
We both called him Fader , Sam explained to Vin while he cut thick slices of tomato, which would soon be lain in balsamic vinegar sprinkled with parmesan cheese, Vin s favorite appetizer. We re almost entirely Swedish in blood, you know. Our father used to live in Sweden; don t you remember him telling us that? He met our mother there.
No, Vin didn t remember. But he knew it now that Sam never said Mother or Father or even Fader when he talked of their parents. Only our mother or our father . Vin never knew why. It was just Sam, just one of his strange quirks like how he couldn t sip his coffee, cold or not, without dipping his tongue in first every time. Testing the waters, judging the taste before indulging. Vin clandestinely wondered, now at the age of fourteen, if Sam would ever test his little brother s waters, ever dip his tongue into Vin s pools. He sighed when thinking about it, knowing that was something he would never admit to pondering. What good was their secret if Vin wanted the world to know he had a fantasy for his older brother? Many, actually.
Oh well, he d settle with what they had, working on his patience with both his therapist and brother. And during this, he d forget the wants and fix his lively mind on those foggy paternal times. In a sense, Sam was his father. Well, he did the things fathers usually do, like the laundry, cooking, school monitoring, punishing, chore assigning and more of the like. He also handled the talks with teachers when Vincent got in trouble, gave the boy his birds and bees talk which went better for Vin than many of his friends, who claimed it was terribly awkward. Vincent actually got more ideas from the chat than he did jitters. He supposed it helped getting it from a brother you were madly in love with and spent holidays enjoying the family time and present opening. Vin was never disappointed on Christmas and was always thankful his brother had a not only flexible, but quite lucrative career in editing and heading a magazine. He supposed he realized this more than the average boy, as he was always noticing how tired Sam could become after a long day at work, returning home to fix dinner for his younger brother and entertain him during his boyish angst.
Vin had been just a little toddler when his father had passed away, though he remembered clearly the day it happened. It was autumn, his father s favorite time of year, which he felt was the perfect time for artists for it not only let the eye see its brilliant array of color and beauty, but also added finesse to the other senses, for example, the sound of birds migrating to warmer country or the smells of leaves soaking up nightly perspiration on the ground after their trip from the branches. How a smoky aroma would waft through the air like Mother Nature s perfume, turning smiles up and letting each human revert back to days of living in the wilderness. Well, it was one of those days, and in fact, it was a Tuesday. Sam was twelve years old at this time and was home from school because he d been sick for the last couple of days. Though, he promised to be back to school by Wednesday so he wouldn t miss his English exam, and Carl was kind to let him work on a little writing in his room instead of doing chores. Carl never believed in squandering creativity, especially not in his sons.
Come on Ilene was playing on the radio next to a large board of stretched canvass Carl had been painting with both oils and watercolors, a handsome autumn scene he d watched evolve outside his shop window, when his arm had suddenly felt stiff. Then the veins burned, shooting pain up his shoulder. The man realized what was happening, but not before it was too late to do anything. His heart attack swelled to his entire body, and he fell from his stool and to the floor. It was a short pain, thankfully, and a quick death. The medical examiner assured the two boys of this; Carl had died within a two minute span of his heart convulsing before ceasing entirely. Sam found him with a paintbrush still clenched in his hand, a spread of orange paint still on its tip. Carl s favorite color.
When Sam had suddenly appeared at Vin s preschool, the boy was thrilled. Sam was taking him out! Though he felt sad that he d miss nap time, which was in thirty minutes according to Mrs. Pruitte, he took his brother s hand and skipped along beside him while they walked towards home. But they didn t go home. His brother led him into town, to the hospital. Vin was confused. He wasn t hurt, and Fader didn t tell him he had another check-up with the nice doctor whose name he couldn t remember. Those lollypops sure were wonderful, but you had to behave to get them. He wondered if he d get one even if he didn t have to get a check-up from one of the ladies at the counter.
The rest, now that the youngest of the family looked back on it, was oddly specific. The shoes he was wearing that day were quite vivid in his memory, as well as the lucky hat he d worn nearly all his life and continued to do as such; the shirt Sam wore was an off-white button-up, the sleeves rolled like his father always did, and there was a smudge of paint on his cheek. Orange. His face wasn t red or stained with tears, nor were his eyes bloodshot and puffy. His hands were not wet from wiping away his pain, they were only cold. This was strange. Sam s hands were never cold, and they never, ever shook like this. Sam had steady hands, like his father. Vincent had impatient ones, though good for catching baseballs and drumming anxiously on table-tops. But suddenly, Sam wasn t anything like himself. His straight, blond hair that he and Vince both got from their mother was perfect as usual, but his bangs were floating upward, like he d been running his hands through them compulsively. And his face, it was empty, stiff and serious. There was no smile, and he didn t swing his hand with Vin s in it. Didn t take both of Vin s arms and spin him in a circle. In fact, he didn t even look at his little brother as he led him along corridors and up stairs, until they reached a grey, metal door. Its knob turned counterclockwise and would not open otherwise. Vin knew this still.
A nurse greeted them, and Sam sat down. Only now Vincent felt something was off. Where was his daddy? Why were there people in this room, why did they all look so mad? It wasn t then he realized they were not angry, only remorseful that these children had been left alone at such a young age, now orphans. And there was that man that always talked with Daddy. He was called a lawyer or something. Sam What s wrong? he asked slowly, big eyes wide, and he stood by Sam s knees, hugging them.
Sam took Vincent into his lap. Fader is dead, Vinny. Sam told him. Many years later, Sam admitted to Vincent through a few tears that he never meant to be so horrible then, and hated himself for having said what he did. He wished he d told the youngster about the death of their father with tact and careful, considering phrases the boy would take easier. Vincent found it unproblematic to forgive him, though mostly because he did not wish to cause the man pain. For him, it still hurt as well, stung like a group of wasps on the skin of his arm.
They weren t terribly poor, but being an artist meant you never had a constant pay, so the funeral was private and quite informal. Sam said he didn t want anyone coming, not that they had any other family to speak of, and even the friends his father had weren t to attend. They came by the house a couple times after the children s father was laid to rest in order to give their condolences, but didn t stay long and didn t return. Vincent always speculated if his brother had instructed them as such or if they simply did not care so much. The latter seemed less likely, though still plausible.
What was Fader painting the day he died? Vin asked his brother as the plate of tomatoes was set in front of him on the granite counter. He leaned forward, smelling it first with his elbows perching him up, the stool he sat on tipping. Then he jabbed in with a fork, scooping the thick slices of fruit into his watering mouth whole. Sam s eyebrows rose and he rested on one hand, the other on his hip. He gave his brother one of his looks and the boy slowed his eating.
An autumn landscape. He answered, handing him a paper napkin. There was a large orange leaf in the top right corner, in the center was a tree standing alone in a field with blue and red mountains in the background. He didn t finish the top half of the painting, so the sky, mountains and tip of the tree were white.
How did his brother remember so much? The man was too smart in Vin s opinion it didn t help that his brother had a photographic memory and knew exactly how everything in the house looked and when Vin touched them, including the cookies in the cupboard. Oh. I don t remember that one. He admitted. Where is it?
His brother paused, tilting his head a bit as his gaze drifted past Vin s head to the window behind him. I don t know. I can t remember.
That idea was laughable.
Vin knew his older brother was hording all of his father s possessions in the house, hidden in places Vin would only find by accident. For instance, when he was nine, Vin wandered into his brother s den for a ruler to use in his homework. Moving through the desks, he found a plastic case. Not that he suspected the ruler was in it, he opened the thing and found a paintbrush with old, crumbling dried paint on the tip. Orange. When he brought it to Sam, his older brother nearly had a heart failure and stole the thing away. You cannot touch this, Vincent! he d scolded, eyes both hurt and angry. Vin didn t mean anything by it and stayed mad at his brother for a long time after that, but finally things were explained and the youngster realized just who s paintbrush that had been and when it had been used last. Vin wouldn t come close to it after that, the thing like a dark curse he wished very much to avoid. The paintbrush now sat on the top shelf in Sam s room, laying silently in its case, untouched.
Things of the like were found everywhere, some not hidden, like his father s typewriter, which Sam still used to this day, even if he had a laptop sitting right beside it. It was hard for Sam not to cherish the man he d known so well. The thing was, when their mother died, Vin was barely six months old, and Carl was left with two fine sons to take care of and raise on his own. They d moved to the country, away from the apartment that had so many painful spirits left in it, and Vin grew up in that ranch house and stayed until they were forcibly removed by Child Services. There were eighteen acres that the two boys could run around on and explore, and a river that running through a grove of pine trees that, in summer, they would all take a day out of every week to go swimming in. They spent almost all of their summers outside, at the beach or park or just in their backyard. It was tradition to take a hike up the mountains every July. The father gave his sons all of the love in his heart since he did not also have a wife to offer his precious care to. Some could say he spoiled them as well as taught them values that don t last forever in life. But Carl loved his sons. The three person family was as close as emotionally possible, even more so between Sam and his father, who was old enough to understand life s complications and why their mother had been lying in the bathtub of red water when they d come home one winter night when Vin was only six months old.
The sons idolized the man and they were his reasons for living life to the fullest every day. When he d died, the brothers drew tightly to each other for security, but there was no amount of love or creativity in the world that could replace the most inspirational figure in their lives. Sam knew he could never pay his father back for what he d been taught. Vincent knew it was impossible to forget the biggest, warmest, best hugs and brightest, happiest smile behind that scruffy brown beard.
When Sam and Vince realized they were in love with each other, it did not come without confliction. Still being older and more understanding of reality, Sam without Vin s knowledge, thankfully, as it would break the boy s heart wondered if his father would ever be ashamed of him. For taking his own little brother into his arms for the wrong reasons, in the wrong way. Holding him and wanting him; kissing him and touching him with intimate intentions. What would his father believe? The man who d at all times taught them truth was just another fictional story always worth the time to finish and lies were horror novels that taught you to read, what would he say? Sam did not know. As well as he knew the man, he was truly alien to the answer. It was as if the figure that had raised him was a mystery, something unreal that whenever Sam asked these questions to himself at night, while his arms wrapped tenderly around the small shoulders of his sibling, he could not find the right answer.
Vincent did not see it this way. The boy, now that he knew well enough that their relationship was wrong in the eyes of all people but them, always pictured his father s face as a smiling one, that special smile that let the man s white teeth beam past the straight, rounded wires of his golden brown beard and drew lines of happiness next to his bright blue eyes. The same ones Sam toted like a chunk of sky carved from heaven. Everyone loved Sam s eyes, especially women, and Vin resented that fact while he stared at his own hazel ones in the mirror, which were from his mother. But he knew that the blues of the elder brother only sparkled like they did when they were looking at him, and it gave the boy a selfish satisfaction. He felt the same when his father used to gaze upon him as a boy, or patted him on the shoulder in his dreams. Yes, he had many dreams about his father seeing him as he was now, a grown boy with many wild hopes and aspirations that were farther than the stars. His wild imagination never ceased to lead him even in his sleep. Carl came to him many a time while he and Sam rested together under the covers, and the invisible, unreal hand pet the boy s hair until he was asleep, a soundless voice whispering just how proud he was of them. Such good boys His father told him while his eyelids grew heavy. You are so grown, Vin, look at you! Now go to sleep, I will see you tomorrow night. I love you, Vin, I always love you.
Sam wasn t visited in his sleep as much as he was during the day by his own conscience. There was a terrible pain that hit him often when he thought of how he d found his father lying on his back behind his stool, toes pointing upward, face staring blankly at the ceiling. Paints scattered around him, their tubes crinkled and twisted, the contents dotting the cement tiles like rainbow blood. How pale the man had been even with the morning light shining on his face, giving him a halo of radiance. How still his working hands were. How unmoving his chest.
Fader? he d whispered, but he knew. And he walked to him, in no hurry to see him this way, and knelt at his side. Felt his neck, lay his temple against his breast, where he felt no heart beating, even frugally, against his ear. All he could think of at this moment was how he d have to explain this to Vin, how they d never get to have Scrambled Egg Sundays or go to the brook to swim. Things like the piano, how they d never see Carl sitting at it again, wanting to play Pachelbel s Canon like his wife used to but unable to and instead tapping out Bye Bye Blackbird brokenly. Now his father was Blackbird, and Sam wasn t ready to say goodbye.
Time eclipsed their pain and the brother s moved on from the ranch house. Though they owned it to this day as something Sam could never let go, nor his little brother. They d lost it once when he was young, a boy and unable to keep it right after their last parent s death, but the moment Sam turned eighteen and scored a job at the Cole s Daily newspaper, he d bought it off the market. They d not moved back in, as it was too far from Sam s job, but every Fall they went back for a week; Sunday for Scrambled Egg through Wednesday, the day after their father s death, and they d swim in the brook and hike up the mountains as always guaranteed by their late father. The change of season did not matter to them, and even when the wind was brisk and chilled, they kept their traditions.
Vin, how does ice cream sound? Sam asked the boy suddenly, drawing him from his memories and thoughts as the man had forcibly done to himself. Sitting on his knees on the stool seat, Vin kicked his legs back and forth, smiling.
Sure. What for? he said, grinning in the way that wrinkled his nose. Sam smiled, putting the cleaned and dried cutting board away. Well, he replied, coming around the island counter and placing his hand on Vin s hat, ruffling it and the flaxen hair beneath. Why bother with a reason? Don t you want some?
Of course, chocolate with the brownie in it. And strawberry on top, a whole scoop! I was just wondering why. Vin swiveled the stool so that he now faced the older, trying to look his cutest so his conscience would feel less guilty about picturing himself sharing a bite of ice cream with Sam. His older brother was less lewd about his thoughts, though he couldn t lie to himself and say it was far off. Better at masking it, however, he tugged a chunk of bang out of Vin s eyes and looked thoughtful.
Chocolate with brownies and strawberry on top? he said slowly, and smiled. Sounds like cavities in the making. You sure?
Most definitely. Vin assured him, perching higher by pushing on the cushion with his hands between his thighs. So can we go get some?
Sure thing, just change out of that dirty sweatshirt and we ll head down to City Market right now. Then I ll book you a dentist appointment next week.
Vin hopped off his seat and scampered to his room, tugging off the oversized hoodie as he went. While hunting for his cleaner sweatshirt, he thought about how he was going to somehow trick Sam into giving him a kiss tonight. Maybe he could get Sam to kiss his neck again, like that one time in the shower. But Sam wasn t like that, which made the boy sad. Already in his early teens, he was ripe with hormonal torment and craved what he knew his brother could give him, but Sam was an adult and always told him that things like that were not appropriate for a boy his age. Vin was of course skeptical and scoffed at his brother s way of protecting him, and continued to try and get the man to become more intimate with him. He liked it when once Sam had touched him down there. It wasn t on purpose, but he liked to imagine it was. Or when his hand pats his butt, it makes him get hot all over, and tingly. A bit dizzy. He d get a kiss tonight, he was determined.
Going to the mirror, he looked at himself. He was shorter than Sam by far, who was taller than their late father even when he was sixteen, having acquired their mother s height of six-three by the time he was old enough to vote. Vincent was a stringy thing at twelve, thin and wild faced. Always dirty from playing outside, Vin s hair was thicker than Sam s and not as feathery, a tiny bit wavy at the ends that poked out of his favorite Lucky Hat, which was faded from wear but fit him perfectly even on a hot day like it was today. Seeing that he did in fact look irresistible by his standards, Vinny returned to the kitchen, child-sized skateboard under his arm. Sam was pleased without his little brother dragging around that horribly filthy jacket, and put his infamous brown driving coat on, which was popular with girls and men alike at his office building. Vin was scrutinizing, too liking his brother in it as it made him look quite sophisticated and yet shifty, a little dangerous. Vin liked dangerous. Their relationship was dangerous. But he didn t appreciate other people thinking this about his brother as well.
They walked from their apartment into the city, Vin skating in large circles around his brother in a very skillful way for his age when they met the City Market parking lot. Working his fine balance towards the inside turn, he came up right behind Sam and jumped off his wheels, falling into him. Oops. He said, his arms around Sam s waist lest he fall to his face.
Did you trip, Vin? Are you alright? his brother inquired and Vin s ploy was successful. He looked up at his brother from underneath his arm, cheeks pink because he was now touching Sam down there. It nearly had him giggling without end.
I m good. He stuttered out. Sam blinked, stopping.
Ok. He said. Something was going on in his brother s mind, because he didn t say anything, only stared at Vin. Then he realized why: he was still holding onto him.
Lets go get the ice cream, c mon, hurry up. Vin said quickly and scampered off, catching up to the run-away skateboard and was about to get crushed by a Sedan backing out of a space. Sam sighed. His younger brother s wants and desires were going to get them caught, he feared, and the thought terrified him. His own heart was still thumping wildly in his chest. He watched silently as Vince hopped back on his board and pushed himself towards the automatic doors of City Market. What will I do when the time comes that I cannot tell him no anymore? He thought to himself, and grabbed a shopping basket from the stack, heading towards the frozen section. Fader, what is wrong with us?
Found the chocolate brownie, here you go. Vin set the carton of BlueBunny in the basket. Then quite suddenly his little head popped up and his thin eyebrow jerked upward on his forehead, making the skin crease. Sam stopped, seeing the reaction and familiarizing with it.
Remember something about our Fader? he asked, seeing no strawberry behind the glass. He searched the rows again.
Yeah. Vin replied thoughtfully, hanging off of Sam s arm. Remember when Fader said he was going to make us banana ice cream by himself? Sam s face frowned, eyes going back and forth the labels behind the glass.
No I don t. Do you?
Vin nodded, blowing a hot breath on the door and drawing a small smiley face in the fog, and then scribbling it out. He redrew his initials instead, and then Sam s right beneath. Sam wiped the art away before the plus sign between their names was drawn next. He made it and it was like we had to chew n stuff cause it was so chunky. Like goopy gum or something. The little brother looked up at Sam expectantly.
Quiet. Then Sam s face became enlightened and he smiled gently. Yes, I do remember now, actually. He said, surprised he d forgotten. Wasn t that on Easter?
Nuh-uh, it was on Thanksgiving, member? We hard boiled the turkey like KFC.
Sam laughed outright. Don t you mean we deep fried the turkey, Vin? You can t hard boil a turkey. The younger blushed, skipping off.
That s what I said. After a moment. Sam, I can t find the strawberry!
So they settled for banana, also some caramel syrup because Vin was looking quite adorable with a puppy face, and went quickly home before their goodies could melt. After a dinner scrumptiously made by no one but Sam, they settled down in the kitchen at the island again, Sam once more standing by the sink and Vin perched on his well worn stool. Scooping ice cream into his mouth, the boy grinned.
Sam watched, sipping off his own spoon of banana and caramel. He didn t like chocolate, unlike Vin, who had to have four cavities by now. What? he asked after a while of Vin s continuous smiling and giggling. The boy looked like he was up to something.
I got ice cream on my mouth. He said in a childish tone, leaning across the island on his stomach. His feet kicked back and forth behind him and he did indeed have a swath along his small pink lips.
Wipe it off then. Sam said, a confused smile meeting his lips. Vin s nose wrinkled, a sign of impatience.
You do it. He said, wiggling farther across the granite.
You have hands, Vin, why don t you take that napkin over there and do it?
My hands are cold!
Sam sighed lightly, unsure of why his little brother was being so troublesome, and set his bowl down. Vin s face brightened considerably. Taking the step it took to get to the island, Sam reached out with his thumb to remove the strawberry-chocolate-caramel mess. Vin dodged, turning his face. Sam tried again. Vin evaded just the same. He gave a short sigh, moving quickly for the lips, but Vin jerked back.
Now, will you hold still? Sam said exasperatedly through chuckles, trying to grab to Vin s head and hold it firm. The boy shook loose.
Get it off. He insisted.
Well, I m trying, but you keep Sam trailed off as he connected the dots and realized what his little brother meant. It made the man stop and he stared down at him. What a little sneak. He sighed, putting on his orderly voice. Vin, I can t
Get it off!
Vin
This made him sigh again. His brother was just so cute, but a rambunctious thing. Sam couldn t, it would only lead Vince on to other aspirations, ones which Sam refused to relent to until the boy was older. The determined look on the others little ice cream dabbed face made him want to, but it wasn t appropriate. Not when
Sam. Please get it off. The quiet voice woke him. Vin was beginning to look sad, though he was still quite adamant. The older brother sighed a third time and, unable to resist, laid his palms on the cool rock counter and silently leaned in. Vin perched up, but waited for Sam to do it, willing the man to give it to him instead of resentfully accepting it. Sam s gentle mouth touched Vin s, and the moment it did, Sam fell for the trick. Another reason he never did this: It made him want more, like the boy was a delicious cake he sought to devour and consume entirely. He couldn t do that, but Vin made him want to. Badly.
Vin moved up more on his hands, Sam pressing downward, the ice cream still cool and quite sticky between their lips. Realizing this slowly, Vin moved his bottom lip between the two pressing into his, and Sam picked it up, sucking ever so lightly. Swiping a bit with just the very tip of his tongue, Sam cleared the area of sweetness, the three flavors combining in his mouth tastefully, and withdrew. That was all he was going to do, lest it worsen his liking for the boy. At least Vin seemed satisfied and grinned victoriously at Sam.
Can we go take a shower ?
No, finish your ice cream and go to bed. Don t push it any more, do you hear? Sam cut him off, shaking his head with a weary smile, and wiped the itty bit of caramel that transferred from his brother s lips to his. He was a slinky thing, tricking him like that. It made him wonder if he d actually tripped at City Market, nearly making Sam stumble himself and certainly quickening his heart rate.
Vin was happy with what he got, but figured if that worked, then he might do more later after Sam was back to being unawares. So the boy readied for Operation II and came to find Sam in his den to tell him he was off to bed now.
Alright. Did you brush your teeth after all that ice cream? his brother asked, looking up from a few bills in need of paying. He had his glasses on, which Vin liked. They gave the effect of Kent Clark, Vin thought, which he found impressive. Though he liked Spiderman better; Superman just didn t have any style or cool tag-lines.
Twice. He answered. You coming?
I ll be along shortly. He said, which usually meant thirty minutes to an hour. Vin would have to busy himself until then, he figured, already having a few ideas. Moving into the room, he kissed his brother on the cheek and headed off to bed. Night.
Night, Vin.
The wait was longer than he expected, but that was alright, because Vincent had quite the way of entertaining himself. Things were happening to his body that amazed him, and he already knew what it was, having gone through that talk with Sam. And that s who he thought of right now while he gave himself a tickle or two. Sam. Why couldn t he just stop being such a grump and just do those special things to Vin already? He was clearly impatient and ready. Silly brother
I see you re still awake. I told you to get to sleep. Sam s voice traveled across the master bedroom and Vin withdrew his hand from its fantasies and sighed heavily, resting it by his head on the pillow. That was alright, he could always come back to that later.
I m not tired. He moped. He watched Sam taking his clothes off to change into his bed wear, hazel eyes furtive and a little reproachful. Sam was being bad, dressing like that in front of him. It made the younger yearn, especially tonight.
Well, you ll have to be. Sam replied, now coming under the covers, and sighed heavily while he sank into the mattress, rubbing his eyes. That ice cream gave me a headache. Vin giggled, betraying his resentment for a moment. He bounced over on his other side and prodded at Sam s cheek with a finger, scooting closer as he did so.
You re a pansy. He said matter-of-factly.
Pansy? I am not so. Sam replied, looking over at him with a smile. He reached across himself to drag the dirty hat from Vin s head. The boy would sleep in it if he let him. Just susceptible to sugar. You are too, that s why you can t go to sleep.
No, I can t go to sleep cause you never wanna kiss me. Vin said before he could stop it from getting out. Sam stared and the small boy blushed, chewing the inside of his cheek.
Sam sighed, not a good sign for Vin, who instantly reclused and turned over. Vin, you know why I don t. his brother said, and the responsible tone in his voice made Vince glare at the opposing wall.
That s stupid. He said, hurt.
No, it s not. Sam replied, sitting upward and resting his head on his propped hand, hovering over the other younger male. It was his turn to prod Vin s cheek. If anyone knew, you know they would take you away, don t you? They wouldn t let you be with me anymore.
But no one is gunna see when we re at home. Vin said, his eyes teary with disappointment.
No Sam responded slowly and rubbed his brother s arm. But if you get used to it now, you might want to outside of the house. I don t want to risk it.
You re just scared. Vin snapped, stuffing his face into his pillow. Sam now wrapped his arm around Vin.
Yes, I am scared, Vincent. Much to the young boy s surprise, a pair of lips fell down on the tip of his shoulder, kissing firmly. Then Sam s face was right in Vin s neck, making the boy s hair stand on end and his heart beat at his chest. His blood was running hot. Sam sighed through his nose, the breath falling across Vin s collar and down his chest, under his small night shirt. Vin The heavy voice said lowly and it was like honey through the twelve year old s ears. You know I love you. The hand around him slid across his side, drawing a short breath from Vin. Sam paused behind him. And Some night I ll kiss you the way you want me to, and we ll do the things you want me to do, that I want to do, but For now we need to be patient. You understand, don t you? There s a time for everything, and for you It s not for a couple of years.
Vin was still staring at the opposite wall, but his eyes were wide, and he realized he d been holding his breath. He let it out quickly, dizzied as he d never been before and totally excited. He just hoped Sam wouldn t notice his little problem. Sam had never spoken to him this way, never admitted they were going to be doing things in the future, all the things he fantasized about when he was alone in the bed, smelling Sam s scent everywhere around him.
After a long silence, Sam wondered if he d scared his little brother and leaned over him to see his face. Vin?
Do you think Fader would be proud of us? Vin whispered, making Sam s hand stop moving in slow circles on his brother s hip. Now there was silence from the other.
Why did you ask that? he whispered finally, carefully masking his own indecision on the matter.
Vin sighed heavily, folding his hands under his head. I just keep thinking about him and Sometimes I think he still watches us. Like right now. Sam had to stop himself from actually looking around the room. Ever since Vin was a little boy, he could sense odd things about certain places, feel when there was something, perhaps spirits, amok around him. It had always been this way, and was one of the reasons Sam had Vince going to a child therapist once every two weeks.
Do you feel him here? Sam asked quietly, and his hand moved away from Vin. The boy pulled it back, wrapping it around his stomach and scooting backwards into the hard chest behind. Sam felt worried and conflicted.
A little he said, barely audible. Sam s heart raced and Vin felt it. Sometimes when I m alone, I smell him Like hickory and new books. And those nasty oil paints. And turpentine and watercolors. Like new canvas and burnt pancakes. He sniffed. Old jeans and tall, yellow grass.
The older brother had never heard Vin talk of their father this way. He didn t even think the boy remembered their dad that well. But now it appeared he knew many a things, even some that Sam had forgotten or never noticed. I remember him smelling like that. Some of it. I don t remember the burnt pancakes Sam admitted and rested heavily on his pillow because his shoulder was aching. Why do you think he s here?
Because he wants to make sure we re doing okay. You especially. Vin said, wondering why he had even brought it up. Normally he wouldn t, but he had been unsure. Would Fader be ill at ease with their being in love? He d never thought of that, at least not in the way Sam did, and now he was. He misses us a lot and and he says he loves us always.
Sam didn t say anything, taking his turn to hold his breath. One of his eyes welled with a tear and he placed it against the pillow so the feathers could soak it up before Vin had the chance to see. But the brother wasn t looking, now fiddling with his fingers in front of his eyes. He came even closer to Sam.
I don t think he ll ever get mad at us. Vin said in a hush. He wants us to stick together, like No matter what.
Does he? Sam breathed, barely audible with his voice filled with emotion. Vin finally rolled over, stuffing his face into the chest before him.
I love you, Sam. I don t care what they think out there I don t care about anything. He said shakily, and again he felt a presence beyond the bed, watching them. He closed his eyes after glancing over and seeing no one. I-I just wanna be happy Like Fader was before he died. Like in the pictures of him and Mader, before we were born.
Sam pet his brother s hair, kissing the shell of his ear. He was happy, wasn t he? Pulling himself together for the boy in his arms, Sam pat his back and settled them in. Well, if you say he s happy with us and wants us to stick together, then we will. Always, alright?
H-hokay was the reply. The older brother gave Vin a gentle kiss before bringing the little head into his arms, wrapping him tight just as he always liked. With several sighs from each, they started readying for sleep and the room cooled in the night s shadows.
How about we go get some strawberry ice cream from the Safeway across town tomorrow? Sam said suddenly in the silence, whispering it into Vin s small ear. He boy shifted a bit.
No, let s get banana. Chunky banana.