Disclaimer: I do not own Numb3rs. The writers/producers/owners do not live in NC.
Author's Note: This little idea came from a discussion on the Majestic Green Fluted Bowl that has been a part of the Craftsman for many seasons now. Also, the anniversary idea was from a prompt/challenge. Thus, I killed two birds with one stone.
Enjoy...
His hand paused on the door, his body freezing up. He didn't know if he could bring himself to go back in, if he could handle going back in, or if he even wanted to go back in. As horrible as that last thought was, it was true.
Today had been terrible for their family. Anniversaries were usually things to be celebrated; marriages, how long two people have been dating, a particular event, and jobs. The list was nearly endless.
But not this anniversary. A year ago, Margaret Eppes had passed on, slipping away to leave behind her husband and two sons. It hardly seemed like it had only been three hundred and sixty five days. Or fifty weeks. Or any other way one could divide one year up. However, it had been one year ago.
A car drove by on the road behind Don, the gentle hum of the car's engine rousing him from his thoughts. He looked to his right and the sight of the flowers that Alan had kept up with brought a small smile to his face. After securing the day off this morning, Don had spent most of the afternoon at his mother's grave; he had sat on the cool grass with the sun high over head and simply talked, allowing her presence to wash over him.
When another car passed by Don finally gave up on leaning against the door. Stealing himself, he pulled open the heavy wood and entered the home of his childhood. The somber atmosphere hit him and he noticed that it hadn't changed since this morning.
A crash came from the kitchen, followed by a few curse words. Slightly alarmed, Don pushed through the kitchen's swinging door.
"Charlie, what are you doing?" Don asked.
Charlie jerked his head back too quickly, and as a result, he banged his head on the top of the cabinet. Brown eyes gave him a mock glare as the genius rubbed his curls in an attempt to soothe the pain. Charlie changed positions and sat on the floor. "I got hungry. I've been out in the garage for hours, and, well, it seemed like a good idea."
Don crouched down beside Charlie. It was the cabinets that held their mixing bowls. "You looking for a bowl?"
Charlie's voice took on a strange note. "Yeah. I was, but… I found this instead." His fingers reached back, pushing aside a small metal bowl and a large one that was used to hold salad.
Don stared at what was in Charlie's hands. Sudden realization dawned as for why his brother's voice was now soft and melancholy. He reached out and lightly ran a finger over the light green fluted bowl. "Mom's favorite bowl. We haven't seen this in… a year."
The younger man nodded.
"Oh, Buddy." Don reached out to grasp his brother's arm.
Looking up and regaining focus, Charlie gave him a small smile of reassurance as if to say 'It's okay, Don. I'm okay. I promise.' His brother had taken today well, choosing to stay around Don or Alan and only going out to the garage for a little while.
"Hey, boys. How does lasagna sound for tonight?" Alan said, holding two bags full of groceries as he entered the kitchen. "What do you have there, Charlie?"
Don and Charlie stood, leaning on one other to retain their balance.
"I found Mom's bowl, Dad," Charlie answered.
Alan paused and sat the bags down. Coming forward, he took it, turning it over and over in his hands. "Ahh. Your mother loved this bowl."
"Yeah. I remember she used to make all our birthday cakes in it. Charlie found it hidden behind the mixing bowls. Mom must have put it away, and then when she got sick…" Don didn't need to finish the thought. Standing in that kitchen, all three of them knew what he meant.
"What do we do with it now?" Charlie shifted his stance.
Alan and Don both looked at him, Don asking, "What do you mean? We put it back and cook with it."
"You don't cook, Donnie. That's why you're always over here," Alan chuckled.
"Hey, I don't have to come over. It's not like I'm here every night," he said in defense.
"You do to, Don. You might as well just live here sometimes," Charlie chimed in.
"Oh come on, Chuck." Don received a glare.
Alan waved a hand between the two of them. "Leave off your brother, Charlie. Don, it's no problem to have you here. It's much better than you spending a late night at the office. Bad enough that you do what you do."
Silence reigned in the kitchen for a few minutes, the green bowl resting between the three of them.
Finally, Alan moved to the kitchen. "I know just what to do with it."
Don and Charlie watched as their father grabbed a paper towel, wetted it, and then cleaned the dust from the porcelain sides.
They followed him as he left the kitchen, Don going first and Charlie bringing up the rear. The bowl made a heavy sound as Alan placed it on the round table in the foyer.
Standing back to admire his work, Alan proclaimed, "There we go."
"It's just going to sit there?" Charlie asked.
Alan frowned, picked up the stack of mail, and tossed it into the fluted bowl. "Now, there we go. It can hold the mail. Especially since we get some of yours now, Donnie."
Don had to admit that it wasn't that bad of an idea. He didn't have any objections and Charlie seemed to be okay with it too, saying that he wanted to do something with it.
Satisfied, Alan walked towards the kitchen. "Lasagna it is for dinner. You two can help as well."
Charlie grumbled something under his breath but acquiesced.
Don smiled and followed.
He paused at the kitchen door and looked back into the front of the house; the fluted bowl was the last thing his gaze landed on. His chin gave a small dip, nodding to no one in particular other than the house itself.
The air was no longer somber and heavy.
Instead, it was warm and thick with love and memories.
The green fluted bowl with the white envelopes stood proud in the foyer, catching everyone's eye and providing a small little memoriam to the great woman who once used it to make her sons' birthday cakes.
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