At the bottom of the shoe box, there’s a small tin that rattles when Jack shakes it. Inside are several very old, very misshapen lumps of what once could have been considered candy.
Bob watches Jack set the tin aside without a thought because why would he ascribe any value to it? It wasn’t his. Bob is the one that slides it off the countertop and peers inside like it’s holding something precious.
“None of his dumb girlfriends ever made candy,” Bobby says, grabbing at the small jar of sugar on the counter.
“Glad to know I’m not a dumb girl,” Daniel leans against the counter and grins, a cherry stem poking out the corner of his mouth. “You know, I’ll make you anything you want if you promise not to tell anyone about your brother and I.”
“I’m not stupid, I know it’s a secret,” Bobby mutters. “You don’t have to keep reminding me, I’m great at secrets. Remember, I kept that secret about the rat at Maman’s garden party.”
“Ah!” Daniel snaps his fingers and points accusingly, a nervous smile stretching his lips. “Bobby, that’s why I keep reminding you!”
“That’s not the same! You tricked me!”
“Danny, don’t bribe him with candy,” Jacques chides, setting his gear bag down beside the kitchen table. “He’ll get chubby.”
“I won’t get chubby,” Bobby protests before his brother grabs him around the middle and starts tickling. “Stop! I’m the fastest one on the team!”
“No, because Danny is going to fatten you up and we’re going to have to roll you across the ice!” Jacques teases as Bobby laughs and wiggles away from his fingers. “Call you ‘Blobby Zimmermann’.”
“No! Danny help!”
“But you wanted cherry drops,” Daniel holds up his hands, dusted with confectioners sugar. “And…I…can’t move…too sticky…”
“No one can save you, now,” Jacques growls playfully, wrapping Bobby in a tight hug and lifting him up off the floor with a shake. “Just remember, you can have delicious candy or I can tell everyone at the rink your new nickname is Blobby. Your choice, bud.”
“Bad Blob,” Bob mutters, shaking one of the candies out of the tin, almost four decades old and certainly no longer meant for consumption. He contemplates it for a moment, the red so dark it’s almost black and pops it into his mouth.
He assumes it tastes like a 40-year-old candy should taste, what he doesn’t expect is for Jack to stare at him like he’s gone mad and say, “Crisse, Bobby, don’t eat that shit.”
The pieces of the reincarnation fic you shared are fascinating and I need to know more
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