Free Adam's Peak by Heather Burt

looking not directly at Rudy but somewhere just off to the side, as if he were blind, or Rudy were invisible. Then he’ll pour himself a drink, maybe offer Rudy one as well, and go to the bookshelves, where he’ll examine the spines of his books with a show of great interest. And that will be that.
    Seeing Aunty and Mark carrying dishes to the dining room, Rudy steps away from the door. He suspects it isn’t sympathy or understanding his father wants—not his, anyway—and with this in mind he returns sullenly to the kitchen to help with the food.
    At Christmas lunch he sits next to Mark. Dad has appeared, thankfully, though he had to be called to the table three times. Zoë seems fine. Seated in her high chair, she clutches a wet cloth in her hands and sucks on it. The turkey has been carved, the curries uncovered. The dining room is so cramped and the food so plentiful that the windows of the china cabinet are steamed up. In the living room, Jim Reeves has been replaced by Andy Williams.
    â€œWe should have a toast,” says Aunty, last to take her place. “Who would like to do that? Adam?”
    Adam nods and raises his glass of rosé. “I’d like to propose a toast to Aunty Mary, for carrying on the old traditions and for keeping our stomachs satisfied over the holidays. Merry Christmas!”
    Rudy clinks his glass against Mark’s, while underneath the table his right heel taps and his left hand forms a tight, aimless fist.
    â€œAnd God bless us all,” Aunty adds. “Now, eat, eat. The food will get cold.”

    Rudy drinks down half his glass. As he piles his plate, conversations begin around the table and the useless tension in his arm gradually subsides. He glances at his father and clears his throat.
    â€œSo, Dad, I hear Australia’s set to wallop England in the test match.”
    â€œWhat’s that? Oh, yes.”
    â€œAre you gonna watch?”
    â€œMmm? No, no.”
    â€œDo you think the English have had it in the cricketing world?”
    â€œI suppose so.”
    Rudy catches his aunt’s eye and shrugs. Aunty turns to her brother.
    â€œAlec, you must tell me what you think of the beef. They didn’t have all the proper spices at the supermarket. No mustard seed, only the powder. And no green chilis.”
    â€œI’m sure it’s fine, Mary.”
    â€œAh, but just fine isn’t good enough. Try it and tell me.”
    â€œIt’s delicious. Same as always.”
    Suddenly, across the table from Rudy, Adam clinks his fork against his glass.
    â€œI’d like to say something,” he announces, “so that we can all enjoy our lunch more.”
    Turning to Dad, he continues. “About Zoë’s accident. Dada, it wasn’t your fault. I think you’re feeling badly about what happened, but no one is blaming you. You didn’t have time to grab her. It was an accident. Right, Susie?”
    Susie nods. “Everything’s fine, Dada. Little ones fall and burn themselves all the time.”
    Rudy watches his father uneasily. A public announcement isn’t what he’d have wanted. He would feel trapped. But Adam has never understood how to deal with Dad.
    His expression unchanged, Alec swallows then sets his fork on his plate. “I appreciate your concern, Adam. But I think the root of the accident was that the child was left unsupervised. She should have been with Susie.”
    At this, Susie’s eyes widen. “Dada, I can’t watch her every second! I was helping Aunty with dinner.”

    â€œAnd besides,” Adam adds, “I was the one watching Zoë. Susie asked me to.”
    Rudy stares into his plate, willing his brother to shut up.
    â€œIt’s just as I said,” Dad answers. “Zoë should have been with
Susie
.”
    The reply—the particular emphasis on Susie—hangs over the table like the heavy clouds looming outside.
    â€œWhat’s that