“His inability to utter those three words stemmed back to his childhood. He’d never had the endearment spoken to him, nor had he said them to anyone. Not even to Harry, who he had loved. His brother had viewed the world through uncomplicated eyes and wouldn’t have understood the emotional meaning behind the words. Their communication had been based on a simple level of language, mostly centering around the subject of water. Ever since Harry could crawl, he’d been infatuated by the water in the F...risco harbor, by the ships that moored and sailed. Growing up, the sun-glistened bay had been the mainstay of their conversations and the site of many visits before they’d been disposed of at St. John’s Orphanage. Once in the home, late at night in their cots, they’d whisper quietly about what they would do when they got out. Harry always said he’d walk straight to the ocean and stare at it. In those unlit hours when the barracks were immersed in a black as dark as the nuns’ habits, and when those inmates who were ruffians by day wept openly in their beds at night, Frank had vowed to see his brother through the misery of it all.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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