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In the summer of 1970, Filbrick loses his favorite son.
The police search for three months and four days, but no one can find where Stanford has gone. There’s no sign of a struggle, but no signs that he ran away. And, as Stanley points out (correctly, though Filbrick is loathe to admit it), Stanford would not run away without at least telling his twin brother. The two are practically joined at the hip.
But whether Stanford acted so unlike himself or not, there is no trail to follow, no clue as to where he’s gone, and no way to find him. He might as well have dropped off the face of the earth.
Stanley, for his part, does not accept this so easily. He combs through all of Glass Shard Beach dozens of times right alongside the police, runs himself ragged looking for his twin. Caryn tries to stop him, tries to get him to slow down and take care of himself. Filbrick knows she wants him to help her, and Stanley might listen to him if he tries. But he’s not so sure Stanley wouldn’t have more of a chance at finding Stanford than those idiotic policemen. Besides, the police give up after three months.
The day after the case is pronounced cold, he wakes in the middle of the night to the sound of clattering downstairs. Caryn is out of their bed before Filbrick has sat up, but he makes his way downstairs eventually. He finds his wife with Stanley in the pawn shop, both of them sitting on the ground. Stanley arms hang loosely at his side, Caryn has her arms around him and is running her hands through his hair, trying to whisper soothing nothings.
Laying next to them both is the overturned cash register.
Filbrick gives Stanley a firm, hard look, one that demands an explanation. Stanley looks up at him. A brief touch of fear enters his eyes, and something else, something like desperation.
“I thought maybe I should leave,” he says. “Maybe he’s somewhere else, and if I left I could find him. I just needed money to pay for gas.”
“Baby,” Caryn whispers. She pushes Stan back to arm’s length, pushes his bangs off his forehead and runs them over his face. “Stanley, baby, don’t you dare.”
“I can find him, Ma,” Stanley insists, but it’s weak, like he knows he’s lying.
“I am not losing you too,” Caryn says, tightening her grip on the sides of Stanley’s face.
“But—”
“No. You stay right here,” Caryn says, pulling Stanley back into her arms. She starts running her hands through his hair again. “You stay right here, don’t you leave us too.”
Stanley looks up at Filbrick, some kind of pleading in his eyes. Filbrick wonders if this boy will ever grow up.
“Listen to your mother,” he says firmly.
The life goes from Stanley’s eyes. He collapses against his mother’s shoulder, almost brings them both to the ground. Caryn manages to hold them both up, however, and just continues to hold him close while Stanley stares blankly at the floor.
Filbrick turns and walks back to the stairs, back to his bed.
Stanley’s eyes don’t get their life back, the next day. He sits at the breakfast table and stares at his cereal, but makes no move to eat it. Filbrick has a pawn shop to run, so he lets Caryn try and coax him into it and leaves his dishes in the sink for her to do later.
The pawn shop is doing well, lately, and he needs to take advantage of people’s pity while it’s still around to help his business. He tries to pull Stanley in after lunch to make him restock some boxes, but gets a glare from Caryn and gets shoved back out of the room.
He has less energy or inclination to fight her, lately, so he lets it go. Let the boy mope for a day. He’s lost his better half, it’s natural enough that it would be hard on him.
Caryn comes into the shop three hours before closing, when there is no one else around. She comes to stand next to him while he’s tallying up sales and puts a hand on his shoulder.
“Filbrick,” she says quietly. “Let’s close the shop early today.”
“What good will that do,” Filbrick says, firm and leaving no room for questions.
Caryn knows he likes things the way he likes them, and normally she wouldn’t push him. Today, however, she doesn’t move.
“It will give us a quiet evening,” she says. “We need it.”
“You need it.”
“We all need it,” Caryn insists. “Especially Stanley.”
“He needs to learn how to deal with his problems himself,” Filbrick says. “Not shove them off on other people.”
“Filbrick Pines, you go easy on him today,” Caryn says firmly. “He’s realizing his brother’s not coming back.” Her voice cracks on the last word, and Filbrick pauses where he’s writing down figures.
“Our son isn’t coming back,” Caryn says, a shake in her voice. She takes a step back and presses a hand to her mouth. Her shoulders start to shake.
Filbrick sets down his pen and turns. He takes a step forward and wraps his arms around Caryn. His arms are stiff, but he keeps them steady, and does not protest when Caryn turns and presses her head into the crook of his shoulder. She stands there and shakes. Neither of them speak.
Filbrick closes the pawn shop early. Some of their neighbors have brought over dinner, so Caryn does not cook, but instead carries a helping up to Stanley, who she tells Filbrick has been in his room all day.
Filbrick gives a short huff of disapproval. But really, he’s not surprised Stanley reacts this way. He’s never been one to rise to a challenge.
Caryn comes downstairs after she takes Stanley his food, and the two of them eat together. Caryn keeps her hand clasped around Filbrick’s, and they both eat the entire meal one handed. It looks ridiculous, and if Stanley was here Filbrick wouldn’t have allowed it, but Caryn’s hand is still shaking, so Filbrick doesn’t draw his own away.
He leaves after dinner and goes to his office. He spends another hour adding up the sales, and then double checks them. Then, even though he’s never needed to, he triple checks them.
He retires early that night, but still finds Caryn already in bed.
…
“Shermie’s coming down for a while,” Caryn says the next morning. “He got some time off, so he’s coming to help out around the house, for another month.”
Filbrick gives a grunt of acknowledgement and doesn’t look up from his newspaper.
“He doesn’t want to stay too much longer,” Caryn adds, from where she’s scrubbing last night’s dinner dishes. “He doesn’t want to leave Rachel alone with the baby.”
“I’ll never understand his insistence that she needs help,” Filbrick says. He picks up his coffee mug and takes a sip. “That’s a woman’s job, to take care of the kids. Especially if he has somewhere to be.”
“He’s a newborn, Filbrick,” Caryn says, a hard note entering her voice. “They’re a lot of work.”
“If he’s needed here, he’s needed here,” Filbrick insists. “Though I don’t know why you’re so insistent that he’s needed here.”
“His brother is gone,” Caryn says. “He should be with his family.”
Filbrick doesn’t argue any more, and they lapse into silence. Caryn picks up his coffee mug with shaking hands. They haven’t really stopped since she got up, and Filbrick isn’t sure what to do except not comment on it, so he doesn’t comment on it.
Neither of them speak again until Caryn finishes the dishes and moves to leave the kitchen. Even then, it’s only her leaving. She states, “He’ll be here in a couple days,” likely referring to Shermie, and then walks out of the kitchen. Filbrick finishes his newspaper shortly after and goes to open the pawn shop.
Caryn would likely want him to close it early again, but Filbrick thinks of how long he spent last night going over the sales and keeps it open late, instead.
Stanley shows up after it closes, just past seven o’clock. He doesn’t speak, but starts to drag boxes of stock out of the back, things that Filbrick had bought but hadn’t put up for sale yet, for whatever reason. They’ve been building up lately, without Stanford and Stanley to take care of them.
Stanley is familiar with how Filbrick likes the shop set up at this point, so he sets things up without saying anything. When he finishes with the box, he puts it in the back, then walks back out and stops in front of Pa.
“I’m gonna go out,” he says. “I’ll make my own dinner when I come back.”
“You gonna run off like your mother thinks you will?” Filbrick asks.
“No, sir,” Stanley says quietly.
Filbrick nods once, and Stanley leaves. He doesn’t see him again that night, but he’s there the next morning at the breakfast table, so he wasn’t lying.
…
Shermie shows up early that Thursday, and is hugged immediately by Caryn. Shermie hugs her tightly back, and Filbrick stays standing in the back, in front of the doorway to the kitchen with his arms crossed.
“How you doin’, Ma?” Shermie asks without letting go of her.
“We’re okay, honey,” Caryn says. “How are you? How’s Rachel, and Ethan?”
“They’re alright,” Shermie says, pulling back and giving Caryn a sad smile. “I’m sorry they couldn’t come, but we can’t both afford to take off work for so long.”
“Oh hush, we know that,” Caryn says. “We’re just glad you could make it.”
Shermie smiles another second, and then any semblance of it drops from his face. “How’s Stanley?” he asks quietly.
Caryn puts a hand over her mouth and looks away, which is apparently enough of an answer for Shermie.
“Where is he?” Shermie asks.
“He’s in his room,” Caryn says. “Don’t expect too much out of him.”
“Oh come on, Ma, of course not,” Shermie says. “I’m just gonna go say hi.”
Caryn nods, and then Shermie starts back towards the steps. He stops in front of Filbrick, and the gentleness he had with Caryn fades from his stance. But he says, “Hi, Pa,” and it still comes across quiet and sad.
Filbrick nods.
Shermie sighs, but doesn’t say anything else, and starts up the stairs towards Stanley’s bedroom.
“Thought he was here to help,” Filbrick says gruffly, as soon as he’s out of earshot.
Caryn turns to him. “He is,” she says.
“He better not spend all his time with Stanley,” Filbrick says. “That boy needs to get over this on his own.”
Caryn looks at him. There’s a firmness in her gaze that Filbrick doesn’t normally see.
“No,” she says, “he doesn’t.”
“The world isn’t going to coddle him, Caryn.”
“I’m not the world,” Caryn says. “I’m his mother.”
She turns and follows Shermie up the steps.
…
Once, Shermie had listened to Filbrick. When he was a kid, he’d defaulted to Filbrick’s opinion constantly, asked him everything from how best to organize his room to which careers were the best ones.
Then the twins were born, and Shermie started to pull away for reasons Filbrick still can’t quite understand. He’d taken the twins out to play every chance he got as soon as they were old enough. He’d gotten the three of them out of the room as soon as Filbrick walked into it. He’d taken a particular preference for Stanley, always checking up on him and offering to play with him and keeping him away from Filbrick as much as he could.
Clearly, he hadn’t liked something about the way Filbrick parented the two, but that isn’t his place to decide. If Stanford and Stanley had been Shermie’s sons, that would have been another matter entirely, but they weren’t. It’s Filbrick’s right to decide how to raise his children, and Shermie should know it’s not his place to speak up.
Filbrick has long stopped expecting Shermie to be respectful of his authority, but he had assumed Shermie might have realized that this is a difficult time for all of them and not make it worse.
He should have known better than to assume things like that. The day after Shermie arrives he starts disrespecting him. He continuously checks in on Stanley, even after Filbrick tells him to stop. He spends far more time supporting his mother than he does doing things that would be beneficial, like helping in the shop. And then there’s this morning’s final straw, when he asks Filbrick to help clean up the house instead of opening the shop for the day.
“That’s not a man’s job,” Filbrick says, and intends to leave it at that. He moves to leave the kitchen, where everyone but Stanley is present for breakfast. He should have known Caryn’s coddling would go too far. He hasn’t seen the boy in days.
Instead, as he crosses the threshold towards the living room, someone catches his arm.
“Your job right now is to help your family recover however you can,” Shermie says firmly. “And that might mean taking on responsibilities you’re not used to, sure, but you’re just going to have to deal with it.”
“You will address me with respect,” Filbrick says. He pulls himself up higher. “I am still your father. And I am the only reason you can stay here, since I’m the only one working to put food on the table.”
“No, all you’re doing is ignoring the help Rachel and I have offered so you can close the shop for a while,” Shermie says. “It’s not good for anyone, keeping it open. You’re just bringing people into the house when everyone wants to be alone right now. Strangers, for that matter, who don’t know what we’re dealing with.”
“I have plenty of regulars who know what we’re dealing with,” Filbrick says. “Though I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t understand the difficulties of supporting your family even through hard times. You let your wife shoulder most of the burden instead of taking it on like a man.”
“Filbrick,” Caryn says, a note in her voice that Filbrick isn’t a fan of.
“As opposed to Ma, who doesn’t help with finances in any way?” Shermie asks, crossing his arms.
“Sherman,” Caryn says firmly, drawing Shermie’s gaze. “That is enough. I do not need you to stand up for me. I’m doing just fine. And for the record, I did not tell Filbrick about the help you offered. He won’t want it, and you can’t afford it.”
“Ma, he—”
“Is your father, and my husband,” Caryn says firmly. “And I would hope you can trust me to handle my relationship with him myself. I appreciate you trying to help. I can handle it. Understand?”
Shermie holds her gaze for a second, then sighs, the tension leaving his shoulders. “Yes, Ma,” he says. He turns an angry gaze on Filbrick, but all he says is, “Please leave my wife out of things.”
Filbrick does not respond to that, just turns and walks from the room. Just before he leaves earshot, however, he hears Shermie say, “Will you let me help with the vacuuming, at least?”
“I would love some help with the vacuuming,” Caryn responds. Filbrick continues walking. He has a shop to open.
He expects it to end there. Instead, early that evening, he stops outside his bedroom door at the sound of crying.
He looks through the slightly open crack, visible in between the door and the frame. Caryn is sitting on the edge of their bed, sobbing into her hands.
Filbrick doesn’t move, just stands and continues to watch her for a moment. He expects her to stop soon so he can step inside, but almost five minutes pass with her staying right where she is.
Eventually, Filbrick turns and walks away. He goes down to the kitchen, and, if only to stop the discomfort in his chest, does the dishes from lunch.
As he’s drying and putting away the last of them, he’s interrupted.
“Pa?”
Filbrick turns and sees Stanley standing in the doorway to the kitchen. He’s looking at the dish towel in Filbrick’s hand in confusion.
Filbrick puts the last plate away in the cabinet, turns back to Stanley, and says, “Tell your mother you did the dishes.”
Stanley blinks, looking lost. “What?”
“Tell your mother you did the dishes,” Filbrick says firmly. He doesn’t like having to repeat himself. “Understand?”
Stanley nods. “Yes sir.”
“Good.” Filbrick walks past Stanley, pausing only briefly, to put a quick hand on his shoulder. Then he climbs the steps back towards his bedroom.
He doesn’t hear crying anymore, and when he enters, Caryn is asleep.
…
Filbrick wakes early the next morning, so he doesn’t have to argue with Shermie about opening the shop again. It does mean, however, that the shop will likely sit empty for several hours before a customer comes.
He tries to fill the time with checking the figures, and how much he needs to sell today to have grocery money by the end of the week. It’s not a small number, but for some reason, he can’t make himself keep working the numbers, trying to come up with alternatives.
He keeps thinking of the shine on Stanford’s face when Filbrick complimented his math work, whenever he asked him to double check the numbers. The boy had gotten better at it than Filbrick himself, eventually. He’d always had a good head on his shoulders. He was supposed to be their ticket out of this dump. Now he isn’t here to do math figures.
But there was a time before Stanford had been there to do math figures. Filbrick shouldn’t need him now. He can step back into that role just fine. It’s his shop, after all.
Even though he can’t afford it, he closes the shop shortly after lunch. He’s not quite sure why he does it, but no customers complain.
…
Filbrick doesn’t often appreciate his youngest son’s ability to lie, but it does come in handy from time to time.
Such as this time, when Stanley does exactly as Filbrick told him to, and gets thanked by Caryn for doing the dishes. Filbrick gets unhappy looks from Shermie, but nothing is said to him, so he doesn’t say anything either.
Caryn does seem rather worried that Stanley shouldn’t push himself too hard, but Stanley reassures her he’s fine, and she seems to believe him.
So, over the course of the next week, an agreement develops almost unspoken between Stanley and Filbrick. When Shermie is out grocery shopping, and Caryn is upstairs, or vice versa, or when they’ve both gone somewhere to talk, or any other scenario that means they won’t spot anything, Filbrick starts whatever chores need to be done that day. And Stanley comes and watches, ready to take over the moment they hear someone coming.
Sometimes he helps too, does something alongside Filbrick. But a lot of the time he just sits nearby, stares into space or at the hole in the good rug. Filbrick finds himself letting him.
He wonders sometimes if Stanley thinks he’s not allowed to sit instead of helping, because he starts to end up in the shop more often. He sweeps and restocks and keeps track of receipts, though he doesn’t ever try to add up the numbers himself. They work in silence. Filbrick isn’t sure if it’s because they both prefer it that way or if neither of them can think of anything to say. Whatever the reason, they both work there in silence most of the time.
An exception comes on a night that they’ve kept the shop open late. The customers stopped coming a while ago, and Filbrick can’t think of much of a reason to keep it open, other than the fact that he doesn’t want to go back inside the apartment. Stanley seems to agree, because he’s been sweeping the same spot in front of the glass case for almost half an hour now, and they both know Filbrick would have let him go if he asked.
Stanley and Stanford had spent quite a few nights here, helping him close up the shop like this. Stanley cleaned up and locked up the valuable merchandise so no one could get their hands on it. Stanford helped Filbrick add up all the profits from the day. They usually finished about the time Caryn called them for dinner.
Not one night could Filbrick remember it being this quiet with the three of them in there.
He’s checking the figures for the fourth time, adding up the profits for the day, when the thought in his head slips through his mouth before he can stop it, “Your brother used to make the counting part of this go a lot faster.”
Stanley stops sweeping.
“He could do a lot of these in his head—” Filbrick starts.
“Don’t talk about him like that,” Stanley snaps, sudden and furious in a way that takes Filbrick by surprise. “He’s not dead.”
Stanley seems to realize a second later that he’s just snapped at Filbrick, and he almost drops the broom. He’s standing right in front of Filbrick, meaning Filbrick can see the horror entering his eyes in real time.
“I— I didn’t mean— I’m sorry, Pa,” Stanley says, a tremor in his voice. “I just can’t stand people talking about him like— but I shouldn’t have— I’m sorry I—”
Filbrick reaches out and puts a hand on Stanley’s shoulder, thoroughly silencing him. Stan stares up at him, wide-eyed, shaking slightly.
“You’ve always been good at cheating customers, you know that?” Filbrick says. It’s not a natural transition, but he’s hoping neither of them will acknowledge that. “You’ve got a way of making them pay twice what they were planning to. You learned it well.”
Stanley continues to stare up at him, seeming unsure what to say.
“You might be able to run this place almost half as good as me someday,” Filbrick says. He looks back down at the math figures. “Of course, your brother will be off making some kind of famous inventor of himself, so he won’t be around to do the math figures for you. I’ve been slacking on preparing you, Stanley. Come here, I’ll show you how I did these.”
Stanley keeps staring at him for another second. Filbrick looks up and raises an eyebrow. “Get over here, boy.”
“Uh, yes sir,” Stanley says quickly. He moves as fast as he can around to the other side of the counter, and stands next to Filbrick as he begins going over the numbers again. It’s slow, much slower than when Stanford does them, and Filbrick can tell Stanley doesn’t really understand them. But he doesn’t quite have it in him to snap at Stanley for being stupid tonight.
So instead, they both stay there, going over the math figures long past the time they would have been finished with them if Stanford was here.
At one point, Caryn appears in the doorway, likely to call them for dinner, but Stanley doesn’t notice her, and she backs out before Filbrick can consider whether he wants to say anything to her.
Finally, Stanley finds the same final number that Filbrick did, and Filbrick nods shortly before putting the notepad away under the cash register.
“We’ll do that again tomorrow,” Filbrick says. When he turns to face Stanley, he finds him looking down at the floor.
“I’m sorry,” Stanley says quietly, even though for once he hasn’t done anything wrong.
Stanley continues. “I’m sorry you just ended up with me.”
He turns and walks back towards the apartment before Filbrick can reply.
…
He’s not sure he wants to, for a while. It’s never been a secret between them that Stanley is not Filbrick’s favorite. He’s not likely to amount to anything. If he had been the one who vanished instead of his twin, Filbrick likely never would have given it a second thought.
But over the next few days, he can’t quite shake his memory of the tone of Stanley’s voice. He finds himself wondering, for the first time, if maybe it should have been a secret, that Stanley is not his favorite. After all, it’s a certainty that he won’t amount to anything if he doesn’t try.
So, one night about a week later, when they’re going over the numbers for the day again, and Stanley pauses after realizing he got one wrong, Filbrick looks over at him. He’s looking at the floor in the same way he did a week ago, during his apology.
Filbrick reaches over and puts a hand on his shoulder, and Stanley freezes. He doesn’t move his gaze.
“You are my son,” Filbrick says firmly. “You are not a consolation prize.”
Stanley’s shoulders start to shake. Filbrick doesn’t comment on it. He also doesn’t go after Stanley when he runs from the room.
…
Shermie had the best guess as to where Stanley would be. Filbrick hasn’t seen anything of him for almost a full day now, and while he let the day in the shop slide, Stanley doesn’t get a night off from doing the numbers. He needs practice. Shermie offered to go get him, and seemed surprised and a little nervous when Filbrick insisted on doing it himself.
“Pa, he’s not really up for a punishment,” he says. “Cut him some slack. Please.”
“I’ll do as I see fit,” Filbrick says, instead of saying that he doesn’t plan on punishing Stanley. Mostly because he’s surprised to find it true. He walks out the door before Shermie can force the admission out of him.
Filbrick does not often go this way. He finds the concept of coming here for leisure foolish and irritating. He taught Stanley and Stanford how to swim, that is as far as his duty goes.
But Shermie is correct in his guess. Stanley is standing on the deck of a boat, still labeled “Stan-O-War” in childish, faded paint. His back is to Filbrick, and he looks like he’s working on something. Had he heard him coming, he would have turned and greeted him, so he probably hasn’t.
This means that when Filbrick says, “Is this still where you come when you’re not working?” Stanley jumps and whirls around. His eyes widen when he spots Filbrick on the beach below.
“Pa?” he says. “You—” he swallows. “What are you doing here?”
“You never showed up to run the figures,” Filbrick says.
“I— sorry, Pa. I guess I lost track of time.”
“It’s been a while since you lost track of time out here,” Filbrick says.
Stanley looks down at the wood railing below him. He runs his hand along it. He’s got a screwdriver clutched in his other. “Yeah.” His shoulders hunch slightly in shame. “I can’t build it without him,” he mutters. “I’m too stupid to do it alone. I can’t even fix the stupid compass right.” He gestures vaguely behind him, probably at said compass.
Filbrick crosses his arms. “Neither of you were building it alone,” he says.
“Mhmm,” Stanley says, and nothing else.
Filbrick holds out his hand. “Give me the compass.”
Stanley looks up, though he mostly looks confused more than anything else. “Why?”
“Hand it over, boy.”
Stanley does, grabbing it from somewhere behind him and passing it to Filbrick, though he doesn’t look less confused as he does it.
Filbrick gestures at the screwdriver too, and Stanley hands him that. Filbrick points himself north and takes a couple seconds to calibrate the compass, then passes both back to Stanley.
“It’s not broken,” he says. “You’re just going to have to learn how to calibrate it.”
Stanley stares at him like he’s grown a second head, then looks back down at the compass. “You… how’d you know how to do that?” he asks, baffled.
“My father took me sailing when I was your age,” Filbrick says.
Stanley blinks. “I’m having a hard time picturing that,” he admits.
“Come on,” Filbrick says, gesturing back towards the pawn shop. “You have math figures to do.”
Stanley hops over the side of the boat and lands on the beach, and they both start back towards the town.
It’s not an immediate thing, after that night. Filbrick wouldn’t be surprised if neither of them were even considering it then. But sometime over the course of the summer Stanley starts asking him for advice on sailing, just because Filbrick has apparently done it before, and all. At least, that’s how he puts it. And Filbrick, because he had seen the state of that boat when he went down there, tells Stanley point blank that it’s not ready to see the ocean. And from there, it simply makes far more sense if he goes down and shows Stanley how to properly prepare it. It’s not like he can expect the boy to be smart enough to figure it out by himself.
It’s too cold, when the boat is finally finished, to take it out. But when the next summer comes around and Stanford still isn’t here to see it, Filbrick suggests instead that they take the boat fishing.
Stanley, despite the broken look of his smile, agrees.