Richard sunk into the couch, his tie now slack and shirt untucked. He held an unopened beer can in one hand. Richard set the can on his leg, lacking the strength or energy to pull the tab. He simply watched the sweat drip down the sides and the cool liquid make contact with his pant leg, seeping into his skin. His mind thought of everything and of nothing. The sun was no longer shining through the windows of the office, and shadows grew long and sinister over the carpet. The polaroid pictures gleamed in the half-light, obscuring their images.
He was blind to the world, lost in his memories, until a glimmer of light caught the corner of his eye. He lifted his head and looked. Conan was peering over the arm of the couch. The top of his glasses were reflecting the lamp light. Richard wondered how long he'd been standing there without him noticing.
"Hey, Conan." He said tiredly. His sleepless night was catching up to him and he felt exhausted. He suddenly remembered when Rachel had been small. Impulsively, he set his beer on the table and reached over and, grasping the boy under the armpits, set him on his lap. Conan was reminded of how his own father used to set him on his lap just the same way and read to him. Richard was a father too, he supposed.
Conan watched Richard. He'd never seen him like this. He'd known him for most of his life. Yet, it felt like he was just meeting the man. All he'd ever thought of him was as a barely competent private detective. He was just another rival to outdo. It had never occurred to him that Richard might have anything more to him.
"When Rachel was about your age," He said to Conan, smiling absently, "She used to sit on my lap just like this after I got home from work. We'd watch television together while Eva cooked dinner."
Why Richard was telling him this? He rarely ever spoke of the past, except to exalt himself. He never mentioned Rachel's childhood and definitely never his marriage. Suddenly Richard wrapped his arms around Conan. Conan felt the old man's stubble against his forehead. He smelled the strong tobacco on his breath. He'd never hugged Conan before. He wasn't sure what to do.
"One day, you're just a kid and the next morning you're forty and nothing makes sense anymore." He said quietly. "What the hell happened?"
Conan suddenly felt very naïve and small. Even though he was seventeen, it dawned on him that there really was so much more to life than he had lived. Those smiling photos, all those years gone passed… Conan hadn't even lived half of what Richard had. Richard held him for a moment and then let go. He gently, playfully, bopped him on the head and smiled.
Conan slid off of his lap, at an utter loss for words. Richard pulled the tab on his beer can and took a long drink. The shadows stretched over the room as the sun finally sunk into the horizon. There was only silence left between them,