He cringed a little when his brother laid into him immediately for that remark; he oughtn’t have said anything. And perhaps he ought to just tell Alfred already to explain himself, but – he had rather been hoping Caroline would announce it for them, since he was always wary of telling his brother any of his own good news. (Because Alfred would surely find some way or another to make fun of him for it. He had a knack for it.) If he could just hold onto it until the women had rejoined them, it would go so much more smoothly.
But he couldn’t say nothing, so in a half-sheepish, half-begrudging attempt to smooth things over, Evander protested: “Well, I might be, soon.” He thought that might be suggestive enough to give Alfred a hint about the baby – they might be using it soon, he had said, because he was afraid to tempt fate by speaking in anything stronger than hypotheticals, when Caroline’s last pregnancy had ended the way it had. He wasn’t sure how long would have to pass before that worry faded.
And he didn’t much like the insinuation that he had forgotten they had shared parents. How on earth could he forget that, when it had felt like, for every year Alfred was away or supposedly dead, practically all their mother had ever done was talk about John this or John that? It had never been fair – Alfred had been their father’s favourite too. And their mother probably would have presented him with the rocking chair, too, without a second thought; but recognising that only made Evander more annoyed about the prospect now. “I’ll find something else you can have of hers,” he offered, as if he was going out of his way to be considerate. “You don’t need a rocking chair.”
But he couldn’t say nothing, so in a half-sheepish, half-begrudging attempt to smooth things over, Evander protested: “Well, I might be, soon.” He thought that might be suggestive enough to give Alfred a hint about the baby – they might be using it soon, he had said, because he was afraid to tempt fate by speaking in anything stronger than hypotheticals, when Caroline’s last pregnancy had ended the way it had. He wasn’t sure how long would have to pass before that worry faded.
And he didn’t much like the insinuation that he had forgotten they had shared parents. How on earth could he forget that, when it had felt like, for every year Alfred was away or supposedly dead, practically all their mother had ever done was talk about John this or John that? It had never been fair – Alfred had been their father’s favourite too. And their mother probably would have presented him with the rocking chair, too, without a second thought; but recognising that only made Evander more annoyed about the prospect now. “I’ll find something else you can have of hers,” he offered, as if he was going out of his way to be considerate. “You don’t need a rocking chair.”
