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her christening, promising to serve as her godfather. In spite of that, I couldn't recall any similarity between the faces of that sweet child and my brother.
    His round, fleshy face appeared before my own. Just looking at us, one could tell we were related. We were Irish twins, barely ten months apart in age. If you listened to opinions around town, I was the good-looking one. I was rumored to have crushed many young girls' dreams and caused nightmares for their fathers.
    Carver, on the other hand, had been feared for his wicked temper and brutal nature. I remember back when he was ten. He had trained a bunch of mice to do little tricks like fetching acorns and running in circles. When one mouse failed to learn, Carver lit its fur on fire. He watched the creature run and shriek as it burned to death.
    "Your little nephew is down for his nap. Come on in. Mary-Alice'll make you some grub." Carver wrapped his arm around his wife's waist. His hand tightened, and he stared down at her. Some indescribable emotion flashed briefly on his face. It made me uncomfortable.
    I walked by them and toward the small house. Carver rushed by me as I limped my way to the porch. He'd had his whole life to deal with his ruined leg. His movements were uneven, yet sure. My steps were less confident. I never knew if my leg would give out under me.
    I walked slowly up the front steps. He pushed the door wider for me as we walked into his house. I could see him even though the interior of the house was dark. Carver turned, walked down a narrow hallway, and entered a tiny room that served as the baby's room.
    When I finally caught up to him, he was standing beside the crib. I moved closer to him and stared down at the boy.
    This little guy was a changeling. Generation after generation, all Carver males had favored each other. We were tall men with sturdy, muscular builds. We had golden blond hair and deep blue eyes. While in the Army, I had been mocked for looking more Aryan than the average German.
    This little guy favored Mary-Alice. His hair was dark brown, and his skin was olive-toned. His eyes were closed as he slept soundly. I nearly nudged him awake so I could see the color of his eyes.
    I looked at my brother and caught the clenching of his jaw. He stared down at his son, a touch of disbelief on his face. His gaze flickered upward and the amazed look was quickly hidden behind a mischievous grin.
    "He's a handsome boy, little brother."
    "Come on, let's see what Mary-Alice's got cooking."
    His non-response was telling. I knew my little brother, and I knew what unnerved him. Because of the boy's looks, I figured he questioned the boy's parentage. I knew he had good reason to question Mary-Alice's fidelity.
    "Would you like coffee, Baxter?" Mary-Alice stood in the doorway, wiping her hands with the edge of her apron. She wore a blank yet polite expression on her face. Carver approached her and took her into his arms. She kissed my brother, love and affection evident in her reaction.
    When the kiss ended, she turned away with a satisfied smile. Carver walked over to the stove. Not caring about the popping, hot grease, he plucked a piece of bacon from the frying pan. He took a big bite of the bacon as Mary-Alice's hand crawled through his hair. Carver was solely focused on his food now, ignoring his aroused wife's attempts to continue their foreplay. Mary-Alice's head rested against his back. She sighed deeply, closing her eyes in contentment. I moved towards the table, startling her. Her eyes snapped open and she stared at me with a blend of arousal and curiosity.
    Too many complicated layers in their relationship. It was giving me a headache. I grabbed a plate from the cabinet and began spooning scrambled eggs onto it. I wondered if they carried on like this when Mother and Father were present. If they did, it certainly explained my mother's continued animosity.
    Carver's eyes snapped in my direction as if he only just remembered I was in the room.