Hollow Chest

by Brita Sandstrom

  “And I put some comics on your nightstand,” Charlie added. “Only the fun detective ones, not the boring stuff Sean O’Leary likes. D’you want to read one together before bed?”

  “Maybe tomorrow, Charlie. I’m too tired.”

  Grandpa Fitz reached out his one hand and gently tugged Charlie back into his seat. At Mum’s worried look, Charlie tried to school his crestfallen face into a smile.

  “Sure! Tomorrow! After your party, I mean.”

  Theo looked at him searchingly for a moment, then back to Mum.

  “The welcome-home party, darling. At the church, remember?” She took his limp hand in hers. “Everyone is just so happy you’re home, love. They want to see you, that’s all. You won’t have to do anything.”

  “Fine,” said Theo, but he was already heading to the stairway. He had to step onto each stair with his good leg, then his cane, and then sort of swing his bad leg up after him like a lump of wood. Charlie didn’t want to think about what it would be like to get back down them again. He sat on his hands to keep himself from running over to help. Theo was embarrassed, he could tell, even though Charlie wanted to go to him and shake him and tell him it wasn’t embarrassing, not at all, that it wasn’t his fault.

  When Theo’s bedroom door finally clicked shut overhead, Mum sighed, her shoulders caving in like a loose sail. Charlie’s stomach churned as if he was about to be sick, too. He was embarrassed, or ashamed, or something like it that chafed and burned under his skin.

  He was embarrassed for Theo, and ashamed of himself for being embarrassed.

  But he was embarrassed for Theo, not of Theo. Theo had to know that, he had to. And if he didn’t, Charlie would prove it to him, whatever it took.

  “Remember what we said, love?” Mum asked, squeezing Charlie’s hand. “We’re all going to have to be very patient and very kind with each other.”

  Charlie nodded hard. “Patient and kind,” he agreed. Grandpa Fitz smiled, a little sadly, not saying anything.

  Patient and kind. He carried it with him all the way up the stairs, pausing for a long moment in front of Theo’s door. Not to knock, just to listen to the sound of Theo moving behind it, of so many nights of wishing made real. He and Biscuits crawled into bed, still savoring the noises of a house with four people in it again.

  Go ahead and try, his mind whispered to whatever nightmare thought it could haunt him now that Theo was home.

  In the night, Theo cried out from his room, but when Charlie and Mum ran into the hall, bleary with sleep, Grandpa Fitz was already there, still dressed. “Just a nightmare,” he murmured, and waved them back to their rooms.

  Back in bed and clutching Biscuits like a teddy bear, Charlie begged the nightmares to come back to him, that he hadn’t meant to pass them on to someone else.

  8

  CHARLIE HAD NO INTENTION OF DWELLING ON the night before, not on Theo’s first day home. He had far too many plans.

  “Come on,” he shouted, and yanked Theo through the kitchen—Theo’s new cane accidentally knocking them both on the shins. Theo already looked more like himself out of his uniform. Charlie even imagined his hair had grown a little overnight. The cane would take some getting used to for Charlie, but Theo was still adjusting to it, too, his grip on it always shifting and uncomfortable. They would both get comfortable with it eventually, Charlie was sure. “We’re going to the park.”

  Theo winced. “Charlie, I don’t really want to bother with all that right now.”

  “Come on, it’ll be brilliant, you’ll see. We’ll stop by the fish and chips stand on the way, and we can see the fountain with the lion head and—”

  Theo sighed, and yanked Charlie against his side in a one-armed hug.

  “You’re so much taller,” Theo said. Charlie straightened up proudly. He’d grown six inches, at least, since Theo had left. “You used to fit right here,” Theo went on, looking at the crook of his arm as if he’d misplaced it and couldn’t understand where it could have gone.

  To distract him, Charlie tugged him towards the door, shoving hat and gloves and coat at him and then leading him out into the light. The sun had taken note of the occasion and shone cheerfully over smatterings of fat, fluffy clouds.

  “My God,” Theo murmured, his mouth hanging open slightly as he looked around him. “I’d forgotten.” Charlie looked around the street he’d pulled them down because it was the shortest way to the fish and chips stand. The rubble of what used to be three houses, all pressed right up to each other, had been mostly cleared out. A chimney and a chunk of wall with a window that was miraculously intact, the glass not even cracked, were all that remained. Charlie found it hopeful or very sad, depending on his mood. “The Gillies used to live right there. I don’t even remember, did they . . . ?”

  “No! No, they’re fine! They made it to a shelter. They moved in with Mrs. Gillie’s sister and her family, in Kent or somewhere. They’re fine.”

  “In my mind it all still looks like it did when I was a kid,” Theo said, shaking his head. “When I would think about home, I would think about it like it was before, not like . . . this.”

  Charlie, not liking this grim line of thought, grabbed Theo’s hand again and tugged him quickly past the ruins.

  “Slow down, Charlie, I can’t keep up,” Theo said after a block or so.

  Charlie fell back, embarrassed. He had been planning on challenging Theo to their customary race to the top of the small hill before the park, but he realized, watching Theo wince and pant, that that had been stupid.

  “Theo . . . ,” he said, ducking his head. “Can I ask . . . what happened to your leg?”

  Theo stopped halfway up the hill, his breath jagged and loud. “A grenade went off near me,” he said after a moment. “It hit a barrel that was nearby, and when the barrel exploded, little bits of it went flying everywhere. Shrapnel, they call it. All these bits of metal were sticking out of my leg, but they couldn’t take them out right away because I would have bled to death. And when they finally did take them out, a bit of it was stuck in the bone too deep to remove, so”—he gestured at his stiff leg—“here I am.”

  “They just left it in there?” Charlie asked, horrified. “Why?”

  “I don’t know, Charlie. The doctors just said they’d done all they could without taking the whole bloody thing off.”

  Charlie fiddled with his scarf. He had planned to take Theo to their favorite bookshop after the park. He’d been saving up his pocket money so they could each buy something. But as he watched Theo, grim-faced and pale, labor up the hill he had always taken at a sprinting run, it didn’t seem like a clever idea at all, bringing Theo out here. It seemed silly.

  This whole plan had been silly.

  “Mum said you have a job?” Charlie said after a long minute. His face felt hot and clammy despite the cold.

  “A mate from another unit got me a job at a factory, the one that makes parts for cars, over by Dale Street. It’s a long bus ride, but the pay’s not bad.”

  “Rosie Linton’s sister works there,” Charlie said. “Or she did; they let a whole mess of people go last month. She was really upset.”

  Theo nodded. “The women took over when all the men were gone because of the war, but now that we’re back, they’re giving the jobs back to the men.”

  “But that’s not fair,” Charlie said, stopping. Was Mum’s job at the telephone company going to let her go, too? What would they do for money?

  “Maybe not, but it’s the way it is.” Theo carefully avoided an icy patch of sidewalk, so intent he did not even look up to notice Charlie worrying his lip between his teeth. If Mum lost her job, Theo could still take care of them. They’d be okay. He exhaled.

  Not that that helped Rosie’s sister, he thought.

  “It’s good, though,” Charlie said, mostly to himself. “Because I know Mum is worried, about—about money stuff. She pretends she isn’t, but she is. And I want to help, I want to get a job, but someone needs to be around when
Grandpa Fitz gets bad. I would get a job if I could, Theo.” It was suddenly, desperately important that Theo understood that.

  “Oh, Charlie,” Theo said, and tugged Charlie back into another one-armed hug. Charlie wished, with a stab of longing so sharp it took his breath away, that he was small again, as small as when Theo went away and Charlie fit perfectly into his arms. “You did the best you could.” Theo let him hold on for a while longer until Charlie was certain he was not going to cry, then huffed, “I need to sit down for bit. How much longer do we have to stay out here?”

  “We can go home now, if you want,” Charlie said, smiling so Theo did not hear the catch in his voice.

  “In a minute,” Theo said, sitting down hard on a bench. “Still figuring out how to use this bloody thing.” He gestured with the cane. Then he leaned his head back and closed his eyes, letting the sun fall on him. Charlie took the opportunity to take in his brother’s face, the face he’d been imagining for so long.

  Theo looked different. His cheeks were thin, with deep hollows under each cheekbone. The new-penny color of his hair seemed to have dulled to a nondescript brown. His freckles were as stark against his pale skin as spilled ink. Charlie could not stop staring at him, drinking in each change and cataloging it, comparing it to the picture of Theo in his mind.

  “Why did you stop writing letters?” he blurted out.

  Theo’s face remained blank, unreadable. Finally, he opened his eyes and said, “There was just . . . nothing to say. People keep expecting me to say something, but I never know what it is. It’s like I’m missing all my lines from a play. None of this seems real,” he said, gesturing around him. “I don’t recognize anything. Yesterday I saw Mum from across the room and I thought, Who is that? I recognized her, but it was like they’d cast someone else in her role.”

  Charlie had absolutely no idea what to say. He thought of Grandpa Fitz, sometimes calling around the house for Grandma Lily, as if she were still alive. He thought of the bearskin soldier, washing off seven years’ worth of dirt and worry in the river.

  Right now, Theo didn’t remember who he was, not really. He’d been a soldier so long that he didn’t remember right away how to be anything else, like a big brother. But that was all right, because Charlie would remind him. He would bring Theo back to himself.

  “Come on,” Charlie said, taking Theo’s hand again. “Let’s go home.”

  9

  CHARLIE GRABBED THEO’S HAND AND LED THE way in through the doors at church. His cheeks hurt from grinning, but he couldn’t make himself stop, especially when the two of them, followed by Mum and Grandpa Fitz, walked through the high archway and into the gathering room.

  Everyone had come, just like Charlie knew they would.

  It began as a sort of ripple through the gathered neighbors, then Mrs. O’Leary burst into tears and ran over to cup Theo’s face in her hands. She reached out to squeeze Mum’s shoulder, and she kept trying over and over to say something. But instead, she made a small, strangled sort of noise and ran from the room, her hands pressed over her mouth.

  Sean, smiling tightly at Charlie, went after her. Theo’s hand in Charlie’s felt very hot and clammy. The congregation dissolved into a rush of smiling people all trying to clap Theo on the shoulder or hug him or shake his hand. Charlie was smiling, too, even though Theo was squeezing so tight his fingers ached.

  Father Mac cleared his throat in the way only Father Mac could, the sound sending an instant hush over the room as if they were all readying for prayer.

  “Thank you, everyone,” he began. “We are here today to celebrate our neighbor Theo Merriweather’s safe return from the war to us, to his family, and to his community. In a time when so very many young men are returning to stays in hospitals if they’re injured, or to soldiers’ homes if they have no families to care for them, or even not returning at all, we—” Father Mac cleared his throat again. Charlie was alarmed to see his eyes were bright with unshed tears. After a long pause, he continued, his voice steady and clear. “We are so very thankful that Theo is home where he belongs, amongst those that love him. Let us pray.”

  Everyone bowed their heads and closed their eyes as Father Mac started droning a prayer, but Charlie peeked up at Theo standing next to him. Theo was staring ahead, his expression flat and closed off. His hand in Charlie’s had gone slack. Not soon enough, the prayer was over.

  “Beth, this must be your eldest!”

  Charlie stiffened. He had forgotten to warn Theo about Mr. Cleaver. But maybe that was best. This way Theo could see exactly what he and Mum had been dealing with all the time he’d been away.

  Mr. Cleaver grabbed Theo’s shoulder and shook it vigorously. “Stuart Cleaver, great friend of your mum’s here, great friend! We do so admire our Beth, don’t we, Charlie!”

  Charlie, having learned from Biscuits, did not dignify this with a response.

  “Oh, erm, nice to meet you,” Theo said. Charlie was afraid the assault would alarm Theo, and was relieved that it hadn’t. In fact, Theo looked more annoyed than anything else. Charlie almost smiled.

  “You too, old boy, you too,” Mr. Cleaver said, beaming around his mustache, and he launched into a long description of how smashing Mum was, except it sounded as if he was describing some strange, poor woman Charlie had never met. “Such a delightful soul, so full of guff and bluster! We are so terribly lucky that Bethy is here with us—the church, I mean, the community. Terribly lucky.”

  No one but Grandpa Fitz called Mum “Bethy.” Ever.

  Mum looked pale and miserable under her smile. Blood rushed in Charlie’s ears.

  He tugged on Theo’s hand. Theo looked down at him, eyebrow questioning. Charlie jerked his head at Mr. Cleaver, scowling. Theo rolled his eyes and went back to nodding vaguely at Mr. Cleaver.

  There were other people here, people Theo actually knew and liked, and Mr. Cleaver and his ridiculous mustache were sucking up all of his time and attention away from everyone who could help Theo remember who he really was, now that he was home. What Theo needed was to be reminded how much he belonged here, among people who knew him. Not humoring Mr. Cleaver, drawing into himself more and more with every word.

  This wasn’t how any of this was supposed to go.

  Grandpa Fitz finally extricated Theo by grabbing Mr. Cleaver about the shoulders and steering him away, launching into a long and detailed story about the door hinges. Charlie kept waiting for Theo to say—something, but every time there was a moment for him to speak another person came up to say how happy they were that he was home and wasn’t everything exactly as it should be now? Theo would only nod and smile and look at them as if he couldn’t understand why they were speaking to him. It was like was watching a party for a ghost.

  Less than an hour later, Theo said abruptly, “I’d like to go home now.”

  At that, everyone there made pleasant goodbyes and shuffled back into their coats, Mum looking fretful and apologetic. Outside, the noise and light of the party spilled out into the street for one exaggerated moment, suspending the four of them and everything around them in amber—the velvety gleam of Mum’s lipstick, the silver glint of Grandpa Fitz’s eyebrows, a new scar hidden in Theo’s hair that Charlie hadn’t noticed before—before the door swung shut and brought down murky darkness like a curtain.

  Dinner was quiet, too.

  Charlie kept waiting for Theo to bring up all the people he’d seen at church, all the old ladies who had fussed over him and tried to inundate him with church gossip, or even Mr. Cleaver and how horrible he was, but Theo only gave short, murmuring responses to everything, and once again went to bed early. Though they could all hear him walking in endless thumping circles around his room upstairs.

  Later, when Grandpa Fitz had dozed off by the fire and all the dishes were washed and put away, Mum pulled Charlie to sit next to her on the stairs.

  “I know it’s hard, love,” she said, taking his hand and folding it between hers. “There’s no instructions for th
is part.”

  “I want to be happy,” Charlie said to the floor. “I want to feel like everything is perfect now that Theo’s back. I just . . .” He scrubbed at his face with the cuff of his sleeve.

  “Sometimes, Charles,” Mum said, her voice quiet as she twisted her wedding ring back and forth on her finger, “you have to pretend to feel something until you actually do. You have to trick yourself into believing it, into feeling it.”

  “That sounds horrible.” Charlie sniffed. Mum laughed and pressed the heels of her hands against her eyes for long moment. Finally, she looked back at him.

  “Nothing’s more horrible than giving up, darling. Or not much, anyway.” She sank down so she was even with Charlie, taking his sticky hands in hers. “We’re not in charge of the weather, Charles. Or traffic, or accidents, or other people. The only thing we’re in charge of is what we do in this exact moment. We can’t change what we did in the past, and we don’t know what we’ll do in the future. Ourselves, right now. That’s all we’ve got.”

  “Ourselves, right now,” Charlie repeated.

  “You and me,” Mum said, pressing her forehead against Charlie’s, “we’re going to be just fine.” He had been so excited for Theo to be home, had wished for it for so long, that he had never thought to cherish being the center of Mum’s attention, had never thought to wonder how it would feel when it changed. He missed it. He was ashamed that he missed it, but he did. When it had just been him and Mum against the world.

  They sprang up in alarm when the THUMP-drag of Theo’s cane announced his descent down the stairs.

  “Darling, is everything all right?” Mum asked, turning, a furrow of worry blooming between her eyebrows.

  “Fine,” Theo said, distracted, and Charlie had to jump out of his way as he continued to descend to where they were sitting with no signs of stopping. “I just wanted to check the doors and windows. I couldn’t remember if we’d locked them.”

  “We did, dear,” Mum reassured him, but Theo yanked on the doorknob anyway. He went to the kitchen windows next, rattling them in their frames. Theo nodded to himself, then pulled on the front door again.