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He was one more comforting arm-squeeze away from burning the whole building to the ground.
There were too many bodies shuffling, pressing, murmuring, nodding, drinking, and none of them the one he wanted. Faces he hadn’t seen in decades blurred together with strangers who somberly introduced themselves, discomfort dripping from their fingers as they shook his stiff hand, and he mumbled the same, “Yes, well…” that he’d managed for every other one of the lot before they’d taken the hint and drifted away, making room for the next somber smile and uncomfortable apology.
Across the room, Matilda worked to catch his eye, and it was both the thing he wanted most and a sight that turned his stomach. Her black dress matched his black coat and his black tie and his black trousers, and Matilda looked so much like her that he once again turned away. He could feel Matilda and a score of others watch him from the too-bright hall as he slipped through the wide glass doors into the barely less crowded garden courtyard. Above him, the sky had turned the clouds a brilliant orange in the early evening light.
Someone pressed a glass of wine into his hands, and then another, and he walked.
For the first time in decades, he found himself wishing for his parents. Not for comfort, no, but his daddy would loathe everyone here as much as he, would glower at the onlookers until they choked on their condolences and rotted. He didn’t dwell on how his mother must look tonight.
Gustav Gander and his insipid wife Daphne were craning their necks to catch his eye, and Scrooge pivoted away, elbowing someone who apologized to him.
“Looks a wreck,” someone whispered behind him, and he pushed on.
“Horrible accident,” someone was saying from a bench.
“That’s why I prefer to stay home,” someone said from the bar.
“Those poor children,” someone said from the low stone wall.
That gap in his chest gave a wrench. The air was suddenly too cool, and the spaces at his left and right hip felt quite empty.
He turned his head towards the voice, and the little court being held around it.
He’d always liked Elvira. She was a keen, shrewd old woman with a wicked wit and a wickeder sense of humor for all the propriety she insisted on. Her farm, deep in the countryside, was always something to behold, however unwillingly Scrooge had been dragged there for family gatherings or birthdays or occasionally, when she’d been chosen as babysitter instead of him, to spirit away the farmhouse’s youngest occupants with a hastily written letter thrown on the rough wooden table.
Not anymore, though.
She seemed to be handling herself far better than him, and he wasn’t sure she had much reason to. They were her kin too, after all. But her wrinkled, leathery face was dry, and her voice steady as the small crowd seated with her nodded.
“They’re startin’ on Monday,” she was saying, “School will be good for them, even if it’s new. It’ll keep ‘em busy.”
“And,” piped up a woman Scrooge didn’t know, “it’s not like there’s nothin’ to do at the farm. Idle hands, and all that. I’m sure Donald will be a help.”
The group nodded again, and Scrooge kept his eyes trained on his glass. Donald never shut up about how much he hated farm work.
“How is he?” some idiot asked Elvira.
“How do you think?” Scrooge snapped.
Half the courtyard went quiet, and the little sea of faces turned to look at him.
Elvira’s eyes were sharp and knowing, and he dodged her gaze. His words had been less than kind the last time they spoke, but her son’s will had been quite clear.
She let the silence draw on before she took pity on him.
“He doesn’t come out much,” she said, “It’s been a week and he barely says a word.”
Elvira let that hang, pinning him in her gaze until he took the bait.
“And Della?” he asked.
“Won’t hush up for love or money,” she said, “Girl talks enough for both of ‘em and all of it jabber. Can’t get her to stay in her room at night, though.”
They had separate bedrooms at the farmhouse. He’s not sure what she expected.
“You might try bunkbeds,” he said instead.
Someone hummed.
“They’re almost teenagers now,” they said, “Boys and girls should have their own space.”
Scrooge sniffed. “They’ve been talkin’ about tryin’ to build their own at home.”
Someone cleared their throat, and he flushed.
“My home,” he amended quickly.
Our home, he’d been saying already for years. Our kitchen. Our yard. My family. My kids.
Elvira, without any malice, had made it very clear that it would go back to being his house. Children needed stability, and long months spent jumping between houses or disappearing suddenly from school only fostered confusion. For everyone, she’d insisted gently. There were always holidays, she’d said, and vacations, and birthdays, but he was a busy man, and the children were grieving. They needed routine and a safe place to work through this.
Donald didn’t have his amp, was all he had been able to think while she spoke. It was still sitting where it lived on his dresser up in their tower bedroom. Della had tried to leave her whole backpack in the car when he’d pulled up to drop them at his sister’s home just a week ago, insisting she wouldn’t need it before he came back for them. After Elvira came out of the house, quietly taking Scrooge aside to break it to him first, Elvira had deposited the bag in the kitchen.
His baby sister’s kitchen.
He turned on his heel, and nobody spoke as he pushed his way back into the crowd, back through the glass doorway, anywhere to be free from Elvira’s perfectly rational, unbending logic and knowing eyes. It seemed louder inside, hotter, and for a blindingly foolish moment Scrooge had to remind himself the warmth wasn’t a problem, this wasn’t a wake, he’d already put his baby sister and her husband in the earth several hours ago, and there were no bodies here for the heat to bloat.
Someone bumped into him, and there was a crunching of glass. Wine slopped over his fingers and someone bumbled apologies to his back, leaving them to clean up the mess. He brushed powdered glass from his fingers with his thumb, twisting sideways, slipping around Matilda and the women she spoke to. Her hand snaked out to squeeze his and it was longer than Tensie’s was – had been – and harder, more callused.
He pulled his hand back, not turning because she’d see, and then he was pushing through a smaller door off the main hall. It was heavier than it should have been, but the room was pitch dark, and he closed it behind him with a snap, falling back against it.
He could see Hortense’s face in his mind, the furious red her round baby cheeks would turn when she screamed, and the way her little fists would pound against his chest when he held her when she was angry. He’d pace the old floorboards for hours, patting, rocking, whispering, singing, begging. He’d yelled right back at her once, and she’d been so shocked she’d stopped crying to blink at him.
And then he’d left, carried away by ship and the promise of a new life, and she hadn’t even known him long enough to miss him. She and Matilda grew up side by side, and oh, how he heard about them in letters from the other one, sometimes wildly conflicting stories of the same events, but he’d only really gotten to know her once they were adults.
Della had her face, her long lashes and red cheeks, but Donald reminded Scrooge of his little sister so much it hurt.
He supposed now he knew her as well as he would ever be able to know her.
He swallowed, biting his cheek until it ached. Scrooge McDuck would not cry in the back room of some nothing community center next to some nothing church in the middle of who-knows-where.
Something moved in the pitch-dark.
It was on the far side of the room, just the tiniest glowing flash of blue light on the ground before it disappeared, and for a wild moment the only thought his mind produced was will-o-wisp.
It wasn’t, of course. Someone hissed, that blue light appeared again, peeking through the fingers smothering it, and this time he saw it for the long thin glowstick it was.
“Oh,” someone wheezed.
There was a choked noise, something between a cough and a sneeze, and then the corner erupted into matching cackles.
He took a slow breath, waiting for them to catch theirs. They took their damn time with it, though. The hands vanished from the glowstick, and the blue cast the two silhouettes, collapsed in their laughter into the carpet, in an eerie glow.
Eventually, giggles turned to high hiccups and little wheezes.
“Hi, Uncle Scrooge…”
“Hullo, kids.”
That broke them again, for whatever reason, and they dissolved once more.
He hadn’t spoken with them since his sister’s house. After Elvira had explained in a kind but sure voice, there had been tears, of course. Donald had yelled– he didn’t believe them until Scrooge’s own cheeks ran wet, and that had been enough to shock him into silence for the rest of the night. Della had bolted, dryfaced, and had to be talked out of some corner of the hayloft, emerging looking so much like her mother Scrooge had needed to look away.
The mansion had been desperately quiet since. Unlike this room.
“Are ye done?”
“Arrrre yeeh doune?” Della sassed back, quick as anything, and Donald squawked another laugh.
Scrooge scowled. Christ knows, he understood grief looked different on everyone, but this hadn’t been quite what he had expected.
His eyes were adjusting slowly, but it was still dark enough that the edges of his vision faded into a black void. From the low tables, tiny chairs, and dim silhouettes of stuffed animals, the twins had holed up in some pre-school-like daycare room. Half-hidden behind a nook of low bookshelves, they vanished with a snicker. A hand snaked out to nab back the glowstick.
“Go away!” Donald called, a little too loudly, “No adults allowed!”
His scowl deepened, and for some reason that, a sentence he must have heard a hundred times before, stung. The door behind him, the only thing standing between this dark room and the crowded hall of grieving strangers and distant kin, felt very heavy.
He ran a thumb over the doorjamb, clearing his throat.
“You’re gonna send me back to your Aunt Daphne?” he said as lightly as he could, “She keeps offerin’ me a used handkerchief. Now that’s a new level of cruel, even for you two.”
Della’s head popped up to look over the low bookshelf, glowstick in hand. She looked a bit like a fish in the blue glow.
“You’re– woah–” She steadied herself. “You’re hiding?”
She looked down over her shoulder, and Donald appeared beside her.
“I mean,” he said, “We can’t deny a defector.”
She hissed something, throwing her hands in the air before they both disappeared again to whisper.
Scrooge was about a hair’s breadth away from bidding them a flat goodbye when he heard the unmistakable, telltale thunk of a heavy glass bottle set down.
Ah.
That was new.
He picked his way across the dark room towards the heated whispers, praying he wouldn’t trip and die on some cast-aside plastic food toy or whatnot and, yes, he was right. Both kids jumped as he emerged around the other side of the bookshelf to peer into the tiny reading nook, their limbs loose and grins guilty.
Pillows and blankets had been arranged into a nest, lit by a pile of thin glowsticks between the twins. Scrooge’s brows shot into his hairline looking at the square glass bottle sat bold as brass between them, missing a not insignificant amount.
He had half a moment to think wildly that at least they’d had good taste in Scotch whiskey before Donald snatched up the bottle with wide eyes, bit his lip, and extended it up to Scrooge.
“Can we tempt you?”
Scrooge blinked once. Again.
Della was looking at Donald like he’d lost it and Donald was swaying even while seated and Scrooge’s sister and her husband were dead. His kids’ parents were dead and they were getting right sloshed on the floor of some nothing daycare an hour outside Duckburg and he couldn’t help it.
He laughed. Donald looked beyond relieved, Della was looking at him now like he’d lost his mind, and Scrooge laughed until fat, hot tears rolled down his cheeks.
It was good whiskey.
He’d only taken a swig, of course, just to know what he was in for before he’d set it aside, out of their view.
Stealing it from behind the bar, apparently, hadn’t taken much more than a moment, according to a sloppy–tongued Donald. Della had secured a bendy glowstick around Scrooge’s wrists, and after he’d discovered a tiny sink in the corner, the glowstick had lit his way as he scrounged the daycare for paper cups.
Donald slopped half his water over his dress pants as Scrooge passed him his, and Della downed hers so quickly she choked. He shook his head, plucking back the cups to refill them both once more.
“I don’t know what you guys are talking about,” Della insisted, “This is great. Everybody should be like this all the time.”
Passing her back the cup, Scrooge winced.
“You won’t be sayin’ that in a few hours,” he said.
She mumbled something into her water. It came out as a burble, and he turned his attention to Donald.
He looked up at Scrooge briefly, and Scrooge lowered himself heavily to the carpet to sit beside him. Donald shuffled a bit, his limbs in a looser sprawl than his sister’s but his face was touched with something that might have been melancholy.
Scrooge just waited. Donald’s toes, free from his shiny black shoes and dress socks, twisted against each other. Finally, he shrugged.
“You’re not gonna give us a lecture?” Donald asked.
Scrooge raised a brow.
“On?”
Both kids looked up at him like he was stupid, gesturing between themselves. He feigned surprise.
“On drinkin’? Oh, I’ll save that for another day.”
Donald blinked.
“But we’re kids.”
Scrooge shrugged. He really had no idea what he was doing anymore.
“What’s done is done, an’ you’ll be sick as all hell come mornin’. I’ll give ye the speech then.”
Donald squished his paper cup between his hands, slumping lower.
“Over the phone?” he said darkly.
Right. The mansion kitchen would be quiet tomorrow morning. Scrooge squeezed Donald’s knee.
“In that case,” he said, “I’ll just go ahead an’ tell your granny, then. She’s already raised youngin’s, I’m sure she’s got one ready to go.”
He was met by twin faces of horror, and Donald gripped his arm tight enough to hurt.
“You wouldn’t.”
Scrooge shrugged.
“I’ll bet it’s a right fine speech.”
Donald made a little noise, but Della sank into the cushions, her arms crossed tight over her chest and her face skeptical.
“He won’t,” she said firmly.
“Oh?”
“Yeah. Auntie Matilda said you gave Mom whiskey when she was a baby to make her sleep.”
“I would never.” Scrooge jabbed a finger. “It was gin.”
She giggled a bit, but it sounded off.
“Please,” Donald said, slumping into him, “Don’t tell Grandma.”
“It’s fine,” Della said, “He doesn’t care.”
“Doesn’t care?” Scrooge repeated, “My wee niece and nephew are sippin’ stolen’ swallies in the back room and I don’t care?”
“Everybody else is,” Della shot back, jerking a thumb at the door.
“Everybody else isn’t in middle school.”
Donald, cheek pressed against Scrooge’s shoulder, looked up at him.
“It’s okay, Uncle Scrooge,” he said, “You can give us the speech if you want.”
“He’s already doing it, stupid.”
Donald frowned. “Is this it?”
“Yes– no.”
“You don’t have to,” Donald said, “You can call us.”
“You’d rather I did it over the phone?”
“Yes.”
“No,” Della said.
“In person it is, then.”
“No,” she said again, “You don’t get to do it at all.”
His patience was waning, and a pressure that’d been building in his chest for a week was brimming.
“Now, lassie–”
“We don’t live with you.” Her voice had gotten high. “You can’t tell us what to do.”
He frowned.
“No,” he said, “But you’re still my family, both of you, so–”
“I still wanna come over,” Donald interrupted, “We could do Thursday dinners again, remember–”
“You don’t get to give us speeches anymore,” Della said, “You’re just our uncle.”
His jaw dropped, and her words were like ice water. Scrooge floundered at the open hostility in her voice, and Della herself looked a bit shocked. She covered it with a glare he’d never been on the receiving end of before, her fists tight in the black lace dress she’d no doubt been threatened into.
Then she fled.
Della scrambled to her feet, tripping over an overstuffed stuffed pillow in her haste, and she fled, making sure to throw the door open so hard it must have left a dent in the wall before disappearing around the corner.
Donald was silent, and Scrooge made no effort to follow. Every hour of the last week weighed heavily on him, sleepless night after sleepless night, and he wasn’t sure what he’d say even if he could catch her.
The light streaming through the still-open door, even obscured behind the low bookshelves, felt vaguely unsettling. Their bubble had been punctured, and the distant noise and light violated the space the kids had built for themselves at their parents’ memorial.
Donald shifted, and Scrooge let his head fall back against the bookshelf, raising his arm. His nephew slumped in, and he wrapped an arm around his shoulders. For a moment, they breathed.
“She’s mad at you,” Donald said.
Scrooge looked at the blue glowstick bracelet she’d snapped around his wrist.
“I noticed.”
Donald played with his paper cup, twisting the rolled up rim until it was straight.
“Why don’t you want us to visit anymore?”
Scrooge tightened his arm around him.
“Of course I want you visitin’.”
“Then why are we cleaning out our room?”
“You’re what?”
Donald tore off a tiny shred of cup, depositing it in Scrooge’s lap.
“Grandma said…uh…she said you were gonna mail our stuff to the farm so we wouldn’t have to go back.”
That was certainly the first that he’d heard of it, and a lick of anger flicked through his chest. He bit his cheek, though. He didn’t know the first thing about teenagers, or tweenagers as everyone had started calling them, but he knew these ones.
“You’ll be able to focus better,” he lied. He lied. “It’ll be easier without havin’ to do the packin’.”
“Focus on what?”
Mourning, Elvira had said. Adjusting to a completely new life because someone wrote it into a will.
Clean break, Scrooge had privately thought.
He cleared his throat.
“You know what?” he said, “I’ve got an oak that came down just outside the back wall. How about we make sure some of that lumber gets over there with your belongin’s, and ye get started on buildin’ that bunkbed ye talked so much about? If anythin’ you’ve the space back there, and I can show ye how to work a whipsaw and get it cut down into planks.”
Donald turned his head.
“You think Grandma will let us?”
Scrooge dropped his chin onto Donald’s hair.
“I think ye better get it built before she can say no.”
Donald huffed a bit.
“Uncle Scrooge?”
“Hm?”
“I think I get the gin thing, now.”
“Eh?”
Donald slumped a little heavier into him, and Scrooge rested a hand over his head.
“Your granny says you’re spendin’ a lot of time in your room.”
Donald shrugged.
“Every time she sees me, she wants me to help with the chickens.”
“Gettin’ out might not be so bad. Besides, she might just want the company. She loves seein’ you.”
“She’s got Della.”
Scrooge smoothed his hair.
“Ye don’t want to be with her, either?”
Donald took a long pause, going a bit stiff.
“It’s fine,” he said, “But she’s being stupid right now.”
His heart sank for both of them.
“People tend to get a little unreasonable when they lose somebody,” he said gently, “She takin’ it out on you?”
“We got in a fight,” he said, “Because I unpacked my clothes. She said it was a waste of time. Not like we have anything else to do.”
“She hasn’t…unpacked?”
Donald snorted.
“She has now. Grandma told her she had to, and that she should help and build a new routine, and Della started yelling. Threw everything from her bags everywhere and was like, ‘Are you happy?’”
Scrooge closed his eyes, smoothing his hand through Donald’s hair again.
“I threw the hatstand at home,” he offered, “When I got home that night. Me coat got caught on it an’ I just…”
He waved a hand. They fell silent for a moment. Donald’s toes fidgeted again.
“Uncle Scrooge?”
“Hm.”
“How long does it take to become a skeleton?”
He thought of his sister’s face, round and flush and alive.
“Years.”
Donald nodded against his chest, and though he always hated it, Scrooge turned his face to press a kiss to the top of his head.
“What’s say we do a Thursday Dinner next week, eh?” he said, “We can whip up some macaroni if ye’d like.”
Donald nodded again, more vigorously.
“An’ I suspect you’ll want to pick up that blasted amp of yours.”
“Okay,” Donald said so quietly he could barely hear him. “Do you think–”
There was a rap at the doorway, and then footsteps. Scrooge hadn’t realized how much tension had left his body until it all came racing back, and Donald stiffened, straightening. Scrooge’s knees popped as he rose.
Backlit in the doorway stood Elvira, one hand tucked into a pocket, the other gripping the sleeve of Della’s dress. Her face was mild, nothing like the mulish scowl Della wore where she swayed beside her, and Elvira nodded at Scrooge.
“We’re heading on out,” she said, and her eyes flicked to Donald as he clambered to her feet.
Scrooge nodded, laying a hand on Donald’s back.
“I’ll walk you out,” he said.
“We didn’t come for you.” Della’s tone was cutting, and Scrooge swallowed back both his first and second reaction. “Donald–”
“Quite enough piss out of you, dolly,” Elvira said firmly.
Scrooge gestured for the door. “After you, lad.”
Donald took a few steps over the pillows and paused, and it took Scrooge a moment to realize he was waiting for him. He followed him, and Elvira and Della stepped aside to let them pass, Della’s eyes firmly on the wall.
He could feel Elvira’s eyes on the back of his head as he steered Donald with a hand on his back again, and their little party wove their way through the crowd, making for the door.
It wasn’t unlike crowds at a public appearance. All eyes were on them like they were the guests of bloody honor, and in the hall of somber mourners, he found himself holding himself the same way he did moving through rowdy reporters. He caught Matilda’s eye across the room, nodding at the door. She nodded back, a clear ‘See you at the house,’ and he pushed out into the early evening air.
The coolness was a welcome relief. Crickets had started their song in the gardens around the hall, and the dim sky cast the low clouds in a magnificent purple and blue. A soft breeze cooled the sweat he hadn’t even known had gathered on the back of his neck.
He turned back to Elvira.
“I’d love to have you all over for dinner this week.”
She raised her brows, glancing to where Donald shuffled at his side, and Scrooge spared a thought to wonder if Donald had grown, even in the last week. He nearly stood up to his shoulder now. Della had pulled her sleeve free of her granny, still tense.
“That’s very kind, Scrooge,” Elvira said graciously, “You just tell us what we can bring. The children are out of school by three thirty on Friday–”
“It’s on Thursday,” Della interrupted fiercely, and Elvira looked down at her in surprise. Della scowled into the middle distance.
Elvira sighed.
“It’s quite a drive back, and I’ve got a farrier comin’ in at the crack of dawn on Friday,” she said, “What does your weekend look like?”
“Ours sure look like nothing,” Della said, “Everything’s back in Duckburg and the bus takes five hours–”
“Tone,” Elvira said.
“Donald won’t be goin’ to school Friday anyway,” Scrooge said, “He’s got his ear appointment in the mornin’. They could spend the night in… in the guest room, an’ I can get ‘em both back to school by midday.”
Elvira looked down at Donald.
“You didn’t say anything about an ear appointment.”
“A specialist,” Scrooge said, “It’s been takin’ ages to get in.”
Donald pulled on his sleeve.
“Can we get milkshakes after?”
“Are you kidding?” Della said, finally looking him in the eye. “Our parents just died and you’re gonna make us do a half-day? They don’t even know us at that school.”
Elvira was caught between exasperation and pity, but Scrooge shot Della a significant look. He shook his head minutely, and for just a moment it felt like being out in the wild, passing secret messages under the nose of bandits or pirates or demonic entities, and the reality of change crashed into him. He ached.
Della softened, though, just the tiniest bit. Her lips still pressed together hard, her arms crossed tightly. She turned her glare to the pavement.
“We could take the bus,” Donald offered, “You wouldn’t even have to drive us, Thursday’s are block days so if we left early, so we’d only miss one period if you think about it–”
“You will not be skiving off classes,” Elvira said gently, “It’s important to get integrated–”
“I can come out an’ pick them up after school,” Scrooge said, “Eh? Like the old days, an’ bring ‘em back, let you get on with your farrier.”
Elvira looked between Donald and Della. She pressed her lips together, and for some unfathomable reason looked suddenly sad.
“I’m sure they’d love it.”
It was like a wash of clean air over all of them. Scrooge’s chest loosened at the knowledge of something concrete on the horizon, not just the abstract ‘sometime down the line.’ Donald let out a breath, and Scrooge’s hand found itself on the lad’s shoulder once more. Della’s shoulders, though, had gone tighter, her lips pressed together so firmly they’d gone nearly white. Her chin wobbled.
“Alright, kids,” Elvira said, “We should be getting on home, and your Uncle Scrooge has a long drive back.”
Donald turned into him, his arms tight around Scrooge’s chest. Christ, he’d gotten tall. Scrooge could nearly rest his chin on the boy’s head.
Donald still smelled of alcohol. He pulled him in tighter.
“We can still call you, right?” Donald asked.
“Day or night,” Scrooge said immediately, “Both of you.”
Donald squeezed him hard enough to make his ribs creak, and Scrooge pressed a hand to his hair. His throat had gone tight.
“And don’t go forgettin’, I owe you two a speech.”
Donald huffed.
“I think we’re already gonna get one.”
“Perfect, one for each of you.”
Donald fell silent, his arms going even tighter, and Scrooge wasn’t sure how he was going to manage the quiet drive back to his quiet home.
“Okay.” He gave Donald one last squeeze before pulling back. Donald withdrew his arms quickly, wiping his nose on his own collar quickly before shoving his hands in his pockets. “I’ll see you next Thursday, yes?”
He nodded, and Scrooge turned to Della. She watched him through her bangs, her arms crossed, all coiled tension.
“I know a lot’s changed, lass,” he said, “But you’ve still got those student sessions at the airfield on Sundays if you’re still wantin’ them. We can figure out how to get ye there.”
Her mouth twisted, and she went impossibly tighter for a moment. Then her eyes brimmed. He reached out an arm, offering.
She took a few stilted steps, and he reeled her in slowly. For a moment she just stood there wooden, her arms still crossed and stinking of whiskey, and he wondered if this was just what it was going to be now. Grief changed people, he knew that, and they were so young, and everything was so sudden. The first thing his mother had asked was after the twins, and she’d called twice in the last week, asking if they were settled, if he was settled, reminding him they were almost of the age of changing too, talking about how loss so young could be–
“Why don’t you want us anymore?”
Della’s voice was high and thin, so unlike anything he’d heard, and it was nearly enough to take him out.
He pulled back slightly, horrified, but she leaned forward into his chest, keeping her face hidden.
He drew her back in, and her fists and elbows dug into his ribs sharply with how tight he held her.
“Is that what you think?”
“You didn’t come back for us.”
She’d refused to unpack. Mercy, help him.
“There’s nothin’ and nobody more important to me than you two,” he said into her hair, “You know that.”
“Then why did we get kicked out?”
He closed his eyes. He’d let Elvira lead this before, like a coward. He’d sat by and listened as she’d explained about stability, about guardians and wills and lawyers and schools and futures. He’d sat by while Donald yelled and Della ran and he’d driven home in silence with Della’s socks in the footwell and Donald’s water bottle rattling around under the seat and thought of his sister.
“It wasn’t my choice.” He pressed a hand to the back of her head, running the other down her back. “Della-darlin’, that would never be my choice.”
That was all it took. She crumpled, her shoulders shaking, and he held her as she threw her arms around his middle and lost the fight to tears.
“...I miss Mom and Dad…”
He nodded slowly, his chin mussing her hair. Donald eased closer, and Scrooge raised an arm for him, too. Donald wrapped his arms around himself and leaned into him.
They must have looked quite the scene.
“We’re building Missions in history class,” Della hiccupped eventually, whatever on earth that meant, “Grown-ups can come when we present, if you want to.”
“It’s on the first,” Donald said.
He was scheduled to meet with Bentina and a minor prince on the first.
“Of course I’ll be there.”
Della’s cheeks were still wet as he bid them their final goodbyes. Donald’s eyes were far from dry too as Scrooge pressed on them promises of Thursday macaroni, and from the curb, he could see them slumped against each other in the bench seat of Elvira’s rusted pickup truck.
He was just turning to go when the truck door slammed again.
“Scrooge.”
He stopped, and waited for Elvira’s short legs to carry her across the lot. She looked resigned.
“You didn’t say Donald had a doctor’s appointment.”
“I just did.”
“Before.”
“I thought he’d mention it.”
“The boy’s twelve. What’s it for?”
Scrooge removed his spectacles, scrubbing a hand over his face.
Kids gone, wine slipping from his system, he was exhausted, and from nothing. A day of sitting in an empty kitchen nook staring at a cold cup of tea and a silent drive into the countryside to sit for an hour in a pew beside his remaining sister while strangers talked, only to spend most of it trying to catch the eyes of children on the other side of a too-bright chapel.
“He’s been workin’ with a doctor at home dealin’ with leftovers from a nasty ear infection last summer. Every now and then it shows up, an’ they’re talkin’ about some sort of treatment. Nothin’ dramatic.” He sniffed. “An’ they’ve both goin’ into the dentist at the end of the month, if you’re lookin’ for a full medical agenda.”
She nodded, eyeing him unnervingly.
“And the classes? For Della?”
“A friend of ours set her up with a sort of youth engineering program at the airfield. He’s a machinist for me company, it’s all under contract, above board. I’m sure she’d be thrilled to tell you everythin’ in excruciatin’ detail.”
Elvira nodded again.
“In Duckburg.”
“Aye.”
She tucked her gnarled hands into her pocket.
“I lost my son, Scrooge,” she said, “I won’t pretend I’m doing just fine.”
He nodded, taken aback.
“She was your sister,” she continued, and that deep, sick stab wriggled its way through his belly again. “I’ll be honest and say you’ve looked better at the worst I’ve seen you.”
“Thank you.”
“It ain’t sunshine and daisies at home right now,” she said, “And all that’s to be expected with a big upheaval or the like. There’s an adjustment. But I’m thinkin’...”
There was a heavy pause.
“I’m thinkin’ it might not need to be as big of an upheaval as it is.”
He waited, his breath caught somewhere in his chest.
“Their whole life is out there in Duckburg,” she said, “Everything’s still fresh, for all of us, but if you’re–”
“I am,” he said quickly.
She nodded again.
“You get them back in school,” she said, “And you bring my grandbabies out here to see me at least once a month.”
His heart pounded so hard it made him dizzy.
“Elvira–”
“You give them the choice,” she said, “I know what they’ll say, but I better hear the word yes comin’ out of their mouths. And you figure the legal bullshit out, I don’t want no part of it.”
“Done.”
“This ain’t a summer thing,” she said, “Look at me. You spent their first six years tolerating them at best. You’re gonna have those two for the rest of your life. There’s no givin’ them back.”
He touched the thin little glowstick still wrapped around his wrist.
“There’s nothin’ in the world that could make that happen.”
She raised a finger between them.
“Don’t fuck this up, Scrooge.”
“I won’t.”
“Swear.”
His shoulders fell back into place, his breath slowing.
“I swear.”
Elvira shook her head, looking back at the truck.
“Alright,” she said, “Go ask them. They say yes, you follow us back to the farm to collect their stuff and they can sleep in their own beds tonight.”
It took him a moment to find his feet. He couldn’t link two thoughts together, and his face prickled, and there really was nothing else to do but hug her. He supposed that's what funerals were for, after all.
She held him, though, and the hard hands on his back felt kind.
“Thank you.”
She pulled back, looking up at him as he swallowed hard.
“Go on,” she said.
He didn’t need to be told twice. He squeezed her arm before edging around her, stumbling off the curb and into the parking lot.
“Scrooge.”
He turned. Twilight had grown so deep that the old woman was nearly backlit by the purple sky.
“You give those two hell for stumblin’ around smellin’ like a damn bar.”
He laughed, turning back, and it felt like a year before he reached the passenger window of the beat up truck, but when the two identical faces turn up towards him in surprise, so much older than the ones he’d disdainfully watched toddling around in nappies and still so young, all he could hear were Elvira’s words.
I swear, he thought. I swear.