It took a couple of more hours before he was again ready to sleep, before he stopped hearing her crying in his head. He finally wandered back up the stairs, feeling like he'd been going for days; his eyes burning from lack of sleep, his head pounding. He went by their room, not hearing anything this time. His brother and sister's doors were also closed, lights off; he was the last one up. He crawled into his childhood bed, feeling simultaneously both very old and very young as he stared up at the familiar ceiling. At last, his eyes drifted closed.

A few short hours later, he was up again, the morning sun shining through his windows. He was only slightly less tired than when he went to bed the night (or early morning, actually) before. He rolled over and pushed himself up, leaning against his headboard. He heard a single beep of a car horn outside followed by the front door opening and then closing. He thought for a moment, then realized that his sister must be leaving for tennis practice. He looked over at the bedside clock. At this point, there was no way that he was going to be able to go back to sleep, no matter how tired he still was. He sighed, rolled out of bed and headed downstairs.

As he reached the bottom of the steps, he heard noise coming from the kitchen. He went in and saw his father puttering around, looking up when he heard him enter.

"Morning, Donnie," he said, studying him. "Did you get any sleep?"

"A little. There any coffee?" he asked.

He felt his father studying him, could almost hear him thinking that the last thing he needed was coffee; that more sleep would be much more appropriate. "I was just about to make some."

"Industrial strength, if possible."

"I'll make regular instead of decaf, but that's as far as I'll go," he answered. "The rest of us have to drink it."

He put his elbows on the island and rubbed his face. "It'll do."

"You know, you could go sleep for a few more hours," he pressed. "Better choice than the coffee."

He shook his head. "Not going to happen, Dad."

His father sighed. Why did all three of the kids have to inherit that stubbornness? "It'll be a few minutes before it's ready."

"I'll survive until then." He pressed the heels of his hands into his forehead trying to ease his building headache. He already didn't like the way this day was going. And it was only going to get worse.

"Don…," his father started.

The kitchen door swung open. "Good morning, you two," his mother said.

He looked over at her, the memory of hearing her crying the night before flooded back into his mind. His cheeks flushed slightly, knowing that he'd been eavesdropping, that he was never supposed to have heard her. "Morning." He rubbed his hands over his face again, trying to cover the heat coming from them.

She gave him a sidelong glance. Something seemed off with him. "I assume Julie left?" she asked.

"I heard her leave. At least I think it was her…"

"Well, your brother's not up yet and your sister's room is empty. So, I think we can make that assumption," his father said. He paused. "When will she be back?"

"Between 11 and 12, I think," she answered. She looked over at the pot brewing on the counter. She closed her eyes and inhaled.

"It's leaded," she heard her son say.

She looked at him and smiled. "That's fine. I'm having tea anyway."

"Really? Since when?" He'd learned to drink coffee from her. She'd given him his first cup, black, when he was sixteen.

"Almost a year now. It's supposed to be better for you," she said, then realized the irony of the statement. She put the kettle on the stove to heat.

He looked down at the floor, suddenly feeling very awkward. "Yeah."

She passed by him on the way to the cabinet, putting her hand on his shoulder for a moment as she did, attempting to reassure him. "It's fine," she whispered.

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.

She opened the cabinet, took out a mug and the box of teabags. She turned back around. She held the items in her hands, watching her husband and son. She looked up and caught Alan's eye and raised her eyebrows. They both looked over at their son, still leaning against the island. Alan nodded.

"Don, there's some stuff that your mother and I need to go over with you and Charlie while you're both here together. It'll be easier to do while Julie's out," he said.

He straightened up, looking first at his mother and then his father. "What kind of stuff?" he said a tinge of concern in his voice.

"Paperwork. Insurance stuff, safety deposit boxes, wills. That kind of thing…"

"What? Wills? What else don't I…"

"Don," his mother interrupted. "It's okay. I'm a lawyer…"

"What does that have to do with anything?" he interrupted back.

She took a deep breath. "It means that we've had wills drawn up since you were a baby. That's not really a big deal. We should have talked with both of you about these things a long time ago. We just never quite got around it."

"And this just seemed to be as good a time as any?" he asked, sarcasm creeping into his voice. He knew, could hear his conscience telling him, that he didn't need to be sarcastic, that really this was something that needed to be done, but he was tired and he was stressed and the filter between his brain and his mouth wasn't really working the way that it should.

"Don…," his father started, a slight warning tone in his voice.

"Alan, it's alright," she said calmly, putting down the mug and teabags. She took the few steps over to her son and rested her hand on his arm. "We haven't had a lot of time together the past few years and honestly, I didn't want to waste what we had on this kind of thing. But we should have. And since we didn't do it before, we need to do it now. You're here, Charlie's here. So we just need to do it."

He dropped his head and shut his eyes. He knew that she was right. He took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm himself down, to pull himself together. He felt her give his arm a gentle squeeze to reassure him. And all he could think in that moment was that she shouldn't have to reassure him; he should be reassuring her. He nodded.

She looked back over at her husband. "Can you make sure Charlie's up?" she asked softly.

"Yeah," he whispered and headed out of the kitchen.

And then there was silence. Mother and son standing alone together; neither saying a word. Neither knowing what else to say. Finally, she went over to the coffee pot and poured him a cup, setting it in front of him on the island. He picked it up and took a sip, the hot liquid burning his throat and stomach, relieving some of the chill he had started to feel. "Thanks," he whispered.

"You're welcome."

The kettle started to whistle. She put a teabag in her mug and took it to the stove, pouring the hot water in. She watched the tea steep, poking at the teabag with a spoon. She wanted to say something more to her eldest child, something to help him, but she knew that it would take more than simple reassurances or clichés. And at the moment, she honestly didn't have anything else. She looked up from her mug, watching him stare into his coffee.

The silence was broken a moment later when Alan came back through the kitchen door. "Charlie will be down in a minute," he said.

Don put down his coffee and went to the cabinet where the cereal was kept. He examined the boxes and pulled one down. He went to another cabinet and grabbed a bowl and then a spoon from a drawer underneath. He turned and noticed that both of his parents were watching him. "Breakfast," he said simply.

"We can tell," his father said.

He took the bowl, spoon and cereal to the dining room table and then came back and got the milk from the refrigerator and his coffee from the island. He took them both and set them on the table as well. He sat down, poured some cereal and milk into his bowl and started to eat. His parents followed with their own mugs, sitting down in their usual seats at each end of the table. A moment later, Charlie came down the steps, still rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Coffee?" he asked.

"Made. In the kitchen," his father answered. "It's not decaf," he added.

Charlie gave Don a quick look. "His influence," he thought. Rarely, if ever, was the coffee caffeinated. He didn't even realize that they had anything but decaf in the house.

He went into the kitchen and poured his own cup of coffee and grabbed another bowl and spoon from the cabinets. He went back to the dining room and sat down in his seat, reaching across the table to grab the cereal and milk and pouring some for himself. He began eating, watching his brother from across the table and recognizing that their parents were watching them both.

Alan and Margaret exchanged glances, nodding slightly to each other. Alan took a sip from his coffee, cleared his throat and started in. "You both know that there are some things that we need to talk about, paperwork and such and it's best that we do it before your sister gets home. Because, well, when she gets back we need to, well, talk about…"

"We know, Dad," Don answered softly. He knew what the end of the sentence was, he just didn't want to hear it out loud.

"Don, Charlie, I know you don't want to deal with this right now, but we," she paused. "I need to make sure that you know these things."

Don looked across at Charlie, noticing that he was already starting to get that "somewhere else" expression. "We understand, don't we Charlie," he said quietly, staring at his brother.

Charlie blinked a couple of times. He nodded. "Yeah."

She looked at each of them, giving them a slight smile. "Thank you," she said.

Alan looked at Charlie and then at Don. He took a deep breath. "I guess first, you should know about where we keep all of the important documents, wills, titles to the cars, deed to the house, insurance, pensions, all that…"

The four of them went on to discuss it all; all the minutiae of wills and deeds and titles, of accounts and finances. Of custody of Julie. Don understood the importance of knowing all of these things; he himself had a file with all of his information sitting in his own desk. With what he did for a living, not having it organized and prepared would be irresponsible. But knowing it and listening to his parents go through all, those were two entirely different things. And he was not having an easy time dealing with it.

He looked over at his brother for the umpteenth time. If he had a hard time dealing; Charlie wasn't dealing at all. For the most part, he had the same look on his face that he got when he was lost in some math problem. Every once in a while he would engage, ask some sort of question or respond to something that was said, but generally, he seemed to be lost somewhere in numbersville.

After what seemed like an eternity, but in reality was just over an hour, they heard the front door open and then slam shut. "I'm back," Julie said, dropping her things in the entryway as she went into the dining room. She looked up and saw her parents and brothers sitting around the table, obviously involved in some discussion but now staring in her direction.

"You're back early," her father said.

"Short practice," she responded warily, watching them stare at her. "What are you talking about?" She didn't like the looks on their faces. None of them said anything. "You're having this conversation without me?" she asked, her voice getting loud. "We're supposed to talk about this together. How can you do this?"

"Julie, sweetheart," her mother started. "That's not what we're talking about," she said soothingly.

"What else would you be talking about? I can't believe you're doing this!" She was agitated, upset.

"Julie, we're talking about paperwork, deeds, insurance. That type of thing." Her mother was still trying to calm her with her voice.

She glared at her parents. Her father almost laughed. The look she gave them, eyes narrowed and intense was so unlike her. Her eyes usually got wide and emotional when she was upset or angry. This look, the one she was giving them, was entirely Don and it seemed entirely out of place on her round-cheeked face. He would have laughed except for how upset she was; his laughter would have either have driven her right over the edge or broken the tension. He wasn't willing to take the chance.

Margaret got up from the table and went to her daughter. "Sweetheart," she said softly. "Come in the kitchen with me."

"No." She wasn't defiant, just close to tears.

"Sweet girl," she whispered, taking her hand. "Come with me." She directed her towards the kitchen.

She resisted for a moment then went with her mother, her father and brothers watching them.

She waited until they were in the kitchen to say anything more. "Julie," she said as soon as the door closed. "We weren't keeping anything from you. We're all going to talk about what's happening together. Daddy and I just needed to talk to your brothers about things that we should have told them a long time ago. Things that I'm fairly certain you have no interest in and can't do anything with anyway. You would have not been happy with us if we'd made you sit through this."

"Why?"

"Because it's paperwork and accounts and wills…"

"Wills?" she interrupted. Tears threatened to spill onto her cheeks. "Why?"

She closed her eyes for a moment. Why had she said wills? There wasn't any way that the word wouldn't upset her. She opened her eyes and gave her daughter a small smile. "Julie, your father and I have had wills for years. It's the responsible thing to do when you have children, to make sure that no matter what happens you've done your best to make sure that they're taken care of. Now, they've changed over the years, when Charlie was born, when you were born, but we've always had them." She paused. "We wouldn't have the other discussion without you, sweet girl. That's a family discussion. We're doing it together." She brushed back a stray strand of hair that had come out of her daughter's ponytail. "Why don't you go get cleaned up and changed so we can talk. Okay?"

"Fine," she said, turning to leave. She put her hand on the door to push it and stopped. "Mommy," she whispered, her head down. "If…Who would…If you were…If you and Daddy…"

She shut her eyes again, hearing the quiet confusion, pain and desperation in her daughter's voice. She never wanted her little girl to think about these things, to think about even having to ask the question that she couldn't quite manage to get out. "Don and Charlie," she said softly. "When Don turned 21, if something had happened…" She opened her eyes. "Don would have taken care of you, of Charlie. And when Charlie became an adult…They both would have. We made sure…You'll always have someone to take care of you. You'll never be alone, sweet girl."

She gave a single, small nod of her head and pushed through the door.