Ch 140
"Where are all of your belongings?" Alex asked his uncle as we stood in front of the house while two men loaded my trunk onto the back of the carriage. Bessie wandered several houses down, sniffing the trunk of a tree that every dog in our neighborhood had left a mark on over the summer.
"I beg your pardon? What belongings?"
"Your trunk!"
My brother gasped. "I didn't bring one."
Alex narrowed his eyes. "But what will you wear for a week?"
Phelan's eyes widened. "I never thought of that. A horse blanket, I suppose?"
"Uncle Phelan, you cannot spend an entire week wearing a horse blanket," Alex sternly told his uncle. He planted his hands on his hips and snorted like a horse.
"You are teasing Alex," Lisette said.
"I know he is and I don't mind. It isn't mean teasing, it's silly teasing," Alex said. He flung his arms around my brother's waist and hugged him tightly. "I will miss being teased by you."
"Fear not, favorite nephew, I will most assuredly be teasing you again very soon."
With my trunk loaded, the driver returned to his seat and the footman hopped onto the back of the carriage awaiting our transport.
I turned to Julia, hesitant to leave now that the coach was prepared.
"You will have a wonderful time and they will adore you," she said. She smoothed her hand over my lapel, then flattened her palm to my chest over my heart. "And I simply cannot wait to hear how you enjoyed yourself."
"I will think endlessly of you," I said.
"And Bessie," Julia added.
"That goes without saying."
Julia rose up on her toes for one final kiss before she stepped back and Lisette and Alex approached me together, both of them giving a tearful goodbye.
"It's past your bedtime," I said. "No late night reading and no midnight snacks. Understood?"
"We know," they said in unison.
Lisette threw her arms around me and squeezed as tightly as she could, her cheek pressed to my chest and fists against my kidneys. "Sleep on the train, Papa, or you'll be grumpy tomorrow."
"Wonderful advice," I said as I kissed her on the top of the head.
Alex took a deep breath and squared his shoulders when I turned to him. He wore a brave face, but his eyes were glassy and I drew him into an embrace, wrapping my arms around him. My lips pressed to his curls of hair and I inhaled the familiar scent of him; a bit of perspiration, cinnamon most likely from his breakfast, and a whiff of grass and soil from playing outside.
"I love you," I said to him, words I felt I hadn't said nearly enough to him. There were far too many times in recent months where he seemed too old for the affection I had shown him when he was a toddler.
"I love you too, Father," Alex whispered.
"You are not allowed to grow any taller when I'm away," I told him. "Tell Uncle Charles to put a book on your head, the thicker the better, so that you don't sprout up in my absence."
Alex tilted his head up and grinned at me. "I will be taller than you and Uncle Phelan."
"No you will not!" my brother said over his shoulder, interrupting his conversation with Marco. I noticed the way they stood together, both of them with their hands in their pockets, mirror images of one another, and wondered if they realized their own similarities.
Claude, who was leaning heavily on one crutch, took a deep breath as I approached him. He looked tired from his day spent out with friends and stifled a yawn.
"You will do wonderfully," he said in Danish. "I am certain you will be mistaken for a Danish citizen the moment you speak."
"I certainly hope so," I said.
"Safe travels, Monsieur. I look forward to hearing about your week when you return-spoken in Danish, of course."
"Of course."
Apolline offered a shy wave to me before she ran to Phelan and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Bessie!" I called, seeing the dog trot further down the street unattended.
When she outright ignored me, I whistled, finally garnering her attention. She lumbered back slowly, distracted by every weed poking through the cobblestones, ears dragging along the ground, before she finally approached and sat in front of me, her tail slowly wagging. For good measure, she sighed heavily as if being called back to the house was terribly inconvenient.
"Behave," I sternly said as I clipped her leash to her collar, which I handed to Alex.
Phelan patted Apolline's shoulder, gave her a nod, and turned to Marco, whom he pulled aside further from where the rest of us stood.
"You have my drawing?" Alex confirmed.
"Of course."
"And my letter?"
"I have everything you handed me."
Alex gasped. "I know what you're missing! You don't have your violin!"
He was correct; I had been far more concerned with my family than the instrument and had not retrieved it from my bedroom.
"I'll get it!" Alex enthusiastically offered. He turned on his heel and dashed up the three steps to our home just as the front door opened and Madeline appeared, carrying my violin case.
She sighed in relief once she saw me and lifted her skirts as she bounded down the stairs and toward me. "Thank goodness you haven't left yet."
"Seconds to spare," I answered.
She handed me the violin case and smiled.
"Alex was about to run upstairs and bring this out to me."
"He would not have found it in your bedroom."
I furrowed my brow. "Where was it?"
"I dropped it off at the tailor and had the lining replaced," she said. "Aria can keep the old one since she enjoyed sleeping in your violin case, but I thought you could use something with a little less cat hair inside for your holiday with your grandparents." She reached up and brushed her fingers against my shirt collar. "For a good first impression."
"You had the lining replaced?" I asked, opening the case to see for myself. The interior was green instead of red, the old, worn out felt replaced with lush velvet. "When?"
"This morning while you were preoccupied," she said, nodding. "Senor Brerro did it himself as a gift to you."
"Thank him for me," I said, impressed by how swiftly he had completed the work.
Madeline squeezed my arm. "Take care of yourself," she said. "Mind your manners, don't stay up all night, and for heaven's sake, make sure you eat regularly." She pursed her lips together and threw her arms around me. "But most of all, have a wonderful time."
"You are too good to me," I whispered into her ear. I kissed her cheek and felt the tears she shed. "Far better than I've ever deserved."
"As I have told you countless times, you deserve more than you realize." She hugged me tighter before finally stepping back and sniffling.
"You and Senor Brerro better not run off and elope in my absence," I sternly commented. "Not without my permission first."
Madeline shook her head. "Go, before you miss your train."
I turned and found Phelan waiting at the carriage for me with Marco beside him. My brother hopped inside and took his seat, hand extended for my violin case.
Once I was seated, Marco stepped forward to close the door.
"I'll keep an eye on your home. If your wife or children are in need of anything at all, I offer my time and whatever service I can provide in your absence," he said to me. He looked at his father and nodded. "Tea when you return."
"Yes, absolutely."
Once the door was shut, I gazed out the window at the seven people waving at me and my brother. The sight was surreal to me, the thought of anyone at all awaiting my return almost beyond belief.
My throat tightened as the carriage pulled forward and I turned my head, watching as they became more and more distant. Immediately I missed them, the family and friends I'd never expected.
"You have your ticket, I hope?" Phelan asked.
I patted my overcoat pocket. "Sleeping car eight, bed three," I said, having memorized the information.
"Top bunk," he said. "Unless you prefer to switch with me and take bed four."
I turned my attention to him at last. "I have no preference."
"Then switch tickets with me," he said, a devilish twinkle in his eye.
I furrowed my brow. "You honestly wish to climb a ladder in order to sleep in the top bunk?"
"Of course, Kire, who wouldn't want the privilege? It's the top bunk, for heaven's sake."
I looked him over. "A grown man in his late forties, for one."
"You are never too old to desire the best sleeping arrangements in a train car."
His answer amused me. "I will switch tickets with you once we are boarded."
The train station came quickly into view with several other carriages stationed in front dropping off travelers leaving Paris on the last trains of the evening. I consulted my watch twice, growing concerned we would be delayed and miss our departing train.
"Plenty of time," Phelan said.
Large carts pushed by wiry young men bustled in and out of the station itself, loaded with multiple trunks and suitcases toward the platforms. The moment our carriage was in front of the doors, two men approached, asked for our tickets to verify our destination, and swiftly took my trunk, which they marked with a tag on one of the handles.
"Where is your trunk?" I asked.
"Storage," he answered, nodding to several towers of various large carpet bags and trunks piled in the center of the first two tracks. There were signs in front of each pile indicating which train the baggage would be loaded onto for the passengers. "I dropped it off this morning."
Our train was in the midst of boarding once we entered the station and the two of us swiftly walked toward the platform and stood at the end of the line awaiting our turn.
"Denmark?" the conductor said as he squinted at our tickets. We both nodded. "Flensburg is the stop before yours. Be aware of the announcements lest you wish to end up in Poland."
"Noted," Phelan said.
"Breakfast is served from five until seven, mid-morning meal from nine until ten, lunch from eleven until one, afternoon tea from two until four and supper from seven to ten. Biscuits, coffee and tea are always available in dining car four. For an additional fee, meals can be served in your sleeping car. The information is beside your evening biscuits and tea cart."
"Only five meals per day? It sounds like we are in danger of starving," Phelan dryly replied.
The conductor handed us back the stubs and motioned for us to board to our left where the sleeping cars were located. We made our way through the dining cars, regular seats and finally our quarters for the night.
"The whole car is ours," Phelan said as he shrugged out of his overcoat and hung it on a hook. "For the sake of privacy. Once our trunks are in this car, I have every intention of locking the door and relaxing in my pajamas while our meals are delivered to us."
"You ordered train service?" I asked.
"Of course I did," he answered, gesturing toward a silver teapot and small wooden box that contained an assortment of teas, honey, cream, and a tin of biscuits with our names on a card beside it. "When I am on holiday, I wish to be treated like royalty and have no interaction with commoners."
"I suppose that is fitting for Kong Toke's grandson," I said as I surveyed our private car with its inlaid wooden ceilings and decorative light fixtures situated between two rows of half-circle windows to allow natural light in during the day. The curtains were dark blue and made of a heavy fabric with yellow valances and matching tiebacks. I had expected comfort, but not the luxury provided for our transportation.
I drew back the thinner curtain that separated the rest of the room from the beds and was surprised to find pillow cases made of silk with crisp linens beneath quilts that matched the dark blue color of the curtains.
"Do you always travel in this fashion?"
Phelan seated himself in the nearest chair and stretched his hands over his head. "Not at first, but after a few terribly uncomfortable travels from Brussels to Paris, I decided luxury was preferred over saving seventy-five francs to sleep in a regular chair and wake with an aching back and pounding head." He stretched his legs out and yawned. "Sit, Kire, I greatly dislike you standing over me, as I have expressed numerous times."
I took a seat beside him where we both faced the windows from plush armchairs that swiveled. It was too dark outside to see much of anything save for our own reflections, and I noted how relaxed my brother appeared while I was still quite rigid.
"You've not traveled by rail previously, have you?" Phelan asked.
"No," I answered. "I was supposed to board a train with our uncle, but…"
Phelan turned to look at me, frowning. "He never told us about the train. I wonder if he intended for your arrival to be a surprise."
"I don't know," I answered sullenly.
I was certain our passage would have been one made without the comfort of the train car I currently occupied with my brother. For all I knew, my uncle intended to stow us away with the luggage where we would have spent hours in the dark, stuffed between trunks until we scurried away unnoticed like mice.
A bell toward the front of the train rang, followed by the doors shutting one by one.
"All aboard!" the conductor bellowed, first in French, then in German and lastly Danish. The doors were secured and the train horn blared a moment later, the screech of metal against metal signaling the wheels moved against the tracks.
I sat back, catching glimpses of the street lamps as the train slowly gained momentum and left the station. My heart thudded as the dream of meeting my grandparents became more of a reality.
"I wasn't certain you would still wish to travel to Denmark after what Alex said," Phelan commented.
"If Alex was younger, I'm not certain I would feel comfortable leaving him," I replied.
"Alex is fortunate to have a father who shows such tenderness toward his son," Phelan said. His lips twitched into a faint smile. "He reminds me of you, but also makes me wonder what I relinquished when it comes to Marco."
I wasn't certain how to respond and chose instead to stare out the window. We passed the lights of the city and the shapes of trees and buildings as we reached the outskirts of town and made our way toward the suburbs where many people took different trains in search of recreation outside of the city limits. Rowing had become quite popular, and families strolled along tree-lined paths or enjoyed dining at quaint restaurants overlooking the sparkling ponds of Asnières or the quaint houses with their well-kept gardens in Courbevoie.
The quieter suburbs were a popular retreat for writers and artists, and I wondered if there would be time for Claude to pay a visit before he departed for his new position at the home. Given his previous schedule at the factory and limited resources, I doubted he'd ever had the opportunity to spend an afternoon relaxing with his fellow painters along the Seine.
I could imagine our whole family spending the day out of the city with Alex and Lisette taking great interest in the sailboats and people fishing from the stone bridges, or the two of them exploring La Grande Jatte, an island once inhabited by a duke and his ten children. I pictured my children and Apolline running ahead of me and Julia as we strolled arm in arm, not a care in the world as we enjoyed a day out together.
The Duke of Orleans' chateau had not survived the February revolution, but the La Grande Jatte had been modified for public interest and enjoyment. I'd seen advertisements of the island as well as the suburbs beckoning those of us who lived in the 'cramped and overcrowded, bustling city' to 'enjoy a tranquil afternoon in the delightful suburbs'.
"How did you do it?" Phelan asked suddenly.
I turned to face him, realizing I had been lost in thought and perhaps missed a portion of the conversation. "I beg your pardon?"
"How did you become so proficient in parenting?"
"Proficient? That is an extremely generous description."
"Given how fond Alex and Lisette are of their father, it is the absolute truth."
I sighed to myself, feeling as though he complimented me while silently berating himself. "There were more times I've felt like a failure over the years than proficient at anything. I can assure you that parenting is not high on my list of areas in which I excel, particularly considering Alex rolled off the bed twice in the same week when he was around seven months old. And of course there are the ducklings I refused to purchase for him from the market when he was six, which he still brings up from time to time when it rains and the back part of the garden becomes a small pond. He told me I was the meanest father in the entire world."
Phelan grunted. He folded his hands and leaned his head back, studying the ceiling. "How did you know what to do when he was placed in your arms for the first time?"
"I didn't," I said quite honestly. "Christine gave him to Madeline and Madeline had no desire to hand him to me, at least initially."
Phelan lifted his head and briefly looked at me.
"Madeline was a natural at caring for others, " I explained. "And Alexandre had not been fed all day before Christine dropped him off. His blanket was soaked through and he was screaming in the most ear-piercing fashion and I'm certain Madeline thought I was the least likely individual prepared to care for an infant, particularly one who was screaming."
"Was she aware that you were Alex's…?"
I shrugged. "I suppose she assumed as much once Christine left her son at my home."
The thought of his first moments in my care made me shiver. "I had asked Madeline to give him to me, and once I held him, I feared I would grasp him too tightly, that I would press too firmly on his small frame and crack his ribs. I couldn't loosen my grip as I feared dropping him. I took him into my room, pulled the blankets and soiled diaper off of him and he urinated all over my bed. And my clothing. And himself."
"That must have been frustrating."
"I wasn't angry, at least not with Alex. I was angry with myself for not knowing how to appease him as I thought I should know instantly how to care for my own child."
I'd had no experience with adults, let alone a child, and caring for an infant was foreign to me.
"Once Madeline showed me how to feed him and how to burp him, he fell asleep in my arms. He was slightly less terrifying to care for when he was sound asleep."
With a soft sight and his tiny hand grasping my finger, he dozed. His hands were pink and wrinkled, his fingernails alarmingly sharp. There were marks on his cheeks where he had cut his tender flesh with his little, uncoordinated hands.
"Once he was there in my arms, I couldn't imagine him anywhere else, nor could I fathom my life without him. He was mine and he fit perfectly into my home. Even when he was inconsolable, I wanted him."
Phelan offered a wan smile. "You must have had remarkable instincts when it came to caring for him."
I exhaled. "I merely wanted Alex to have everything, which didn't seem like much to ask," I said with a chuckle. "I never wanted him to worry that he was too loud or asked too many questions. I didn't want him to think of himself as a burden or unwanted despite Christine leaving him behind." In my mind I could see his quick smile and hear his easy laughter as he leaned forward, his face inches from mine. "I never wanted him to feel as I did."
"You have thoroughly succeeded in those aspects. I don't believe I've ever met a child half as happy as my nephew."
I smiled to myself. "I don't know how much longer I would have survived without him," I said.
Without Christine's son, I thought to myself. Alex was the only tangible part of her I had left and without him, I was without her.
After a few days, when it was obvious Christine would not be returning to take Alex back and raise him with her husband, I thought of him as mine and not hers. He cooed and kicked at the sound of my voice. He smiled when I lifted him from the bed and sat him on my lap and laughed when I made an assortment of sounds to entertain him. His happiness was my doing, not hers.
Phelan sat with his hands folded, his expression pensive. "I would have liked to have known Marco," he said.
"You still can," I said. "Not as an infant or a young child, but as your son nonetheless."
Phelan's jaw twitched, but he didn't reply.
"How did you know what to do with me when you were so young?" I asked.
Phelan shrugged. "Who is to say that I did? I merely wished to keep you alive, and I was certain that if I left you outside, you would perish."
A loud knock on the door made us both jump and Phelan was immediately on his feet.
"Kimmer," the man at the door in a gray suit with a matching gray hat said. He was clean-shaven aside from a very thin pale blond mustache that almost went unnoticed. His eyelashes were equally pale and his flesh quite crimson and covered in a sheen of perspiration. "Phelan Kimmer, destination…"
"Denmark," my brother answered. "Kederhelm station."
"Where would you like your trunk, Monsieur?"
"The corner," Phelan answered. "Is there one for Kire as well?"
"Were the trunks together?"
"No, mine was at the station this morning. My brother's was delivered prior to departure."
The man single-handedly hoisted my brother's trunk off a small cart and hauled it toward the corner of the room. Phelan and I exchanged looks over his remarkable strength. I couldn't help but think he was beet-red from the exertion despite the ease in which he carried the trunk across the room.
"Ah, then they were sorted differently. Another hour and we should have the last trunk in your car," the man said.
"How long before we reach our station?" I asked.
"Kederhelm? Thirty hours and fifteen minutes," the steward said over his shoulder as he walked out of the room and closed the door behind him.
"We are confined to this train for thirty hours?" I questioned.
"And apparently fifteen minutes," Phelan answered. "From Brussels it's around twenty."
"You never told me how long the train ride was from Paris to Ketterhelm," I said.
"Nor did you ask."
"I thought we would arrive by tomorrow morning."
Phelan chuckled. "Tomorrow morning? Unrealistic, little brother," he said as he opened his trunk and rummaged through the contents.
"What are we going to do for thirty hours?" I asked.
He produced a pair of pajamas and yawned loudly. "I intend to sleep in the top bunk for the next eight hours, at least. I suppose you will have another hour before your trunk arrives and you can sleep. Fortunately you're accustomed to staying up late and won't mind."
"I have decided I will no longer switch beds with you," I replied, crossing my arms.
Phelan's eyes widened. "You are being childish."
"I am."
"Insolent, even."
"I agree."
"Kire."
"Lan."
He sighed in disgust. "What do you intend to do? Annoy me for the next hour so that I will stay awake with you?"
"On the contrary. Perhaps I will play you a lullaby on my violin so that you fall asleep faster."
At last he chuckled to himself. "By all means, play for your beloved older brother."
I unlatched the violin case and removed the bow and then the violin, which I placed beneath my chin and proceeded to play the first two bars from the overture of my opera, North Star.
'What would be a stirring masterpiece if it was composed by anyone other than E.M Kire, the overture for North Star is a lullaby to the tone deaf and a gift to those lacking taste, Luc Testan wrote years earlier. The damnable fool!
"Beautiful," Phelan said. "Hopefully the train constable doesn't come for you considering it's almost midnight and most sensible travelers are resting."
I furrowed my brow and dropped my arms to my sides. "Train constable?"
"Yes, the guards that patrol the cars to keep the peace. The very last car serves as a jail."
I would very well have believed him if he hadn't smirked while speaking.
"I suppose the first car is the judge's quarters?"
"Don't be ridiculous," he gruffly replied. "That's for the engineer."
"You are the one being ridiculous," I groused. "Demanding the top bunk like you are six years of age and not forty-six and now making up absurd stories of train constables and jails."
Our half-hearted spar between brothers was unfortunately cut short by another knock at the door.
"Ah, there's your trunk," Phelan said as he brushed past me. "At last you can change into your pajamas and cease your disagreeable ways."
"My disagreeable ways?" I muttered.
"You are grumpy when you're exhausted, Kire."
Phelan opened the door and a man in a bright yellow suit stood before us. He had a shock of red hair sticking out from beneath his hat and a glimmer in his blue eyes. His teeth were quite crooked, but he smiled nonetheless and walked into our train car without being invited.
"I beg your pardon, Monsieur, but who are you and what do you want?" Phelan questioned.
The man ignored the question and looked around our private quarters, first at the ceiling and then at the furnishings like a wide-eyed child browsing store windows over the holidays.
Phelan impatiently cleared his throat and the man turned to him briefly before he looked at me and gasped. He gestured toward the violin, grinning wildly as he began speaking.
His Irish accent was so thick that at first I couldn't understand what he was saying. The excitement in his voice, however, was evident and directed at the instrument.
"What is he doing?" Phelan asked.
"I believe he's saying 'North Star'."
"In what language?"
"English."
"That is not English he is speaking."
"Yes, it is, but with a very strong Irish accent."
"Irish? Are you certain he's absolutely mad," Phelan said. "Pull the emergency cord. The conductor will remove him at once."
"And put him into train jail?" I questioned. "He's not mad. North Star is the name of my opera."
The man continued to speak, his words indiscernible until at last I stepped forward and he gasped.
"North Star?" I said in English. "The opera?"
"Yes! Opera! Opera! Kire. You play Kire." He clapped his hands together and stared at me with child-like astonishment. "My favorite."
"North Star is your favorite?"
"Kire is my favorite!" he said. He kissed his fingertips and again gestured toward my violin, which I still held loosely at my side. "Genius!"
He took a step back, apparently aware of his exuberance at last, and breathed deeply.
"Forgive me," he said, speaking with greater care. "I did not expect to hear such beautiful music on this train. We have departed from Monsieur Kire's home city. You know he is French?"
I nodded.
The man swallowed and tugged on his yellow suit. He looked like an overzealous, animated sunflower. "I auditioned for his music, but I'm not good enough yet," he said, enunciating each word with a bit of exaggeration.
"You sing?"
"No!" he shouted. He winced at his raised voice, then proceeded in a whisper. "No, not sing. Play. Violin."
"What is he saying?" Phelan questioned. "And how in the world can you understand him?"
"He plays the violin," I answered over my shoulder.
"Who is he?" Phelan asked me. He nodded to the stranger, his voice raised. "Who in the hell are you?"
The man clasped his hands together and took another step back, ignoring my brother's harsh tone.
"Tadhg Bruno, aspiring violinist and admirer of E. M. Kire."
"What did he say?" Phelan asked.
I glanced at my brother, but didn't answer him.
"Please play again tomorrow," the Irishman said as he walked backwards toward the door, his hands clasped together as if in prayer. "Good night. Pardon me. Sleep well," he said, bobbing his head with each sentence. Mister…?"
"Good night, Tadhg Bruno," I said before I shut the door.
"Perhaps there should be train constables aboard and a jail after all," Phelan muttered to himself.
oOo
My trunk arrived almost ninety minutes later while Phelan and I both dozed off in our beds–him in the coveted top bunk while I laid on the bottom, resting on my side.
The knock on the door roused me from sleep and I grabbed my mask and smoothed my hand over my wrinkled shirt before proceeding to cautiously open the door, half-expecting Tadhg Bruno would return with his own violin and ask to practice together.
The same steward from earlier in the evening hauled my trunk into the room and onto the metal shelf situated above my brother's belongings. Once he departed, I removed my mask and dressed for bed in silence. I hesitated to remove my hairpiece as my brother had not seen me without it, but sleeping with it on was not an option as the wig was far too delicate and my scalp grew irritated when I wore it overnight.
Phelan was awake when I returned to our sleeping quarters. He eyed me as I turned down the lamp, climbed into the bottom bunk, and slipped beneath the covers still warm from my body heat.
"I wonder what he was like." Phelan said under his breath.
I stared at the bed above mine, one hand behind my head, the other on my chest. The pillowcase was cool to the touch and a pleasant contrast to the rest of my body warm beneath the covers.
"Who?" I asked.
"Marco. When he was younger." Phelan shifted around above me. "Every birthday I wondered how he was celebrated and what he had learned in the previous year. Was he better at arithmetic or reading? Did he prefer drawing or music? Was he content or did he long for more?"
I couldn't imagine knowing Alexandre existed in the world without being part of his life and wanted to believe nothing would have stood in the way of being Alex' father.
"You will drive yourself mad wondering about the past."
Phelan fell silent for a long moment and I assumed he drifted off to sleep. The train rocked back and forth and I closed my eyes, finding comfort in the rhythmic motions and steady, muffled sound of the wheels along the tracks. I understood why Alex always enjoyed climbing into my lap and being cradled in my arms as I swayed back and forth. I pulled the blanket tighter around myself like a cocoon and exhaled, feeling the weight of exhaustion.
"Erik," Phelan said suddenly. "Are you still awake?"
My mind was somewhere between sleep and wake, his words barely registered as real when I felt myself on the precipice of dreams. I inhaled sharply and mumbled a reply under my breath.
"I nearly failed you," he said.
But you didn't. I wasn't certain if I said the words aloud or if they were products of my mind.
"I wasn't enough." He sucked in a breath and exhaled hard, his harsh breaths repeated several times until I realized he was weeping.
"Lan," I whispered. I turned onto my side and leaned toward the edge of the bed. "You didn't fail," I assured him.
He didn't reply and a moment later he was silent, his breaths evened out and deeper with sleep. I wondered if either of us would remember the exchange in the morning.