Vic and Sean from UNTIL WE MEET ONCE MORE
“How’d it go?” Sean asked, opening
the door to Vic’s knock. He kept his
voice down, so the old lady, Sean’s Aunt Miriam, was in bed. That was a relief.
Vic had just about had his fill of female relations that night, though Aunt
Miriam was practically another species from his own mother.
“It went the way you thought it
would.” Vic removed his scarf, shrugged out of his wool coat. Sean took them,
limping over to the coat closet and hanging them neatly. Aunt Miriam was as
fussy as a Fleet Admiral about keeping things shipshape.
“You okay?” he asked over his
shoulder.
Vic nodded. “I could use a drink.”
Sean nodded toward the sitting room
and they moved silently down the hallway.
There was a fire going in the
hearth and a decanter of whisky on the table next to the arrangement of holly
and candles. Vic flung himself down on the horsehair sofa while Sean poured out
a pair of stiff drinks.
Sean watched Vic toss his back and
said, “So we’re right where we were before you went to see her. No harm, no
foul.”
Vic threw him a dour look. “She
actually asked me what the point of my military service was if I was just going
to throw away my brilliant career in politics.”
Sean laughed. They both looked
guiltily up at the ceiling with it’s broken ceiling medallion. But not a
creature stirred. Not even a mouse. Though the old house probably had plenty of
them.
Sean remarked, “I didn’t realize
you had a brilliant career in politics.”
“Neither did I. Apparently I could
have if I wanted it – provided I don’t throw it away.”
Sean snorted. Vic looked up out of
his gloomy preoccupation long enough to be glad that Sean wasn’t taking this
personally. It wasn’t personal, that was the weirdest thing about it. It should have been personal. The question of who her only child intended
to spend the rest of his life with should have been of personal interest and
importance to Abigail Stone.
“She actually said she didn’t see
the point of my military service if I wasn’t going to use it as a springboard
for the future.”
Sean’s brows rose. He took a
thoughtful mouthful of whisky. “Sort of missing the point, isn’t she?” he asked
mildly. He had a right to ask, having nearly given his life, not to mention his
leg, in the service of his country.
Vic shook his head and finished his
drink. Sean leaned forward and refilled his glass.
“Look, Stoney,” he said crisply, “I
know you’re angry and disappointed, but the fact is, we’re no worse off than we
were.”
“That money is mine. She has no
right to block me from my inheritance.”
Sean shook his head. “You’ll get it
eventually. In the meantime I’ve got my savings and my disability. We’re not
going to starve.”
Vic winced inwardly. His own
retirement pay was negligible as he’d chosen to retire after a measly twelve
years. At the time he’d made the decision he’d had plenty of options, though
politics had not been one he’d seriously considered. “That money could make a
big difference to us.”
“Yeah? Well I for one am relieved I won’t have the Manchurian Candidate’s
mom for my mother-in-law.”
Their gazes met and after a long
instant, Vic grinned. “True, right? Why the hell are you sitting over on the
other side of the room?”
Sean rose and came around the low
table to join Vic on the lumpy sofa. Vic put his arm around Sean’s broad
shoulders and pulled him closer still. “Ah hell. I know we’ll be okay. I just
wanted to…”
“Keep me in the style to which I've never been
accustomed?” Sean was laughing at him now.
Vic grimaced. “Something like that.”
The clock on the bookshelf began to
chime. Twelve lazy, silvery chimes. Midnight .
“Merry Christmas,” Sean said. He
touched his glass to Vic’s.
“Cheers. Anyway, Mother made a
point of saying she had nothing against you personally. She always thought you
were a nice boy.”
“I am a nice boy.”
“And if we wanted to see each other
on a regular basis, she couldn’t see why anyone would—could you stop laughing?”
But Vic was laughing too now, reluctantly. His arm tightened around Sean. Maybe
Sean was right. It was only money after all, and he’d gladly have given every
cent he ever earned to have what he had at this very moment: Sean alive and
well and in his arms.
Sean stopped laughing and said,
“Hey, if it makes things easier for you, we don’t have to move in together
right away. We could—”
“Shut up, you,” Vic growled.
“Make me.” Sean smiled, eyes
glinting in invitation.
And Vic did.
