“How’s home?” Alan said quietly, sliding back to sit on the minuscule counter surface in his kitchenette.
“It’s okay,” Ed mumbled, perching on the arm of the Goodwill sofa that came with the apartment. Without his brothers within him, he moved sprightly and lightly.
“It’s fine,” Fred said, looking out the window at the street below, craning his neck to see Bloor Street and the kids smoking out front of the Brunswick House.
“It’s awful,” Greg said, and pulled himself back up on the counter with them. “And I’m not going back.”
The two older brothers looked balefully at him, then mutely appealed to Alan. This was new—since infancy, Earl-Frank-Geoff had acted with complete unity of will. When they were in the first grade, Alan had wondered if they were really just one person in three parts—that was how close their agreements were.
“Brian left last week,” Greg said, and drummed his heels on the grease-streaked cabinet doors. “Didn’t say a word to any of us, just left. He comes and goes like that all the time. Sometimes for weeks.”
Craig was halfway around the world, he was in Toronto, and Brian was God-knew-where. That left just Ed-Fred-George and Davey, alone in the cave. No wonder they were here on his doorstep.
“What’s he doing?”
“He just sits there and watches us, but that’s enough. We’re almost finished with school.” He dropped his chin to his chest. “I thought we could finish here. Find a job. A place to live.” He blushed furiously. “A girl.”
Ed and Fred were staring at their laps. Alan tried to picture the logistics, but he couldn’t, not really. There was no scenario in which he could see his brothers carrying on with—