"You're a jerk!"
"No, you're the jerk!
"Just get out of my room! While you're at it, get out of my life!"
"Gladly!" Slam.
PJ Duncan winced as his little brother stormed out of their shared bedroom and slammed the door. He really didn't like fighting with Gabe, but there were times when he just wanted –no, needed—to be alone, without some annoying eleven-year-old hanging around. Like today, for example. PJ had some thinking to do, and he did that best lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling and listening to some old-school guitar gods.
Satriani, Surfin' with the Alien. Nothing like it … well, maybe some vintage Knopfler, Or Van Halen, of course. Anyone who had ever dreamed of touching a guitar had to get a charge out of listening to the magic of Eddie Van Halen.
PJ's friend Emmet had a line on an apartment in downtown Denver, and needed an answer by 5:00 today. It was a sweet basement apartment at a price that was almost too good to be true. Two bedrooms, heat included, close to campus, next door to a take-out pizza restaurant. Basically, heaven on Earth for two 18-year old boys. And since PJ had enough money saved up for his half of the deposit and the first couple month's rent, it seemed like a slam-dunk. Really, how could he turn it down?
Over the guitar music, he heard someone knocking on his bedroom door. Great. Either Gabe was back to bug him again or their mother was here to jump into the middle of his business. PJ wasn't in the mood to deal with either one of them.
He closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. Hmm, an apartment with Emmet. No irritating little brother underfoot, no well-intentioned intrusions from his mother. Definitely tempting.
The knocking continued.
PJ started a mental list. Good things about moving out: privacy, his own bedroom, no curfew, no one telling him what to do, no babysitting the two little ones. Well, okay, that wasn't quite fair; Gabe didn't really need babysitting anymore. Not really. But that still left their almost-three year-old sister Charlie. And, of course, providing chauffeur services to Gabe.
"Hey! I know you're awake!"
His eyes flew open. His sister Teddy stood over him, hands on her hips and a scowl on her face. She was just over a year younger than he was, but that didn't stop her from trying to tell him what to do.
"What do you want?" he asked.
Teddy sat gracefully on the edge of Gabe's bed and gave him a reproachful look.
"You made him cry," she said.
"So?" PJ shrugged. Deep down inside, his stomach twisted a little. Gabe never cried.
"So he's eleven. You're eighteen. You need to be the grown-up."
"And you need to mind your own business." Another score for the "good" list: No Teddy trying to poke into his business and tell him what to do. And there was the whole mess of Emmet's crush on Teddy to be considered. If he didn't live at home anymore, he wouldn't have to watch his best friend turn into a babbling moron every time his little sister walked into the room.
"C'mon, PJ. It's not like you to yell at him like that. Sure, you guys fight a lot, but you've never blasted him like that. What's going on?"
PJ sighed and sat up slowly. "I've just got a lot on my mind, okay?" he finally said. "I didn't mean to hurt his feelings, but are you so sure the tears were real? You and I both know Gabe can be a pretty good actor when he wants to make people feel sorry for him."
"True."
Suddenly, PJ found himself pouring out his heart to her, telling her about the apartment and his worries about the upcoming classes at the community college. Okay, so that was something for the "bad" list—he'd miss talking to Teddy. He had to admit that she was a great listener.
"What if I'm not smart enough for college?" he asked her. "Or for any of it? Keeping a job, paying my own bills, finishing the homework, doing my own cooking and laundry?"
"Well, the cooking can't be worse than what you get here," Teddy chuckled.
Another item on the "good" list: if he moved out he wouldn't have to eat his mom's cooking any more.
"Listen, PJ," she said, after a moment. "You are an adult now, and I won't deny that it would be nice to have one less person in the house. It would definitely be nice if I didn't have to listen to you and Gabe fight with each other all the time. But … you don't have to be in a rush, you know?"
"I know."
"For the record, I believe you can do it all," she continued. "You're smarter than you give yourself credit for. And you are eventually going to have to move out, because that's what kids do when they grow up. But I'd kind of like it if you'd stick around for a while."
Teddy seemed to find something very interesting about her fingernails. "You know I'd miss you, right?" she asked. "I … like having you here. I love Gabe and Charlie, but they're … we take care of them, you know? And Mom and Dad are, well, Mom and Dad. You and I are a team. When you move out, I'm not going to have anybody in my corner."
"Hey, you know I've always got your back, no matter where I live."
"PJ!" their mother's voice rang out. Both teens winced at the sheer volume. "PJ Duncan, you get down here this instant!"
"Won't miss her lovely sweet tones, will you?" Teddy chuckled.
He shot her a quick grin and loped out of the room. His mother waited at the bottom of the stairs, arms crossed and lips definitely turned down in a frown.
"What's up, Ma?" he quipped. As if he didn't know.
"PJ, you father and I count on you to help with your little brother and sister," she said. "Gabe has to get to baseball practice, and we need you to take him there. End of discussion. Get your keys, get your brother, and do it. I don't care if you want to pick at each other and fight the entire way there; you're driving him to practice. Do I make myself clear?"
"But—"
"Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Ma'am!" PJ fought back the urge to salute.
Moments later, he glared at Gabe's reflection in the rear-view mirror. Technically, Gabe was old enough to sit in the front seat, but their parents still insisted that he was safer in the back seat of PJ's car because of his small stature. Besides, they didn't want him distracting his big brother while driving.
PJ was a good driver, and the baseball field was only fifteen minutes away. But the minutes stretched out interminably as both brothers refused to be the one to break the sullen silence.
The late afternoon sun was nearly blinding, even with his sunglasses on and the visor down. Maybe that explained why he didn't see the pickup truck approaching from his right. Maybe that also explained why the truck's driver never even slowed down at the stop sign. He plowed directly into the passenger side of PJ's little blue car, sending it into an out-of control spin.
Stunned by the impact, PJ struggled with the steering wheel and fought to bring the vehicle to a stop. He felt disoriented and nauseous, but didn't feel any specific pain anywhere. Just rattled. But the car! His first car … destroyed! He looked at the caved-in, twisted passenger side of the car, at the glass scattered across the seat, and wondered what the heck he was supposed to do now. Call 911? Call Mom and Dad? Call Gabe's coach—
Gabe.
No. Oh, no, no, no.
Get out of my life! PJ's last words to his brother rang in his ears.
No, no, no.
"Gabe! Gabe, answer me!" PJ wrenched at his seat belt with fingers that were suddenly numb and useless. Finally free of the belt, he pushed open the door.
A crowd was starting to gather. Two people were tugging at the rear door. A man seized his arms. "Son, you need to sit down over here," the man told him. "You might be hurt; you shouldn't be moving."
"My brother – I need to get my brother! He's in the back seat ! He's –"
"PJ!" the door opened, and a small brown-haired rocket launched itself into PJ's arms.
PJ staggered back a few steps, hugging the smaller boy fiercely. He didn't trust himself to speak; slowly, carefully, he sank to his knees right there in the road.
After a moment, PJ pulled back away from Gabe and cupped is brother's face in his hands. "Are you hurt?" he asked, peering intently into his brother's face. He didn't see any blood or bruises. Just wide, terrified eyes in a pale round face. "Gabe, talk to me. Are you hurt anywhere?"
"N-no. Are you? PJ, PJ, I'm so sorry I argued with you! I'm sorry I called you a jerk. I'm sorry—"
"Me, too! Oh, my God …" PJ pulled him close again in a crushing embrace.
"Your car—"
"—can be replaced. You can't." Oddly enough, PJ couldn't rid himself of the sudden mental image of his father showing him a tiny infant in a glass-walled crib. "Meet your baby brother, PJ. His name is Gabriel Benjamin, but we'll call him Gabe. Do you think you can help your mom and me take care of a little baby brother?
"PJ, we have to call Mom and Dad," Gabe's voice was muffled against PJ's chest.
"In a minute," PJ told him. I've got to call Emmet first, and tell him I'm not going anywhere for a while."