Shane Royal stood in the kitchen, the pan of scrambled eggs in front of him almost done. He switched off the heat to the burner just as his next younger brother, Dylan, entered. Whistling. Always whistling.
The sound had annoyed Shane growing up too, but their mother had loved it. She’d told Dylan he should go to Hollywood and be the voice of a bird in animated movies. “That’s how good he is,” she used to say.
Probably still would if Shane ever saw her.
“Mornin’,” his brother said, pausing long enough in his twittering to speak.
“Eggs are done,” Shane announced. “Did you see Austin?”
“He’s moving a little slow this morning,” Dylan said. He set two pieces of toast in the toaster and scooped some eggs onto a plate. Shane always set out plates and utensils, the way his momma always had.
