The oldest Colson brother sat at a round table with mismatched legs, leaning back on a chair their father had once occupied in a time before his capture. It still rankled Patrick to see someone else in his place.
Gunner turned his weary head to Patrick and watched him remove his coat. The two brothers were alike in many ways. Both dressed in a fashion that did not match their surroundings: finely tailored pants, a brass-buttoned waistcoat, a starched shirt, shoes shined like a lord’s. But the contrast between them was stark. Gunner’s beard now reached his chest and was streaked in early grays. On a reddened visage, his dark eyes floated, unable to anchor themselves. He slumped in the chair, hair in disarray, one hand shaking on their mother’s kitchen table, the other holding a bottleneck
