“Fine, fine, fine.” Ivan stood up and ran his big hands over his head and face, then started out of the room. Robert followed, but continued through the fish tank hall to his father’s side of the house. The grass was dewy and frigid on his ankles. Cracking open the door to the shell room, he could see his father, slouched over at his table, asleep. He looked peaceful, his wrinkles diminished by the serenity of slumber, his glasses placed on the table beside him. For a moment, Robert thought about turning around and telling the men to go home. But he didn’t. Tip-toeing over to Doug, he tapped him on the shoulder. “Dad…there’s someone here to see you.” His father jolted up, wide awake. “Well then…I must go downstairs then, I suppose,” he replied calmly, putting his glasses back on, as if he’d never been asleep. As they made their way down, the nervousness reappeared in Robert’s stomach. What if they aren’t really friends, he thought. What if they want something else? He pictured the unpatented designs hastily drawn all over the place. At the foot of the stairs stood Ivan. His athletic frame took up nearly the whole stairwell. Doug pushed him aside and stepped towards the men. Still on the stairs, Robert could see Maximilian’s eyes widen as he beheld Mr. Doug Sideris, the famed architect, the recluse. Canton nodded and grunted from his corner, nearest to the door. He still hadn’t taken off his boxy, olive green trenchcoat – Maximilian had already taken his off to reveal a well-cut suit. “Mr. Sideris – an honor, sir,” said Maximilian, holding out his hand. Doug took it. “And who are you?” “I am Maximilian Cretae. I…believe you may be able to help me with…a problem…it may take some time to explain fully, if you don’t mind…” “Certainly,” Doug replied warmly. “Let’s go in the kitchen, shall we? Boys, go back to sleep. You probably won’t enjoy hearing business matters.” Robert and Ivan glanced at each other. “We don’t mind listening to business,” Robert assured his father. “No, no. Bed. Now.” Robert sighed and turned towards the solarium. After waiting a few minutes in the hallway, he crept back towards the kitchen. He needed to hear who these strangers really were. If they were trying to dupe his father…well he wanted to know. Keeping his back against the wall, he held his breath and stood outside the kitchen door. “So, you see, this is urgent.” “Ah, well everyone has different measures of ‘urgent’. When would you need it by?” “Two months, three at the latest.” Robert heard his father let loose a low whistle. “That’s cutting it close with time…I was hoping to keep Robert in school this year, too. I don’t know, Mr. Cretae. You may have to find someone else.” Someone thumped a hand on the table. “There is no one else who can do this…I am sure of it. I’m prepared to offer you whatever price you ask.” He heard his father whisper a number. “Fair,” Maximilian replied. “Reasonable, taking into consideration the family issue. Do we have a deal, then?” Letting out his breath, Robert raced back to the solarium and plopped down on his mattress. The stars had barely moved since he’d been rudely awakened, yet so much had happened. Thoughts raced through his head as he tried to sleep – Maximilian’s raspy voice, the hulking man Canton, whether or not he could steal some of Ivan’s magazines without getting caught – they all whirled about until he finally slipped off. The next morning Robert awoke at his standard time, beholding above him clear, blue, frozen winter sky. He rolled over, listening to the distinct sound of breakfast being made, and smiled, smelling the luxurious scent of bacon as it crackled from down the hall. Robert sat up suddenly. He usually was the only one awake at this hour. He usually made breakfast for the three of them, and he usually made waffles or toast, not bacon and eggs. Abruptly the events of the night before flooded through his head and he stood, running to the kitchen. To his surprise, his father was standing at the stove, wearing a tattered, frilly apron, holding a frying pan and spatula – all the while humming cheerfully. Ivan was sitting at the table, dipping his crust into the center of a sunny-side-up egg. “Morning, champ,” grunted Ivan, not looking up. “Morning. Dad…what’s going on? Where are those men?” Ivan laughed, glancing up from his plate. Robert looked at his brother, a face he’d known all his life. His eyes were different – he could tell Ivan knew something. Robert, irritated, gave him a glare. “Well, tell me, what’s happening?”
55
Author: fie Huncosky: Untitled
Al-