things real. Cars broke down all the time, so it would be easier to explain a spare instead of something he’d conjured from thin air on the spot. Pan had worked out all the details, down to the last hydrangea bush.
It was paying off.
He entered his mansion to find Rutherford polishing his favorite brass statue in the foyer. Hadn’t he said he was retiring for the night? Had the old man waited up for him just to see how the date went? Rutherford’s overprotectiveness would have annoyed the old Pan of a year ago, but this new Pan was actually glad to see him.
Pan crossed both his arms as if he’d caught him eating cookies out of the pantry. “Don’t you ever sleep?” Was this all some grand facade? Was Rutherford really a god himself pulling a fast one on Pan as Pan pulled a fast one on him? One look at the old man’s tufts of nose hair told Pan otherwise. No god could mimic that detail with such zest.
“When you’re as old as I am, you take every minute given to you.” Rutherford tucked the rag into the pocket of his drab suit coat—the same type of coat he’d worn ever since the day of the interview. Pan started to wonder if his lack of imagination was intentional after all.
Rutherford raised both hairy eyebrows. “Enjoy your date, sir?”
“Let’s just say we need to celebrate with a drink. Do you still have that second-best bottle of wine from the cellar?”
Rutherford pursed his lips as if considering Pan’s invitation and thinking better of it.
“Oh, come on, old man. We’re off the clock. Let’s just sit and talk man to man, shoot the breeze. Isn’t that why you stayed up to see me?”
“Let’s just say I wanted to make sure you didn’t break any hearts.” Rutherford winked and gestured for Pan to follow him down the hall. “The wine’s in the pantry. Seeing as how we’re off the clock, you’re going to have to come get it yourself. Sir.” He added the last word as an afterthought.
Pan chuckled and clapped Rutherford’s shoulder as they walked to a room he’d never seen before. Maybe he needed to get around his own mansion more and quit sulking about his love life.
The pantry had been stocked from floor to ceiling with cans, bags of flour, jugs of water and juice, plastic canisters of rice, and jars of jam.
“Are we preparing for the apocalypse?” Pan gawked at all the food as he took a seat at the small round table in the center of the room. A pity he didn’t need to eat. Of course, to keep up appearances for Rutherford, he managed a bite here and there.
“My job is to keep it stocked.” Rutherford brought out the wine and used a fancy silver corkscrew to open it.
“You do a fine job, my friend.” Pan noticed a storage container full of dishes and pulled out two glasses. “You always have.”
Rutherford poured the wine and took a seat next to him. “It has been a good year.”
“That it has. And you’ve been there with me every step of the way. Without your advice, I would have forced my personal and professional relationships. You taught me patience.” Pan sipped the wine, savoring the flavor. He tasted strawberries, figs, and cloves followed by an oaken aftertaste, leaving him wanting more. “This is good.”
Rutherford hadn’t touched his glass. “You’re right about me staying up to talk with you.”
Pan straightened in his chair. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no, no. I was just thinking about our conversation the other day about my wife.”
Pan nodded, unable to think of something to say. Finally, he came up with, “She sounded like a brilliant woman.”
“Yes, she was.” Rutherford took off his coat and draped it over the chair. “This is the same suit I wore the day she died.”
“Really?”
Wouldn’t the suit get old and tattered? Didn’t he need to wash it?
Rutherford laughed as if Pan had an expression of horror on his face. “Allow me to clarify. Not the same exact one. The same style.”
“Oh.” Pan took another sip of
It was paying off.
He entered his mansion to find Rutherford polishing his favorite brass statue in the foyer. Hadn’t he said he was retiring for the night? Had the old man waited up for him just to see how the date went? Rutherford’s overprotectiveness would have annoyed the old Pan of a year ago, but this new Pan was actually glad to see him.
Pan crossed both his arms as if he’d caught him eating cookies out of the pantry. “Don’t you ever sleep?” Was this all some grand facade? Was Rutherford really a god himself pulling a fast one on Pan as Pan pulled a fast one on him? One look at the old man’s tufts of nose hair told Pan otherwise. No god could mimic that detail with such zest.
“When you’re as old as I am, you take every minute given to you.” Rutherford tucked the rag into the pocket of his drab suit coat—the same type of coat he’d worn ever since the day of the interview. Pan started to wonder if his lack of imagination was intentional after all.
Rutherford raised both hairy eyebrows. “Enjoy your date, sir?”
“Let’s just say we need to celebrate with a drink. Do you still have that second-best bottle of wine from the cellar?”
Rutherford pursed his lips as if considering Pan’s invitation and thinking better of it.
“Oh, come on, old man. We’re off the clock. Let’s just sit and talk man to man, shoot the breeze. Isn’t that why you stayed up to see me?”
“Let’s just say I wanted to make sure you didn’t break any hearts.” Rutherford winked and gestured for Pan to follow him down the hall. “The wine’s in the pantry. Seeing as how we’re off the clock, you’re going to have to come get it yourself. Sir.” He added the last word as an afterthought.
Pan chuckled and clapped Rutherford’s shoulder as they walked to a room he’d never seen before. Maybe he needed to get around his own mansion more and quit sulking about his love life.
The pantry had been stocked from floor to ceiling with cans, bags of flour, jugs of water and juice, plastic canisters of rice, and jars of jam.
“Are we preparing for the apocalypse?” Pan gawked at all the food as he took a seat at the small round table in the center of the room. A pity he didn’t need to eat. Of course, to keep up appearances for Rutherford, he managed a bite here and there.
“My job is to keep it stocked.” Rutherford brought out the wine and used a fancy silver corkscrew to open it.
“You do a fine job, my friend.” Pan noticed a storage container full of dishes and pulled out two glasses. “You always have.”
Rutherford poured the wine and took a seat next to him. “It has been a good year.”
“That it has. And you’ve been there with me every step of the way. Without your advice, I would have forced my personal and professional relationships. You taught me patience.” Pan sipped the wine, savoring the flavor. He tasted strawberries, figs, and cloves followed by an oaken aftertaste, leaving him wanting more. “This is good.”
Rutherford hadn’t touched his glass. “You’re right about me staying up to talk with you.”
Pan straightened in his chair. “Is something wrong?”
“No, no, no. I was just thinking about our conversation the other day about my wife.”
Pan nodded, unable to think of something to say. Finally, he came up with, “She sounded like a brilliant woman.”
“Yes, she was.” Rutherford took off his coat and draped it over the chair. “This is the same suit I wore the day she died.”
“Really?”
Wouldn’t the suit get old and tattered? Didn’t he need to wash it?
Rutherford laughed as if Pan had an expression of horror on his face. “Allow me to clarify. Not the same exact one. The same style.”
“Oh.” Pan took another sip of
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