“Nothing I shouldn’t have foreseen,” I answered, hearing my voice as dull as my soul. “Uh, how’d the exhibition go?”
“Fine,” she replied efficiently. “In fact, two pictures have already sold for a nice sum.” Concern welled forth: “With that out of the way, sit down. Let me bring you a drink. God, you look blackjacked.”
“I’m all right. No need to wait on me.”
“Maybe I feel a need to. Ever think of that?” Laurie hustled me into my usual armchair. I slumped down in it and stared out the window. Lights afar made a hectic glimmer along the sill, at the feet of night. The radio was tuned to a program of carols. “O little town of Bethlehem- ”
“Kick off your shoes,” Laurie advised from the kitchen. I did, and it was as if that were the real act of homecoming, like a Goth unbuckling his sword belt.
She brought in a pair of stiff Scotch-and-lemons, and brushed lips across my brow before settling herself in the chair opposite. “Welcome,” she said. “Welcome always.” We raised glasses and drank.
She waited quietly for me to be ready.
I got it out in a rush: “Hamther has been born.”
“Who?”
“Hamther. He and his brother Sorli died trying to avenge their sister.”
“I know,” she whispered. “Oh, Carl, darling.”