Page 87 of Reverie
Still, I smile.
“I apologize, August. It’s just us. Our family. Okay?”
August gives a quirk of his mouth, one of his smiles.
“Hey, so I wanted to show you something,” I say, walking over to the sofa to snag the keyboard connected to theentertainment system. A few clicks later, I pull up the instant replay of the RC national convention.
“Oh,” August says, and I turn to him to see him swaying with his gaze on the floor.
“I promised you that we’d watch this,” I say. “I haven’t forgotten.”
August scratches behind his ear.
“I would like to watch it with you, Dad,” August says, and my chest gets tight.
I open my mouth to talk to him more about the very important things. Like how he’s feeling about taking out Blair. Or if he’s having nightmares or is upset or what the hell he’s feeling.
I need to know how he’s coping. But Winter is way better at these things than I am. I know I’ll say the wrong things and ask the wrong questions.
“Scott Sorenson is the reigning champion for the RCNC. I have not checked his scores to see if he won again this year. I think he is generally a little sloppy on his choreography, but his precision and control are excellent,” August says.
I nod, trying to follow the jargon. “I see.” I smile at him and take up residence in Max’s empty chair. August joins me.
“After we watch this, will you playDoom of the Zombie Galaxy IVwith me?”
My shoulders drop. This. I can do this with him. Iwantto do this with him.
“Of course, August. But try not to kick my ass as badly as you did Max’s,” I say.
There’s another quirk of August’s lips.
“I cannot make any promises,” he says.
I smile. “Fair enough.”
I watch August open another window on his tablet, snapping a blank notetaking document next to his AAC app. I fire up thereplay, and the four commentators who sit behind the long desk talk about different elements of RC aircraft that I’m tangentially able to connect to piloting actual aircraft.
August types notes on his tablet for the entirety of the ninety-minute show recap, silently watching the stunt shows and making disapproving hums when a competitor makes what he deems a problematic move.
It’s not until the replay ends that he speaks.
“Scott Sorenson was sloppy, as is usual. I do not know why the judges love him so much.”
I nod along to acknowledge his statement, even though I was in awe at the level of control the RC pilot had over his aircraft.
Changing the input on the television, August says, “You know, the fifth edition ofDoom of the Zombie Galaxyis set to come out soon.”
He lifts his eyebrow a tick, then taps on his controller to start the game.
“I’ll make sure you have it,” I say.
His crooked smile settles something in my soul.
ELEVEN
WINTER
“Everyone is having breakfast in the main dining room. Wanna come?” Veronica stands in the doorway to my bedroom, dressed in denim overalls and a white T-shirt. She hasn’t styled her hair like she usually does—instead, two abnormally messy French braids adorn her head.