28. Claret

He was allowed to drink claret that night. And eat supper.

Peter Lake had given Penn honesty, yes, but not complete honesty. He had lied a little. And the funny thing was that the lies he had told were as harmless as they were useless.

See, when he had been asked if he often had wine with his meals, he had answered with the first thing that came to mind. Sometimes. It sounded more conciliatory than yes or no or never or always. It was a good answer to a strange question. And it was a lie.

Penn wasn't a fool. Maybe he had known that Peter Lake, a "crook", a homeless runaway, wouldn't even consider having wine with his meals. Peter had drank before, but not wine. Wine was not for him to buy. It was too high up for him to reach. Beer, yes. A couple times. Watery and ice-cold and, most times, extremely unpleasant to consume. It was all he could have hoped to afford. And even then, he would only spend his coins in it in times of extreme desperation. Such as the time he first witnessed Pearly digging for blood in the sockets of a young boy, not much older than him. Or the time he escaped the wolves and became their priced little lamb.

When he was with Pearly, he had been strangely shielded from the consumption of alcohol. At first the excuse was his age. He was way too young to drink. But when he became an adult the excuse became that alcohol caused drumming in his ears. And that Peter needed to keep his hearing sharp.

Beat, little heart. Dance with me.

His ears and his fingers were crucial to them. And alcohol could spoil them. So he was told.

So Peter's decision, after seeing that young boy's eyes getting dug out, to fetch a grotesque beer despite Pearly Soames's warnings, had been his first act of rebellion. His first step out of their compound. The step that would push him into a sprint.

He had never drunk wine in his life. He had heard of "clarette", but he had never known it. He had never expected the smell of it to be this thick. Fruity and sweet and sour and sharp, all at once. Fascinating.

Peter didn't say anything. He just drank. And drank. He peeked glances at the neighboring glasses, calculated how much he was expected to gulp down each time, and when.

And he would wince slightly, at times, he couldn't help it, and he tried to lower his face and hide himself partly in his napkin. And he had not been confronted about it at all during dinner. Beverly didn't seem to have noticed, but little Willa wouldn't take her scrutinizing eyes off of him and probably had, despite her silence. Penn definitely took notice, too, but, like his younger daughter, he hadn't spoken of it. The cynical yet stubborn curve of his mouth remained intact. Perhaps he found further amusement in watching Peter struggle to maintain such a stupid and trivial lie.

Sometimes. That sour, fruity scent now flooded his nostrils. Burned him from within. And Peter felt dizzy but he managed to maintain his composure. He stopped himself from leaning to the side by aligning his back to the chair at all times.

"Hello."

Overall, dinner went well. He didn't act like a fool. He did as was expected. Ate all he was given. He couldn't complain. Not at all. Everything tasted like Heaven. Even the claret, with its thick, burning scent. He didn't enjoy the aftertaste. The buzzing that following. But he enjoyed drinking it.
"Hello."

Beverly sook him out after they left the table. She had put her hair up. Even then the tendrils of dark red fell around her face. She had replaced the blue dress with something darker. Black-blue and crimson, or magenta, or… He didn't know. It didn't matter. She looked lovely. She always did.

"How are you?"

Peter raised his eyebrows, nodded. "Good. I'm good. Never been better."

He now aligned his back with the wall. He felt the room tilting. He had to stay as he was. He couldn't embarrass himself any further. And Beverly squinted and smiled and scrunched her nose slightly. Peter Lake's face reddened when she spoke.

"You've never had wine before, have you?"

He groaned quietly, closed his eyes, pressed the back of his head against the wall. Beverly laughed. Hoarsely and roughly. And he loved it. He laughed as well.

"It's alright," she told him. "Don't be embarrassed. It's just easy to notice."

"The first thing, I mean, the first thing your father asked me is if I had wine with my meals," he said. "And I said 'sometimes.' I don't know why. I didn't know what else to say."

"Are you dizzy?"

"A bit."

"It'll go away soon. Don't worry."

He tilted his head, looked at her. "Everyone noticed, then… Even your little sister was looking at me funny."

"If they speak a word of it to tease you," said Beverly, "I will personally put them in their place."

"Mhm. My hero."

"I mean it."

"So do I." He grinned.

Beverly sighed, lowered her gaze. Peter then noticed her toes peeking out from under the hem of her skirt. She had taken off her shoes.

"Will you walk with me?" she asked.

"Yes."

He didn't even think of it. Didn't consider another answer.

The room kept tilting, like a ship in stormy waters. It would go away eventually. He leaned away from the wall and found his footing. He thought he had gotten ahold of himself, of what it meant to stand upright, but all at once Beverly had grabbed his arm to stabilize him.

"Thanks," he murmured. "And sorry."

"You apologize too much," she said. "'Sorry about your hat.' 'Sorry for making you wait.' 'Sorry for almost falling.' You don't need to say it so often. It's almost as if you're constantly expecting everyone to dislike you."

"But I have so many likeable qualities," mumbled Peter sarcastically, chuckling.

Beverly smiled. "Here, let's go grab a coat."

To those who are here today, thank you so much for reading. It means a lot to me. I keep saying that but... it does. This movie holds a very dear place in my heart, especially right now, and I really want more people to know it exists. So, once again, thank you. Have a great day.