A/N: Sometimes a story just comes, and it's like it takes control of you until it's written down. This is one such story. As usual, thanks to May for the fast turnaround beta read.
STILLNESS
Adam woke suddenly.
He lifted his head from the pillow, looking around the room, listening.
Quiet.
A pregnant stillness that rang with silver clarity in the early morning light.
He looked over at the other bed in the room. His brother Brian slumbered there, turned on his side, a darker shadow against the mauve light. Adam had shared a room with Brian for most of his life, but tonight, for a change, Brian wasn't snoring.
Adam sat up in bed, reaching over to tweak the curtains away from the window. At this angle all he could see was the sky, pearly-gray with the golden-rose shimmer in the East heralding the approaching sunrise.
Early. It was… Sunday? Yeah, Sunday. He could go back to sleep for a little while before getting up to do morning chores before church. His dad would –
It came rushing back then, the briefly-forgotten pain gripping him with crushing intensity. They were gone. His parents were dead. He was all alone.
Alone and responsible for his entire family.
He slid to his feet, avoiding the loose floor board that squealed like a cat being tortured. Two steps took him to the crib in the corner. He gently touched the slumbering toddler within. Guthrie had slept the night through in his crib. The first time since…
Since a drunken driver had drifted into the wrong lane of the highway and tore Adam's parents away in a fiery conflagration that was seen for a mile away.
There hadn't been enough of his parents left to even justify a coffin to bury them in.
Guthrie stirred, and Adam held his breath. But the baby sighed and settled back into dreamless sleep. Or was it dreamless? Did twenty month-old babies dream? Was Guthrie dreaming now, good dreams of his parents still being alive? Of his mother being close by to protect him from shadows of the dark?
The house was cold this early in the morning. The heat would rise later with the sun, shining over a summer day on the ranch. But dawn was still chill. Moving quietly in the half-light, Adam dressed in ragged jeans, a heavy sweater. Not church-going clothes, by any means. But church was still hours away and maybe they'd skip it today anyway.
Not like God had been much help lately, had He?
He heard his mother's voice in his head, admonishing him. God never gives a body more than he can handle, Junior.
Well then, God had a better opinion of Junior – Adam's – handling abilities than Adam did.
He slipped from the room. The crystal stillness extended to the hallway. He couldn't break that quiet. He tip-toed down the hall to look into the first open door. He could hardly believe this was the first night everybody had actually slept in their own rooms. The nights after the funeral had been torn with cries and nightmares and sobs against what had happened.
The accident happened exactly a week ago.
He remembered his dad saying at breakfast that morning, "You young'un's think you can handle everything today? Your mom and I are going for a drive after church."
They did that, sometimes, left the kids to Adam and Brian to wrangle and took off on one of their "getaways". Not very often, maybe two or three times a year. Those drives, and the occasional Friday night that they went out to dinner and maybe a movie, those were their times. Their alone times. When they could be just two people in love, not parents, or ranchers. Just Adam, Sr., and Rebecca.
Two people so in love that total strangers could feel it, could be caught up in the searing gold overflow of their love for each other. Something that embarrassed their oldest son even as it reassured him. His parents were always there. Always together. Stable. United in love. Protecting their children, in a way their love protected all around them, spilling over to their children.
And now they were gone. Swept away in a moment as if they'd never existed. Leaving nothing behind.
Well, that wasn't true. They'd left everything behind.
The blinds were open and more shimmering silver light illuminated the room. Adam stood in the doorway, looking at his brothers.
Crane – thirteen on his next birthday – lay still as a log in his bed. Crane slept that way, always had. In a way seeing him like that reassured Adam. In the nights since fire and glass had torn their parents away, Crane had been restless when he did sleep, on the edge, always ready to wake up and comfort a little brother who might need him. And no one needed him more than the little brother who shared his room.
Adam's eyes drifted to Daniel. Eight years old. An old soul in a new body, his mom had said once. Adam hadn't known what she meant then, still wasn't sure now.
Daniel's bed was a twisted mess of sheets and blankets and – what was that he was clutching so tightly in his arms, pulled up next to his chest and gripped as if it were a lifeline?
Adam drifted closer. Oh. Of course.
His little brother clutched the family photo album in his sleep. It had become a talisman for the little boy this week, a tether against the darkness that tried to pull him away from them.
Daniel moved restlessly in his sleep, his face contorting with an anguished frown. Adam froze, praying that the brittle silence of the morning would not be broken by anguished cries as it had so many times this past week.
But Daniel didn't scream. The lines of his face smoothed out into a temporary peace. He said something, huffing under his breath, and turned onto his side, bringing the photo album even more securely into the curve of his body. Holding his breath, Adam silently backed out of the room, pushing the door ajar but not closed. They couldn't close doors now. No one wanted to be walled away from the security of the others. Of the only family they had left.
The next bedroom was darker. It faced the same way as the one next to it but the curtains were drawn. Still, enough light leaked around the edges that Adam could see his brothers, crowded together in one bed. From the tangled covers in the other bed, Ford had started in his own and migrated to his older brother's sometime during the night. Evan's face was streaked with the dried remains of tears. Tears the tough little boy wouldn't shed in front of his older brothers but apparently could with the younger brother. He had one arm spread protectively across Ford's chest. Adam couldn't help but remember his mom throwing an arm in front of him just that way when he was younger. Protecting him in the car when he wasn't any older than Evan was now and she had to slam on the brakes to avoid hitting a deer.
Evan was seven years old. Ford wouldn't turn six until September.
September.
Three months away. It had seemed so close, a week ago.
Now it was a lifetime away.
No, now it was another life entirely.
He backed out of the room, keeping his eyes on his brothers until he finally turned to head for the staircase.
Rounding the bottom step, he glanced around the living room. It was a disaster. Clothes and blankets tossed on the sofas; empty plates and glasses scattered around. He couldn't actually see the thin layer of dust distorting the furniture but he'd noticed it the night before. Funny thing was he'd never noticed his mom cleaning up, although she must have. One week without her and the place looked like a frat house.
Frat house.
He sighed.
He detoured by the desk to pick up the basket full of mail that had been accumulating all week. Finding the checkbook and a pen in the drawer, he moved on into the kitchen, dropping everything on the table and heading for the coffee pot.
The kitchen still smelled faintly of rich tomato sauce and garlic, a legacy of the lasagna his friend Hoop's mother had brought over for their supper last night. Hoops had come with her. Adam couldn't remember another time he'd gone a week without seeing his best friend. Hoops hadn't made it to the funeral because he'd been in North Carolina with his dad, officially meeting Coach Krzyzewski and signing his letter of intent with Duke University. Come winter, he'd be playing power forward with the Duke Blue Devils. He couldn't restrain his excited chatter about it, the people he'd met and how the campus looked so different from the colleges in California that he and Adam had toured during their recent Spring Break. Adam had listened, but it had been like listening to someone from an alien planet talk about things that had no relevance in his world.
"You can still change your mind, Adam! Forget San Diego. Come to North Carolina with me and play basketball. With the two of us Duke will go all the way to the final four! It'll be just like old times."
No. No, it wouldn't. Nothing would ever be the same.
"You leave Adam alone, young man," Hoops' mother had chastised. "He's got a perfectly good scholarship himself."
Adam shook his head. What were either one of them talking about? That life they were speaking of was no longer his. That was the life of the old Adam McFadden Jr. The boy who was going to leave this tiny town, this ranch, his family, behind and go to the sunny beaches of San Diego; study to be a doctor.
That life belonged to someone who did have a life. Who had options.
Adam didn't. Not anymore.
He sat down at the table with his coffee and just listened to the stillness. The hush. The waiting moment before the break of dawn.
The moment when anything was possible. Before the rising of the sun signaled that life was falling into settled paths.
There was a thick manila envelope on top of the basket. It must have come yesterday and he hadn't noticed. He didn't have to read the return address to know what it contained.
The glossy pages of a college catalogue. The University of California, San Diego catalogue.
He thought of the two letters upstairs, tucked in the old wooden box his grandfather had made fifty years before Adam was born. Letters on stiff white paper, expensive gold and blue letterhead. One announcing his acceptance to the school. The other that had arrived just a scant few weeks ago, offering him a full scholarship. An academic scholarship. Based on his brains and grades, not on his height and jump shot.
His dad beaming with pride as he walked across the stage to pick up his diploma as valedictorian of his class. His mom crying. His younger brothers lined up like stair steps next to her: Brian, Crane, Daniel, Evan, and Ford. Baby Guthrie on his mother's lap, his eyes wide as he took in his oldest brother in cap and gown.
Another life.
Somebody else's life.
After their funeral, stepping away from the crowded kitchen; the friends gathered in the living room to comfort the sons of Adam and Rebecca McFadden. Having to get away from all of it, all of them, heading to the barn to be alone.
Except he wasn't, of course. He was followed by his dad's three closest friends: Tom Barrett, Russ Wheeler, and Judge Carlson, his dad's lawyer as well as his friend.
He could barely remember fragments of what they'd said.
Life insurance money…
House is paid off now…
You inherit the ranch yourself and as trustee of your brothers…
Russ Wheeler's voice: "The missus and I can keep Guthrie and Ford over at our place…"
His four youngest brothers had been scattered all over the county since the accident, only coming together today, at the church for the funeral and then back to the house for food and support.
"No." He could barely recognize his own voice. "Ford and Guthrie stay here. All of them, all of us. We stay here, together. Starting tonight."
There had been more, but he didn't pay any attention. He'd turned to stare at his dad's favorite horse, Devil Woman. His mother always protested the name but it suited the spirited mare. She'd been bred a couple of months ago. Little Evan was insisting the newborn foal was going to be his when the time came. He'd already named it. Diablo, whether a boy or girl. Adam remembered feeling a pang when he realized he wouldn't be there when the colt was foaled. He'd be in San Diego…
Not anymore.
Sometime later, Tom Barrett and Russ Wheeler were gone. The house was emptying of all the friends. At Adam's insistence, all of his brothers were staying. No McFadden was going to be pawned out to a neighbor. Not that night. Not any night.
"Think about what you're doing, Adam," Judge Carlson counseled. "What you're giving up. You don't have to make any decision today. You've got time. The whole town is behind you. The boys would be safe and you could come home on vacations. Think about what is best for you, and for your brothers. I'm not going to listen to anything you say tonight. You need to think about it."
Adam only had to think about one thing. "What would my dad do? What would he want me to do?"
Judge Carlson avoided his eyes. "I'll come out Sunday, after church. Sarah will bring Sunday dinner for you all, and you and I can talk more then."
And now it was Sunday.
Adam took a deep breath. He ripped open the envelope, letting the letter and the heavy catalogue fall on the floor. Bending over, he picked them up. His fingers traced restlessly over the stiff white letter paper.
He knew pretty much what it would say. Welcome, probably giving the name of his advisor, suggestions about what classes to take his first semester. Maybe information about his dormitory, his future roommate. Ending up with some polite statement that actually meant "Welcome to the rest of your life."
Not his life. Not now. Not ever.
Judge Carlson would want an answer today. Everyone in town seemed to think they knew what would be best for the family. For Adam's family.
But it was Adam's decision that mattered.
He'd barely thought of anything else over the last days and sleepless nights. Comforting his brothers, taking care of the ranch, poring over insurance papers and bank records and official documents. Always, in the back of his mind: What am I going to do?
But he knew. He'd always known. He might not have a clue how he was going to do it, but the family would stick together, somehow. McFaddens always stayed together.
It was what his Dad would want. What his mother would expect of him.
More than that. It was what he expected of himself.
Standing, he hefted the catalogue and the letter into his arms and strode back out to the living room. Stirring up the embers of last night's fire in the fireplace, he waited until the flames revived, searching for fuel.
He hesitated for just one minute, then carefully placed the items into the fire. Nothing happened at first, and then one finger of flame darted out, wrapping around the paper. Excited by the nourishment, another flame joined the first, greedily lapping away until nothing was left but a pile of gray ash.
The ashes of the life he thought he'd have.
He took a deep breath and stood, squaring his shoulders.
And the crystal silver stillness of early morning broke as the golden rays of the sun rose, bathing the living room in bright light.
Adam smiled, the first smile since that night his parents were killed. Turning, he strode for the stairs. Time to wake his brothers up. They had chores, he'd scramble some eggs for breakfast, and then they would go to church as a family. Maybe Adam was pissed at God right now, but he knew he would need Him a lot in the future. Time to start mending fences there.
And time to tell Judge Carlson he'd made up his mind.
He stopped and gazed out the window, at the brilliant light of a new day.
Nodding his head, Adam McFadden headed up the stairs.
And stepped into the rest of his life.