Thirty-One

When Charlie was twenty-nine he went through what was probably the most terrifying moment of his entire life. One minute he was wending his way through haphazardly parked squad cars, calculating the most likely spot for a sniper to wait out his next unwitting target, the next being thrown face first into the pavement as said sniper attempted to blow his head off.

When Charlie was thirty, he went through the second.

He'd been standing next to his brother's SUV in the parking lot of a shopping mall, talking to one of his undergraduate students about the possibility of meeting up after class the next day to discuss thesis topics. Neither one had noticed the low-slung sedan with the heavily tinted windows sliding quietly down the street. It was, after all, on the other side of the lot from them, and whereas it wasn't the busiest time of day for shoppers, the lot wasn't empty either.

They'd just decided on a good time to get together and talk when the tinted window slid down a few inches and the car sped up. The student sketched his professor a friendly wave and headed for the drugstore – his mother had asked him to pick up her heart medication – and Charlie waved back, happy to help. His smile broadened when he saw his brother coming out of the mall. He was glad that both he and Don seemed to be growing closer as brothers and a strong friendship was building as well. At one point in time, he wouldn't have believed it possible.

Which was why the sudden frown on Don's face gave him pause. It wasn't until his brother pulled out his gun and broke into a run that would have made Olympians jealous that Charlie realized something was very wrong. When Don yelled, "Charlie! Get down!" he was, unfortunately, rooted to the spot.

Once again, Charlie found himself thrown face-down between two parked cars as shots echoed through the parking lot to be quickly replaced by the sound of squealing tires and, soon after, sirens.

One year to the day – the anniversary of the drive-by shooting, to be precise – Charlie took the day off work, called his father at the office, and told him he was going to go visit his brother. Alan understood, of course, and told him to be home in time for supper. They'd be having steak.

Charlie began pacing as soon as he arrived, nervous energy causing him to run his hands through his dark brown curls. "Don, I just wanted to tell you…" He paused, unsure of how to continue. Finally coming to a standstill, the mathematician took a deep breath, settled into lecture mode and began again. "That day, when you knocked me down in the parking lot – I thought you'd lost your mind… or that I'd made you mad at me somehow. It wasn't until those guys pulled you off of me that I realized what had happened. I was so angry at you for doing that to me… until I thought it over. I know it's your job to protect people. I know you thought it was your job to protect me. I really am grateful for what you did, Don. I just wanted you to know that… no matter what I said to you then or since… I am grateful." He looked up at the honeysuckle tree nearby and inhaled deeply, drinking in its scent. "You always said you loved the smell of honeysuckle in bloom – said it made you feel alive." Charlie closed his eyes. "It makes me feel alive, which I wouldn't be, if it wasn't for you." He opened his eyes again and looked down. "So… well… that's all I wanted to tell you. Things are going good, Dad's getting steady business…" He paused, shrugged. "That's it. I guess… Goodbye Bro." He turned and made his way back to the car.

When Charlie was thirty, he almost lost his life in a drive-by shooting – one in which he was nowhere near the intended target. If it hadn't been for Special Agent Don Eppes of the Los Angeles FBI throwing himself at his little brother, Charlie would be the one lying six feet underground, a beautifully carved granite marker standing over him with his name, two dates and the inscription 'Beloved son and brother' etched into it.

When Charlie was thirty-one, he finally forgave his brother for being a hero.