Page 63 of Beau and the Beast

And as if someone divine had been listening to Beau for all of those years, he was finally being given the chance to chase down every little lead that presented itself in someone's life.

He was allowed to do it, for the first time, with Wolfram.

When the man mentioned that he'd read Emerson in college, Beau was allowed the time to ask him more about it. What was it about Emerson that had resonated with him? Did he still revisit the philosophies? What was his favorite essay—"No, wait, let me guess: Self Reliance?"

(He had been right, of course. What other piece of Emerson would Wolfram have come to love if not one about being isolated and growing stronger within your isolation?).

And unlike in the interviews of Beau's past, where the interrogation had been conducted in one direction only, Wolfram had been permitted to ask Beau his own questions. They followed the threads of their thoughts wherever they took them, Wolfram adeptly turning the conversation to ask how Beau had become acquainted with Emerson, what pieces he liked and whether or not he agreed with the man's philosophies.

In their first few days after the tumultuous week, after they had reached a compromise and a useful schedule, Wolfram had too often turned the questioning back on him and Beau needed to remind him that they were attempting to write a book about Wolfram, not Beau.

"Compromise with me, then," Wolfram had suggested over smoky lapsang souchong tea in the afternoon.

Beau had agreed to hear Wolfram out. It was clear that the two of them would only ever be able to move forward with generous compromises granted by both parties.

"For every hour we spend unpacking the ugly parts of my life, you'll let me ask you questions for fifteen minutes," Wolfram suggested.

"A four-to-one ratio sounds like an awful lot," Beau said, smiling. "I assure you that at that rate, we'll run out of interesting facts for you to learn about me very quickly."

Wolfram tilted his head, bowing. "And so I thought about my own life," he said, "until you started to shape it so expertly with questions I'd never planned on considering."

Beau had blushed then but agreed. He would answer some of Wolfram's questions if it meant the man stayed engaged with their conversations.

In fifteen minute segments, they unpacked Beau's life from the beginning. He found it easy to paint an idyllic picture of his childhood with Noah, Mom, and Dad, growing up in rural North Carolina. It had been easier to believe in magic in a setting like that, full of treehouses and mountaintops, hidden waterfalls and dancing fireflies in the summertime.

Anything was possible when you were young and allowed to grow up in nature, your head filled with bedtime stories each night. Noah and Beau had cultivated a complicated world of make-believe that they indulged in every day after school—one that grew nuanced and multifaceted during the long summers they spent together, uninterrupted by the structure of things like classes or summer camps.

They had a perfect childhood, feared nothing, were loved evenly and steadily by their mother and father—unremarkable children with remarkable imaginations.

But that had ended, of course, when they had become orphans.

When Wolfram came to that point, when he finally asked Beau where his parents were, Beau wasn't sure what to say at first. They were seated casually by the bookshelf, Wolfram lounging on his side when he asked—but he'd sat up when he saw Beau go serious.

"This is usually the point where I change the subject," Beau admitted.

"If you don't want to talk about them then, by all means, we can move onto something else."

"It's not that I don't want to tell you about them," Beau said, "but it's one of those things that kills a conversation. No one knows how to keep talking to you after they find out."

"Find out what?" Wolfram asked gently.

"That my brother and I are orphans."

Wolfram frowned and shook his head but he was undeterred.

"Loss is a part of life," he said seriously. "You've lost more than most. That intimidates people."

Beau thought about that for a moment and nodded. It was true.

"It's a massive thing to lose a parent," Wolfram continued. "I don't think that people know what to do with the colossal weight of that. To find out so abruptly how strong the man is that one is talking to is... profound, Beau."

"Is that what you think?" Beau asked. "That it made me strong?"

Wolfram let a sad smile slip over his face. "Iknowthat it has."

"I'd never stopped to consider it. Maybe you're right."

"You're alive, aren't you? And stubborn as all hell. And your brother is alive," Wolfram said, listing off the facts he knew to be true. "You've survived more than anyone else I know, if you lost your parents when you were young. I'd say that makes you strong."

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