Alex and Lisette begged Julia and I to step outside and look for sea monsters. They had been outside alone for the better part of an hour, their hair wind-swept, cheeks crimson, and bare feet covered in sand. They looked feral but content in their new surroundings and I was certain an evening filled with fresh sea air would have them both sound asleep quite early.
Julia walked outside of the cottage first and I lingered behind.
"A word?" Archie and I said in unison. He appeared far more amused by the situation than I felt, but I nodded all the same.
"By all means, Monsieur Kire, how may I be of service to you?"
"Alex had a request," I said.
Archie lifted a brow. "What may I do for the younger Kire?"
"Your sister sold phonographs at the exposition," I said.
Archie snapped his fingers. "Three hundred and six, to be exact. Meanie is quite the saleswoman, if I do say so myself. If it wasn't for her undeniable talent on a stage, I would insist she open her own phonograph business." He clenched his jaw and offered an apologetic smile. "But as you were saying?"
"Are you in the business of selling the cylinders?"
"As a matter of fact, I am not."
I blinked at Archie Leach, unsure of whether or not he was jesting. "But your sister-"
"A favor to a friend of ours. Meanie wished to return to Paris and the opportunity presented itself to spend several days at the World's Fair. Were you interested in obtaining additional cylinders? As I recall, Alex purchased a phonograph."
"He did," I said, realizing far too late that perhaps Alex's reasoning behind the sale was to hear his mother sing all along. "And he asked if you might know if there is a recording of Christine Daae."
Archie's expression faltered, the amusement in his dark eyes hardening into suspicion. "I see."
"I inquire purely on my son's behalf," I said. "He has never heard his mother sing." And now he may never hear her, I wanted to add.
Archie nodded. "I will ask if there is a catalog available," he said. "To my knowledge one does not exist with her singing, but in all honesty I have no idea who or what has been recorded." He paused, still eyeing me with suspicion, which I supposed was deserved given the topic of my inquiry. "Does Julie dear know?"
"She will," I answered. Despite how Archie Leach annoyed me, I did not want him to think I treated my wife poorly or dishonored her. "There are no secrets between us, I assure you."
Archie didn't appear quite satisfied with my reply, but he didn't further question me. "I wanted a word with you as there was a man here this afternoon inquiring about your arrival," he said as he nodded toward the door and I followed him out.
My heart stuttered. "Did he give a name?"
"Phelan Kimmer," Archie replied.
I could not decide if I should be relieved my brother had paid a visit or disappointed he had called before we arrived. "How long ago was he here?" I asked.
"Two hours ago, I think?"
"Did he say if he intended to return?"
Archie placed his straw hat back on his head. "Unfortunately, he did not say another word after I told him I wasn't sure when you would arrive today." He shrugged. "I suppose I expect nothing less from Monsieur Kimmer."
I didn't know why his words surprised me given that Archie truly seemed to know everyone no matter where they resided. "You are familiar with him?" I asked.
"As familiar as one can be with an enigmatic artist." Archie glanced at me. "You must be in his good graces for him to travel to Leach Beach."
Hardly, I wanted to say. Instead I merely grunted. "How are the two of you acquainted?" I asked.
"Leach Art Supplies. We make everything from canvas, brushes and ink wells. Check your ink wells when you return home. I can almost guarantee there is a Leach in your house ," Archie proudly answered.
"Splendid," I dryly replied.
Archie ignored my tone. "May I ask how the two of you know one another?"
I hesitated, preferring my private life to remain as such, but I sighed and told him the truth. "He is my brother."
Archie turned his head and looked directly at me, his mouth momentarily agape before he appeared quite excited at the prospect. "Brilliant," he said, his British accent breaking through his French. He clapped me hard on the back. "How absolutely brilliant. Two artists, two different medias."
"Papa!" Lisette yelled from the edge of the water. She waved at me, jumping up and down to garner my attention.
"If you will excuse me, I have business to attend to in Calais and will return tomorrow morning. Supper should be on the table in an hour," Archie said as he walked toward the second cottage. "Marius and Mario prepare an excellent meal."
We parted ways and I paused outside of the gate to remove my shoes and place them beside the rest.
"Roll up your trousers!" Alex shouted as he hopped around on one foot. "Like this!"
I did as requested and strolled toward the beach, trouser legs rolled up past my ankles and my shirt sleeves halfway up my forearms. My toes curled in the soft, warm sand as I made my way to where my family had gathered near a crater of a hole Bessie had managed to dig and burrow into. She gazed up at me, tongue lolling from the side of her mouth as though she was quite proud of herself for creating a cool place to rest.
"Have you ever seen anything like this? There is water for as far as I can see!" Alex asked. He had found a stick and wrote his full name in the damp sand, which he stood back and examined.
"It's much different from home, isn't it?" Julia said.
"It's very warm," Lisette said. Her cheeks were rosy, strands of hair flying around her head like a living crown. "But I don't mind."
Alex took a seat beside his perfectly scripted letters in the sand and squinted up at me. "Do you need to wear your other face?" he asked.
I glanced from him to the rest of our surroundings, which were empty aside from a few gulls in the midst of a disagreement over something washed up on the beach. From the corner of my eye I saw Julia and Lisette expectantly looking at me.
"I suppose not," I said. My breath hitched before I pulled my mask off and stood out in the open with the late day sun to our right. The covered part of my face was damp from the mask and I removed my handkerchief from my pocket and blotted my cheek and forehead. The warm, salty air hit both sides of my face equally, the sensation quite welcomed.
Alex looked up at me and smiled. "Isn't that better?"
"It is," I admitted, although my stomach knotted and I gripped the wire that kept my mask firmly in place much tighter than necessary should the servants approach unexpectedly.
We stared out into the Dover Narrows, our eyes collectively fixed as far as we could see. Gathering clouds over the water made the air hazy, thus preventing a clear view of the white cliffs on the shores of Dover. Charles had given Alex and Lisette a brief lesson on the cliffs and how far we stood from the shores of England, which the two of them recited for the benefit of their seemingly obtuse parents.
"Perhaps tomorrow the weather will cooperate," Julia said. "We have nine days to see it and I'm sure one of those days will be clear."
"Could we swim to England?" Alex asked.
Lisette gasped. "Alex! You cannot swim!"
"Father can," Alex announced. "He will teach both of us."
"Who taught you how to swim?" Lisette asked. "Your uncle?"
I thought for a moment, recalling the many times I had sneaked from the cellar and padded toward the shoreline late at night, accompanied only by the moonlight.
I had spent at least three summers traveling to the water before meeting my uncle again, each one spent bathing on a secluded beach with jagged rocks off the shoreline. The water was calmer there than other parts I had ventured to as the rocks broke up the waves rushing onto the shore.
Most likely I had taught myself to swim little by little, braving the sting of cold and the rush of waves against my chest as I delved deeper into the water. I still remembered the first time the sandy bottom suddenly dropped away, the gentle slope I had grown accustomed to no longer beneath my feet as I waded chest deep. My head went under the night dark water as I gasped in surprise and inhaled lungs full of saltwater. I sputtered, terrified as my arms flailed while I blindly dipped beneath the waves. Somehow I had managed to kick my feet and put my arms to use, which had saved me from drowning as I found the surface.
"I don't recall," I answered, fearing if I told Alex I had taken the task upon myself that he would attempt to teach himself.
"Your brother?" Alex asked. "You should ask him."
"I will do just that," I replied.
"Uncle Phelan!" Alex yelled. "Did you teach my father how to swim?"
It took a moment for me to realize that Alex was genuinely asking a question rather than rhetorically rehearsing for the next time he saw my brother. I stared at Alex a moment before he rolled smoothly to his feet and waved. Fitting my mask into place, I turned and found Phelan picking a path toward where we stood.
"He's here," Julia said. She clutched my arm, her fingers trailing down to grasp mine. "I didn't think he would come."
"Neither did I."
"And he has Elvira!" Lisette exclaimed. "Oh, I want a donkey and a bird."
Phelan made no attempt to acknowledge any of us until he was several paces away and Alex waved his arms with such gusto that he could not be ignored.
"Nephew," Phelan said sternly.
"Uncle Phelan," Alex said, doing his best to stand tall and speak in the same manner. "Do you remember me?"
"I never forget a name. You areā¦" Phelan narrowed his eyes. "Alair."
"No!"
"Albaric."
"That isn't my name!"
"Algernon for certain."
Alex could barely contain his amusement. "You are teasing me."
"Do I appear to be a man of humor, Alexandre Jean Kire?"
Alex looked him over. "Not really," he said. "Your eyes are quite serious. Like a bear woken from hibernation too soon."
No one told the truth quite like Alex and my brother was clearly not expecting to be compared to an indignant bear. His stony expression cracked into a crooked smile and he lifted a brow. "Perhaps I am," Phelan said.
"Bears are often grumpy because they are hungry. You should stay for supper."
"Your knowledge is quite impressive." Phelan turned his attention from Alex and nodded to my wife and daughter. "Julia, Mademoiselle Lisette."
"It's wonderful to see you," Julia said.
"Is it?" Phelan grumbled. His eyes looked more gray in the bright light, and the color of cloudy skies seemed to suit him all too well.
Rather than take offense, Julia simply smiled. "Of course it is," she said. Her placid tone reminded me of the way she responded when I stormed into her house and groused over a review or some inconvenience with my music. Perhaps five years spent in my disagreeable company had prepared her for my brother's surly tone. "We will give the two of you a moment together, brother to brother."
"Uncle Phelan," Alex said before Julia guided him away. "Did you teach my father how to swim?"
Phelan looked from me to Alex. "I may have kept him from drowning a time or two."
Alex fell silent, awaiting a more elaborate tale.
"I am not surprised to find your father staring out at the water. He always had an insatiable need to look for rocks. He also had the audacity to ask me to carry all of his treasures."
"Did you carry the rocks for him?" Alex asked.
"Far be it from me to deny my little brother."
Alex shook his head. "Father!" he said sternly. "You should have carried your own rocks."
"You often asked the same of me with your toy soldiers when you were younger," I told Alex.
My son offered a sheepish grin and turned his attention back to his uncle. "Would you stay for supper and tell us more stories?"
"I have not yet decided," Phelan answered.
Alex looked quite puzzled by my brother's answer, but he didn't press the issue. Lisette took Julia's hand and the three of them made their way back to the cottage, leaving me alone with my brother.
Phelan stood a short distance from me in silence for a long moment, his bird on his shoulder and his attention turned to the sea. He stood with his arms crossed and feet shoulder's width apart, strands of hair whipping around his angular face. His beard was trimmed shorter than before, weariness clinging to his features as though he had not slept since I'd seen him in Rouen. The stance and his overall appearance reminded me far too much of our father and I chose to look away from him.
"Are you staying in Calais?" I asked.
"I am not."
His tone remained harsh and I wondered if every time we saw one another it would be like starting over with forming a relationship. Our current endeavors were not sustainable and it pained me to think distance was a better solution than attempting to repair what had been lost.
"Roosting in a tree with your bird, then?"
"A tree indeed." To my surprise, Phelan grunted. "I suppose you are you forsaking your cottage for a hole beside your mongrel?"
Bessie, who was still lazily rolling around in the hole she had dug, turned onto her back and looked at me, her sand-covered tongue hanging from her open maw.
"That is utterly absurd," I grumbled. "Bessie is no mongrel and I assure you she is quite accustomed to the finest linens."
At last my brother's stony features gave way to the slightest smile of amusement. He met my eye briefly before he turned his attention back to the water.
"Are you well, Kire?" he asked, his tone softer than before.
I watched him from the corner of my eye and thought of the many times I had stolen away in the middle of the night to roam the vacant beaches. The deafening roar was a welcomed distraction from a life I otherwise abhorred.
"Better than I've been in years," I answered. Perhaps better than I had ever been. "And yourself?"
"Unlike your dog, I detest sand," Phelan answered as he deeply frowned and looked down at his shoes.
Under different circumstances, I could hear myself saying something similar and I chuckled, thinking I owed my wife an apology for irascible ways.
"I amuse you?" Phelan groused.
"You are highly...disgruntled."
"This godforsaken plot of sand is not easily reached," Phelan said. He purposely scowled, though his eyes betrayed his expression and hinted at fondness.
"You have gone to great lengths."
My brother snorted. "More than you are aware, Kire."
"I do hope whatever inconvenience it has caused was worth your time," I said.
Phelan looked at me, his light eyes narrowed. "Do you think I desire compensation?"
I couldn't tell if his gruff tone was meant in jest or not. "I have compensation to offer whether desired or not."
"Supper with your family, I suppose?"
"Dining with my wife and children is simply an added incentive."
He turned slightly in order to face me, his gaze switching from one side of my face to the other. "Shall I continue guessing or do you intend to speak?"
"I have an unopened letter from our uncle," I answered. When Phelan appeared less than thrilled, I added. "It is addressed to you."
My brother attempted to mask his interest. He pulled his gaze from mine and fished into his pocket for dried fruit, which he fed to Elvira.
"Something Valgarde gave to you?" he asked almost dismissively.
"No. Something that was discovered beside the spot where I buried him."
Phelan looked at me again, his expression unexpectedly raw. "I see," he said.
"A friend kept letters addressed to the three of us all these years," I told him. "Kept our uncle's pack safe should I ever return to her town. I have not yet opened mine. If you wish to read them together-"
"I sincerely doubt there is anything of interest addressed to me," he said, practically spitting out his words.
"Take it," I said. "Do with it as you will."
"You may keep it for all I care."
Heat rose up the back of my neck and I fought the desire to defend my uncle from such an egregious insult. I coveted my uncle's every word and the time we had spent together, but my relationship, though brief, was much different than what Phelan experienced.
"It isn't mine to keep," I said evenly.
I assumed my brother heard me and chose to simply ignore my words as he gave several morsels to the bird. The silence between us unnerved me as I had far too many questions left unanswered. I blatantly stared at him, willing him to speak.
"You have something else to say?" Phelan snapped.
"No."
I turned my attention back to the water and felt sand in my eyes. Blinking did little to remedy the situation and I turned fully away from Phelan, rubbing my left eye first before I pulled my mask away from my face enough to reach beneath and wipe the grit from my eye.
When I turned around once more, Phelan stood with one hand on his hip, a hardened look in his eye.
"How long have you worn a mask?" he asked.
I should have anticipated an impolite question given our previous encounters, but still his inquiry took me by surprise. "In one capacity or another, I have worn one for as long as I can remember."
The first one I recalled was made from a scrap of wood with two strings tied together at the back of my head. I had treasured it, this gift from my father.
"That is your earliest memory?"
"One of them, yes."
"You do not find it cumbersome?"
"I find it a necessity."
Phelan continued to study me with his scrutinizing gaze.
I exhaled. "Do you have something else to say?" I shot back.
"I asked if you found it cumbersome, not whether or not a mask is a necessity."
"No, I do not find it cumbersome," I answered flatly. "I suppose I have grown accustomed to wearing it when in the company of..."
"Strangers?" my brother remarked. "How utterly considerate."
Something flitted through Phelan's gaze. Satisfaction, I thought, as though my answer confirmed a notion he had silently held. He lifted his chin ever so slightly, eyes narrowed as he continued to examine me, his gaze frigid. Rejection, I realized, an emotion that I had known more than any other.
"You said yourself when I was born I was placed on the back steps, so hideous I was rejected at birth by my mother and father," I said.
"I also said I carried you back inside." His voice echoed the frustration I felt internally, the constant tugging from within that threatened to always unravel me.
"No one else would have, would they?"
"What does that matter?"
"I have heard every taunt, insult, and cruel word spoken in a dozen different languages," I said without looking at him. There had been an endless loop of words tumbling through my mind as a boy on the cusp of manhood: far too tall, too skeletal, too hideous to gaze upon. "I was labeled an ignorant mute, a brainless monster whose throat should have been slit or whose deformed head should have been bludgeoned."
The heaviness was a burden I was forced to carry day and night, wide awake or consumed by nightmares. Beside me, Phelan swore under his breath.
"Every possible defect, every fault was under scrutiny," I said. "From the man who did not treat me like his son and from thousands of people who spared one glance at me and decided I was a monster. Not a day went by that I was not made aware of my appearance."
"I am neither our father nor one of the thousands you speak of, Kire," Phelan said. His tone was still defensive, but the biting cold of his gray eyes transformed into remorse and regret.
"No, you are not," I agreed. "But I will not be on display for anyone."
"My intention was not..." My brother's voice trailed away, his stance softened as he took a step toward me and paused, his gaze flitting between the masked and unmasked sides of my face. I wondered what he had thought as a small child retrieving his ghastly newborn brother from behind the house. I wondered if he had recoiled upon seeing me or if he had taken one look and immediately found acceptance.
"Father!" Alex yelled, startling both of us. "Mother said you should both come inside for supper now. Uncle Phelan, you are sitting beside me!"
At the sound of Alex's voice, Bessie climbed out of her hole and did a full body shake, spraying sand everywhere, including my brother's shoes, which he had not removed. She warily made her away around Phelan, her head held low as the bird on his shoulder squawked its warning.
"I do not believe I will be staying for supper," Phelan announced once Elvira settled down.
"Of course you are."
Phelan looked at me as though I'd gone mad. "Are you issuing orders now, little brother?"
I turned away from him, smiling inwardly. "As you stated in front of my wife and children, far be it for you to deny my request."
Phelan released a heavy, dramatic sigh. I glanced over my shoulder and caught him smiling to himself. The moment he noticed, the scowl returned in what was quite possibly the worst acting I'd seen in my life-and given the number of auditions I'd witnessed, I had seen enough awful displays of acting for a lifetime. "What are you staring at, Kire?" he snapped.
"A bear out of hibernation in need of a good meal."
