Evander had been fairly quiet during dinner - pensive, rather than in any sort of ill-humour - but Alfred and Charity had had the conversation well in hand, and time had unfolded quickly, the dinner going off without a hitch or an argument. (It felt a rare thing that he could say that.)
Charity had certainly enjoyed herself, which was cheering to see, and her goodnights would be as sweet a note as anything to end the evening on. However. Evander straightened slightly in his chair but otherwise did not get up, merely set his napkin upon the table in front of him and folded the corners of the cloth contemplatively into neat little triangle shapes, until he was sure she had dutifully scampered up the stairs.
Because there were still conversations to be had, although his brother had gotten there first. (For once in their lives, they might even be on a similar sort of page. The curse had clearly been one of the subjects on his list.)
“No,” Evander answered. “I mentioned you hadn’t been well last month,” he said, brushing past the idea of not well in the sense one might’ve explained away a simple headcold, “but I thought it better not to worry her with the fact that, of the two relatives she has left, one had been in the hospital inches away from death.” Surely he’d been right not to say? Hesitantly, he glanced at Alfred with the hope of seeing agreement in his eyes. He never knew what to do with decisions like these: he preferred honesty, usually. But it just did not seem fair to thrust such a thing on the poor girl’s shoulders, not when she had already faced quite enough loss for an eight-year-old. She was too fond of Alfred already, without needing to be anxious about the possible consequences of ancient curses.
“How is the curse situation?” Evander added, with a flash of worry.
Charity had certainly enjoyed herself, which was cheering to see, and her goodnights would be as sweet a note as anything to end the evening on. However. Evander straightened slightly in his chair but otherwise did not get up, merely set his napkin upon the table in front of him and folded the corners of the cloth contemplatively into neat little triangle shapes, until he was sure she had dutifully scampered up the stairs.
Because there were still conversations to be had, although his brother had gotten there first. (For once in their lives, they might even be on a similar sort of page. The curse had clearly been one of the subjects on his list.)
“No,” Evander answered. “I mentioned you hadn’t been well last month,” he said, brushing past the idea of not well in the sense one might’ve explained away a simple headcold, “but I thought it better not to worry her with the fact that, of the two relatives she has left, one had been in the hospital inches away from death.” Surely he’d been right not to say? Hesitantly, he glanced at Alfred with the hope of seeing agreement in his eyes. He never knew what to do with decisions like these: he preferred honesty, usually. But it just did not seem fair to thrust such a thing on the poor girl’s shoulders, not when she had already faced quite enough loss for an eight-year-old. She was too fond of Alfred already, without needing to be anxious about the possible consequences of ancient curses.
“How is the curse situation?” Evander added, with a flash of worry.
