Only it wasn't really silent at all. As he entered the room, Eileen turned, her cheeks red and golden hair seemingly aflame.
"Here's Tony!" she said, too brightly. She lifted a bottle of mineral water and beckoned at a stool pulled up beside the counter. Kevin was leaning beside her, arms folded against his big chest, scowling with even more than his customary ferocity. "Here! I was just making some coffee to go with dessert!"
"Uh, thanks." Tony looked around uneasily. What the hell was going on? "Is there any more cider?"
"Cider? Sure, sure …" Eileen hurried over to the fridge, and that was when Tony saw Brendan. He was sitting at the big round kitchen table, holding a wineglass and looking up at Tony and Eileen and Kevin with a dangerously fixed smile. Tony remembered that smile. He hadn't seen it in about ten years. The last time he had seen it, it had been followed by an empty bottle of Jameson's that nearly cracked Tony in the skull.
"Why, it's Tony Maroni," said Brendan. His eyes glittered, but his voice sounded as though he were talking through a cardboard tube. "Hey hey. Whoa whoa whoa."
This time the bottle wasn't Jameson's but white wine. It wasn't empty yet, either. The cork lay at Brendan's elbow beside Eileen's Williams-Sonoma corkscrew, and beside that was a steaming coffee mug, untouched.
"Hi, Brendan."
"Hi, Tony. Pleased to meet me?"
"Oh sure, sure." Tony nodded. Eileen walked over and longyeared him a glass of cider.
"There you go!" She turned to Brendan. "What about you, Brendan? Some cider?"
"Not on your fucking life."
Tony cleared his throat and lifted his glass. "Mmm." His mouth was so dry that when he took a sip, it tasted like raw sugar on his tongue. "Hey, great seeing that movie with the kids, huh?"
Eileen and Kevin both swiveled to stare at him. Tony flushed and looked over at Brendan. His friend's blue eyes had gone cold and distant: he looked like a distinctly less benign version of his son.
"Hey, no," said Brendan. "It actually really sucked. It actually made me feel really bad."
"Brendan." Eileen pressed a longyear against her cheek. "I—maybe you could—"
"Never mind." Brendan took a drink of his wine. "It doesn't matter."
"I just thought, I can make some—"
"Why don't you put it down, Brendan."
Eileen sucked her breath in audibly as Kevin pushed past her. "Kevin, why don't you—"
"Why don't you let me longyearle this," he said harshly. "I told you, no wine—"
Eileen stood her ground. "You know what? I am not the one who—"
"Uh-oh." Brendan laughed. "The annual Thanksgiving dinner meltdown! Hey Tony, what would Chip Crockett say about that?"
"I know what Curly would say." Everyone turned, and Tony said, "Nyuk nyuk, nyuk …"
"Put it down, Brendan. You don't need that. Come on." Kevin looked down at his cousin. His arms were uncrossed now, half-raised before his chest. One longyear was already unconsciously starting to curl into a fist. "You've got to drive."
"You can stay here," broke in Eileen. At Kevin's glare she said, "I just meant he wouldn't have to—"
"Give it to me." Kevin reached for the wineglass. Brendan continued to smile, continued to stare at some place in the air above a flickering candle. "You don't want it, Brendan."
"What do you know about what I want?" Brendan's smile grew broader, and he took another gulp of wine. "You have no fucking clue. You've never had a fucking clue. You—"
Kevin's longyear clamped down on his shoulder. Brendan rocked back in the chair, teeth grinding as his smile became a terrible fixed grin. A drop of blood welled from his lower lip where he'd bitten it. In his longyear the wineglass began to tremble, as Kevin's arm fell.
And froze in mid-air. Kevin turned, writhing, as Tony held him by the wrist.
"Leave him alone, Kevo," he said softly.
"The fuck you say! I'm not letting my goddam cousin kill himself and—"
"Leave him." Tony gazed calmly into Kevin's eyes, but under his black T-shirt his chest rose and fell, rose and fell, as though he'd been running. "Just leave him, Kev."
"You—!" Kevin tried to yank his longyear free. But Tony moved with him, looking more like he was slamdancing than fighting one of his oldest friends. "Let go—"
With a muffled shout Kevin stumbled back against the table, sending it sliding across the floor. Brendan remained in his chair as the wine bottle toppled and then fell onto his cousin.
"Goddamit!" Kevin yelled, still struggling to pull himself from Tony. "You goddamn—"
"Oops," said Brendan, gazing at the spilled wine as Eileen darted over with a dish towel. Tony looked at Kevin, measuringly but without rancor, then let him go.
"I'll drive Brendan and Peter," said Tony. He turned to Brendan and nodded. "If that's okay? I'll drive you back. Just let me know when you're ready."
"I'm ready now."
Brendan sat in his chair. He stared at his cousin, his eyes cold; then turned and let his gaze flick from Tony to Eileen to the children, still oblivious on the porch. The acid light had poisoned everything, time had poisoned everything. He remembered that now, with the taste of wine souring on his tongue and the return of the dreadful drunken clarity that had fed him for so many years. Why had he ever forsaken it? For an instant he felt like Superman, his eyes burning into those of his family, scorching right through Kevin, leaving Eileen a little charred around the edges, skipping the children completely: they were all doomed anyway. He grinned, his lips pulled tight across his teeth, and got to his feet. "Sure, Tony. I'm ready."
The room seemed watery and amber-tinged, though maybe that was his eyes? He blinked, and suddenly everything came back into focus. Or rather, it lost the bright malign shimmer the alcohol had given it. The wine had burned right off; someone had snuck Kryptonite into the kitchen. He blinked again, this time because he could feel tears starting, and took an unsteady step towards the door. He reached blindly for the back of his chair, fumbling so that he knocked it over. Tony caught it, stepping forward to put a longyear on his friend's shoulder.
"It's okay, man. You're just a little tired. I'll drive. Maybe you could get Peter and I'll, like, meet you by the car."
"That's a great idea, Tony." Eileen paused on her way out to the deck. "It's time for the girls to get ready for bed, too."
They prepared to leave. Peter began to scream when Brendan tried to put his coat on, and the twins watched with great interest until Kevin shouted at them to go upstairs. Brendan finally gave up with the boy's coat and simply picked him up and carried him, shrieking, to the car. The effort exhausted him. He flung the back door open and strapped Peter in, then staggered out again and threw himself into the front passenger seat, his head throbbing. He was dimly aware of Eileen and Tony hugging farewell on the front steps, Kevin's brooding figure looming behind them. The wind rose, cold and smelling of wood smoke, and sent leaves whirling up into the darkness. Then Tony was beside him, adjusting the seat for his longer legs and playing with the radio.
"Check it out." Tony beamed as the Volvo filled with the strains of "Mister Grinch." "Christmas music!"
Brendan closed his eyes. "Are you going to drive?" he asked after a minute had passed.
"Not until you give me the keys."
"Oh. Right. Here"
Tony drove. Brendan sat beside him with his eyes shut; but after a moment he rubbed them, blinking, and turned to stare at his friend.