Normal. The scene before him was completely normal.
Aunt Leslie took another cup off the shelf. “Coffee, Brian?”
He inhaled deeply and felt the weight of the ocean fill him. “Where are Calum and Uilleam?”
Tom checked the daylight growing on the horizon. “They’re out there somewhere. Calum picked up a spoor sometime late last night. He and Uilleam are still tracking it down.”
“Aunt Leslie said they brought wolves onto the island.”
Tom looked at Leslie. “You said that?”
“Close but not quite. Breakfast’ll be ready in a few minutes, Brian. Clean yourself up, put on some fresh clothes and come out when you’re done.
He took his seat as the sun rose from the ocean. Tom brought over their plates and sat facing the east with a cup of coffee held between his hands. Aunt Leslie wiped off the center island and dried her hands on a towel. The normalcy of the scene, the scent of sunny-side up eggs fried in butter, bacon, the sweetness of freshly cut red and green peppers, and the tang of red onion and sharp cheddar once again pounded Brian as surely as the unrelenting waves.
The sun came through the windows at a slight morning angle and cast them in a golden spotlight. It made them actors on a stage and Brian remembered Uncle Tom telling his mother truth is like a spotlight. Once you turn it on you might not like what you see.
Aunt Leslie filled a plate for him, poured him a cup of coffee, then refilled Tom’s empty cup. “Take your time, Brian. There’ll be plenty of time to talk after you’ve eaten.”
Brian ate slowly, letting the bacon crisp between his teeth and letting the toast sop up the egg yolks. The coffee was typical Uncle Tom’s; strong and sharp. “Good for what ails you in the morning.” Aunt Leslie made home fries and he splattered them with ketchup before going into them. While he ate, Aunt Leslie sat with a cup of her own. Brian faced west, with the sun at his back. Tom faced the sun and it seemed his eyes stared straight into it. Leslie sat facing south and every few sips of coffee she’d turn her face into the sun. Unlike Uncle Tom, though, she’d close her eyes and take a deep breath, as if inhaling the light. The sunlight made little tiny rainbows in her hair.
He took the time to look at them because he realized he never really had. Eating, he studied them, inventoried them. He wanted to know if there was some kind of taboo about looking at a person unless they were on the ice. If someone was on the opposing team, you had to watch them. But that was watching them. You studied them to find weaknesses, you didn’t just look at them to see what they looked like, how they walked, how they sat, how they turned their head to see things, how they tilted their head when they talked. Studying people just to learn how they behaved as people, to learn who they were, was in one of Uncle Tom’s books. Brian read parts of it one night when he was bored but he never really believed it. Now he wasn’t so sure.
Uncle Tom, for example. He was a big man, but there were lots bigger. Uncle Tom always kidded all he was good for was lifting very heavy things. Was he kidding? Did he really see himself like that? He told Brian once, when Brian first began playing hockey, “Find one thing you’re good at and stick with it all your life, Brian.”
“What are you good at, Uncle Tom?”
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