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At the dinner table, Wade sat across from William, deeply absorbed in a crossword as he ate the leftover casserole that Aunt Doreen had brought to the will reading a couple days ago. William stared out of the window at the overgrown backyard, his fork tracing idle circles on the paper plate in front of him. The rain clouds had finally dissipated, giving way to a vibrant sunset that painted the distant lake and swaying pine trees in orange hues. The sight conjured a childhood memory in William.

“Hey,” he said to Wade, “you remember when dad taught us how to fish at the lake?”

“No,” Wade replied, looking up from the crossword and peering over his glasses, “he taught you how to fish.”

“He didn’t ever take you out to the lake?” Will asked, confused.

“Oh no, he did, once. He just yelled at me when I tangled the line and then called me a crybaby when I got upset.”

“Oh…” Will trailed off.

The same uncomfortable, simmering silence fell across the table. Wade returned to his crossword, hoping the conversation was now over. William frowned, staring him down. Wade wouldn’t shut him down this time.

“Wade, I get it. Dad was kind of an asshole sometimes, but it’s not my fault-”

“When did I ever say it was your fault Will?” Wade interrupted, exasperated.

“Then why are you being such a jerk to me?” Will demanded.

“I just don’t wanna hear about all the great times you had with dad,” he said, voice laced with sarcasm. “Frankly, I don’t remember most things with dad the same way that you do.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“The golden boy Will never did anything wrong, did he? Never messed anything up. Always did it perfect the first time.”

William remembered Wade sitting on the ground in the backyard, wiping away his tears as dad came into the dining room with two poles and a tacklebox. Dad hardly looked at Wade when they walked out to the lake. Will’s line got tangled too, but he remembered his dad carefully pulling the nest of monofilament apart without a single harsh word.

“That’s not true, I’ve messed things up before,” Will mumbled.

“Not according to dad. That was my job apparently,” Wade said, scowling at Will.

“It’s not my fault he was still upset that your mom di-”

“That wasn’t my fault either!” Wade snapped, slamming his pen on the table. “You have some serious nerve you know that? You act like I have no place or voice in this family when you know damn well I have equal claim to the house-”

“That’s another thing,” Will interjected, deflecting the accusation. “If you hate dad so much, why do you care about getting his house?”

“The will said ‘to my son’! Am I not his fucking son?” Wade yelled.

The electricity buzzed through the house nervously. He felt the house creak under its own weight, its own disrepair.

“HE WOULDN’T TAKE CARE OF ME. HE WOULDN’T TAKE CARE OF THIS OLD HOUSE,” the voice came rumbling into William’s head again, deep and low like water through the house’s pipes.

“At least I’m actually taking care of the place now that he’s gone,” Will said.

Wade’s face was flushed and a blood vessel in his temple pounded rapidly. His eyes burned with rage, boring into Will’s forehead. Something itched at the tip of his bitten tongue, something that he knew would hurt William just as badly.

“At least I have a fucking job!”

“Goodnight,” Will said through gritted teeth. Wade’s chair screeched against the old wood floor as he stood up. He didn’t look at Will even once on his way out of the dining room, but Will could see furious tears welled up in the corners of his eyes. The front door opened and slammed shut.

Will sat with his arms crossed at the dinner table, cold casserole starting to make the paper plate in front of him soggy. Through the gaps in the doorframe, he could hear a barely stifled sob.

“HE REALLY IS SUCH A CRYBABY, ISN’T HE?” the house said. William agreed.

Curled up under the covers, William stared at the freshly painted walls of his bedroom. It was midnight, and he couldn’t sleep at all. The argument replayed itself in his head over and over, feeling pangs of regret cut across his chest every time he got to the end and said what he said and watched Wade get up from the table and leave. Despite how deep the resentment ran between the two of them… they were still brothers.

“WILLIAM,” the house said. “WHY ARE YOU STILL AWAKE?”

“I… I feel bad about what I said to Wade. I think I should apologize.”

“DON’T.”

“What? Why not?”

“WADE HATES ME. HE WON’T BOTHER TO FIX ME. HE REFUSES TO INDULGE IN ANY FOND MEMORY. HE JUST PACES IN HIS ROOM LIKE A CAGED ANIMAL, WAITING FOR THE CHANCE TO LEAVE… DON’T YOU SEE WHAT HE’S TRYING TO DO?” the house creaked impatiently. “HE WANTS THE HOUSE SO HE CAN GET RID OF IT.”

Will turned onto his other side. His brother was so keen on clearing the place out and leaving it empty until the will could be sorted out. He told their relatives about the land’s value, about contractors and lakefront property.

“HE’LL TEAR ME DOWN, WILLIAM. HE’LL KILL ME.”

“I won’t let him do that, I’ll talk to him-”

“HE DOESN’T CARE WHAT YOU THINK.”

“...he doesn’t?” Will said, his voice cracking.

“OF COURSE HE DOESN’T.”

William curled up tighter in bed. His heart ached inside his chest at the thought of his brother caring so little about what he thought, but he gripped the covers in anger when the argument played in his head again.

“He keeps acting like it’s all my fault. All he does is blame me for what dad did to him, and whenever I try to argue he just-” he mumbled.

“SHUTS YOU DOWN. HE DOESN’T CARE ABOUT HOW YOU FEEL.”

“He doesn’t! He doesn’t care!” Will hissed, pushing the covers off of him. The room felt like an oven.

“BUT I CARE ABOUT YOU WILLIAM.”

“...I care about you too.”

“I KNOW YOU DO.”