Cut to the Quick Read Free

clutched a half-eaten sandwich in one hand and a glass of milk in the other. Tomas, tipped back on a chair, gripped a beer can. A calm, happy domestic scene.
    â€œHow come you’re back? I thought you and Maman were having lunch and going to the art gallery,” Etienne said. “Where’s Maman?”
    â€œWe did. I was...” How did she do this? Oh, God. There had to be a protocol. How did you tell two young men their brother was dead? But she had to do it—she couldn’t stand here pretending nothing was wrong.
    â€œThere’s been an accident...”
    Tomas rocked forward. His chair’s front legs banged down on the tile floor, puncturing the silence that had followed her announcement. “What kind of accident?” Tomas said and lurched to his feet.
    Etienne placed his sandwich down as if it were made of the thinnest crystal. His body stiffened, his eyes widened, and he appeared to hold his breath.
    Nadine, her hand covering her mouth, looked from one to another.
    Tomas stepped forward. “Who, who had an accident?”
    â€œIvan,” Hollis managed. Her tongue seemed far too large and felt glued to the roof of her mouth.
    Tomas, Nadine and Etienne stared at her.
    â€œWhat happened?” Tomas said.
    â€œHe crashed his motorcycle.”
    Her announcement sucked life and air from the room. Her body language probably told them to expect the worst, but maybe not. Naturally they’d try to deny it when they first heard the terrible news.
    â€œWhere? How badly was he hurt? Where’s Maman? Does Papa know?” Etienne leaned toward her. “Tell us.”
    Hollis didn’t want to tell them, didn’t know how to do it.
    â€œYour mother and father will be back soon. They’re at the hospital.”
    Tomas considered her words. “If Ivan’s critically hurt, they won’t leave,” he said in a measured tone. He narrowed his eyes. “It’s worse, isn’t it?”
    Hollis nodded.
    â€œOh, no,” Nadine cried.
    Etienne’s face appeared to be made of soft putty that formed and reformed as his gaze flipped back and forth. “What do you mean—worse?”
    She didn’t want to pronounce the words that would bring their worlds crashing down.
    Tomas’s shoulders slumped. He dropped his head forward as if he were about to pray. Perhaps he was. “Ivan’s dead.”
    â€œYes,” Hollis said.
    They reacted as if the single word had turned them to stone. Finally, Nadine began to cry. “Such a nice young man. Never any trouble. Never.”
    Etienne whispered, “Is it really true?” He pushed his chair back, rose then looked confused, as if he wondered what to do next.
    â€œI’m afraid it is,” Hollis said and couldn’t say any more. Tears ran down her cheeks. She stepped to Etienne, held out her arms, drew him close, patted his back and made meaningless, consoling sounds.
    Tomas, still holding his beer can, took a long drink. “Ivan hated his bike—maybe he was psychic. Maybe Dad should have let him sell it.” Tears filled his blue eyes and glittered on his long black lashes. “Shit. I guess it’s up to me to go and tell Mom.”
    Clearly he wanted Hollis to say “no”, to tell him someone else would do it.
    She felt helpless but wanted to do something. Her friend, Kas, had made her drink sugared coffee after Paul’s murder. “A cup of tea or something hot and sweet will help,” Hollis said to Nadine.
    Nadine collected the kettle, filled it and set it back on the stove.
    â€œNothing will help,” Etienne sobbed.
    The back door opened.
    Curt and Manon came in, looking like shell-shocked refugees staggering away from a bomb blast. Hollis hadn’t seen Curt for several months. Always an ectomorph, he was now skeleton-thin. His skin was grey. There were dark circles under his eyes. His tall frame stooped. Every feature on his face sagged.