October 14th

Dear Sydney,

it's been some time since my last letter. I'd say I hope all is well with you, but undoubtedly you're as good as you'll ever be. Let's just say I hope wherever you are, you're enjoying the experience.

Life here continues on. Everyone and everything is growing, changing. Sometimes I feel like some evolutionary branch doomed to die out, watching all the other organisms move on without me. But that's just a fancy way of saying I've had the occasional wallow in self-pity. They're short wallows, though, and I feel both disgusted with myself and better at the same time when they're done, sort of like eating an entire half gallon of double-fudge butter pecan ice cream while watching a chick flick. So no harm, no foul.

My little brother is calling me today.

Sarah put down her pen and sat back. She picked up her teacup, drained the tepid dregs and sucked the sugar out of the bottom, and made a most regrettable noise in doing so; she could almost hear Prof scold her in just those words.

The morning around her was a quiet one. Jason was out back at work in the garden, to plant garlic and onion sets with the square foot plan they'd decided on. Gene was in town to get his hair cut and pick up supplies for the windows—caulk and weatherstripping, to cut down on drafts. Somewhere off in the distance, a tractor putted and growled—some farmer at work on a crop, or to get things ready for winter. All in all, an unremarkable day off . . . and she knew the task next on her list would change that. Her brother would call in the next few minutes, and she wasn't sure if she was ready.

Gene had offered to sit with her, but she'd declined. She didn't want anyone else in the room when she talked with Ben. If he tried to hurt her she could hang up on him, but she didn't think he would attempt anything like that this time. His letter hadn't been a ruse; his words had held honesty, and regret. She recognized it from her own long and intimate acquaintance with both feelings. With reluctance she picked up her pen once more.

I'm of two minds about talking with him, Sydney, and that is not just a figure of speech. While the adult psychologist in me knows this will be good for both of us, the young girl isn't so sure. We grew up in a household full of chaos and pain, and when I tried to escape and take him with me, it didn't work. He got left behind. He's hated me ever since.

She set her cup on the desk when the phone rang. The sound shocked her, though she'd been expecting it. Slowly she reached out, picked up the receiver. "H-hello?"

"Sare." Ben sounded wary, and anxious.

"Ben," she said. "How—how are you?"

"Not bad for circlin' the drain." He said it without anger. "Doin' okay today." There was a brief pause. "Thanks for readin' my letter and takin' my call."

"You're welcome." Sarah took a deep breath. "I'm sorry you're sick."

He sighed, a low, quiet sound. "I deserve it."

"No you don't." She looked out at the sunshine, and Jason bending down to plant a garlic clove. "You had good reasons to be mad, darlin'." The old endearment slipped out before she could stop it. "That doesn't mean you should be punished. You got hurt in some terrible ways."

"So did everyone else, like you." Ben didn't speak for a moment. "How's your family?"

"They're all right." She wasn't ready to offer personal information, not yet. "Do you have anyone coming out to see you?"

"Matt's been by a coupla times. Still a dick."

A slight smile tugged at Sarah's lips. "Yeah, well. No surprises there."

"That's true. He always was a prick, some things ain't never gonna change. I don't mind. If he was nice t'me I'd get scared." Ben gave a single chuckle. "He don't know nothin' different. Not like you."

"I'm still a Corbett," she said, not sure whether to be pleased or insulted by his remark. "Mean streak and all."

"Maybe, but you were smart enough to get out while you could."

"I wish you could have come with me. I—I tried, Ben. I tried to get you out of that house." It was a regret she'd lived with for years now, one that visited her in the small hours or at odd moments.

"I know you did. Wouldn't done no good anyway." Ben coughed and winced. "Dammit. Sure could go for a coupla shots and a smoke."

"Grandma Bailey would tan your hide for saying that," Sarah dared to tease just a little.

"Mean old bitch. I bet Satan's got her in charge of whuppin's. Guess I'll find out soon enough." He coughed again. "I'm gettin' tired, sis. We better call it quits for now."

"Okay. Do you-will you call again?"

"Yeah, if you want me to." He sounded wary once more.

"Yes, I want you to." She nodded, though he couldn't see her. "I'm working in the afternoons, but if you leave a message I'll call back."

"You ain't at that nutjob hospital no more?"

Sarah almost laughed. It was as good a description of Mayfield as any she'd heard. "No, I have my own practice now. I-I work with families and older children, mostly."

"That's good. You got a way with kids, Sare. You was always good to me, you knew how to say things so I'd understand." He was silent a moment. "I better go."

"Okay. Ben-" She hesitated. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I'm tryin'. You take care of yourself too, sis."

She sat for a long time after the call was done, her emotions all over the place. Every time she tried to grab hold of some thought or feeling, it slithered out of her grasp. After a while she gave up and went over the brief exchange, sensed the shifts and subtle, unspoken emotions between them. Ben had wanted to say more, but he was as unsure of her as she was of him. Maybe that would change, in time. She wasn't certain though; they'd both hurt each other deeply over the years, in inadvertent and deliberate ways.

"Thinking up new torments for your patients?" Greg stood in the doorway. While his tone was light and mocking, his gaze was sharp. Sarah looked at him.

"Come on in," she said quietly. He pushed into the office, grabbed Gene's chair and eased into it, propped his feet on the desk and folded his hands over his middle, a process so familiar it almost made Sarah smile.

"What's up?" He watched her carefully.

"You're not at work."

He shrugged. "It's a federal holiday."

"That's your excuse?" Sarah rolled her eyes.

"I don't see you hanging out in your official digs, so no pointing fingers." He glanced at the cordless phone still in her hand. "Who called?"

"Talked to my brother," she said. "As you know perfectly well. Don't try to deny you're checking up on me to make sure I'm not freaking out."

Greg tilted his head a bit. "And?"

"We didn't say too much. It was a short call, he got tired fast." She felt an old sorrow settle on her quietly, a soft, familiar weight. "He's not gonna be here much longer. But he . . . he called me 'sis' twice." She closed her eyes for a moment. "Haven't heard that in quite a while. It felt . . . weird. But good too."

"You're sure he's not playing you." Greg shifted a bit. "Never underestimate someone's ability to pull a last fast one."

Sarah considered it. "No," she said finally. "I don't get that sense from him. He might still fight with me, but I don't think he's out for revenge."

Greg shook his head. "Eternal naivete," he said. "But that's not my problem. I'm here to invite you to dinner. Wifey has some hideous recipe she wants to try out on new test subjects. She's tired of poisoning me and the cat."

Sarah eyed his long frame. He'd filled out since he'd started to run on a regular basis; he'd never be muscular, but he wasn't thin now, just lean. " Hellboy was over for a visit yesterday, all sleek and sassy. You look just about the same as he does."

Greg raised his brows in a mild leer. "Is that an invitation?"

"Considering your name isn't Gene Goldman, I'd say no." She set the phone in its base. "What time?"

"The woman of the house says six-ish. I say bring beer or don't bother." He eased his feet off the desk and stood, stretched a little. "Presumably you're calling the Brit next."

"Yeah, I am." She offered him a smile. "Thanks for coming over, son."

"Enlightened self-interest," he said, but his gaze held concern. "Don't forget the beer."

She called Prof after Greg left. He answered the phone promptly. "Sarah my love, a good morning to you."

"To you too. How's your Monday so far?"

"Hard telling. I have only one cuppa inside me and I feel the distinct lack of caffeine most acutely." He paused. "I take it you've spoken with your brother Benjamin."

"Yes." Sarah allowed herself to take a little comfort in Gordon's warm voice. "It . . . it went all right. Kind of."

"Well, why don't you give me the particulars and we'll sort it out together."

She told him about the brief conversation. "I got the feeling he . . . he wanted to say more, but he doesn't trust me not to hurt him. I don't know, maybe I'm projecting, because I felt that way myself."

"Well, that's quite possible, and as usual a very astute observation on your part, my dear. You always were quick on the uptake in class." Sarah heard a distinct slurp from the other side of the conversation. "Ah, nothing like the sugary dregs. One of life's small delights."

"So rude," Sarah said on a mock sigh.

"Bah. You of all people have no room whatsoever to comment, as well you know." Prof chuckled. "From what you've imparted, this first foray into getting re-acquainted went quite well, all things taken into consideration."

"It did. I just—I can't help thinking of how his life could have been if I'd gotten him out of that damn house." Sarah's good mood evaporated. "He never had a chance."

"My dear girl, we've discussed this at length on several occasions. You persist in using impossible standards as a rod for your own back. Therefore, we'll go over the facts once more. How old were you when you went to your grandmother?"

"Fourteen. But—"

"But me no buts, Sarah Jane. You are not responsible for the vagaries of your parents and their lack of love and compassion regarding their children. You were a child yourself." Prof's tone was stern but gentle. "You did try to save him, but your grandmother wouldn't allow it. I have always suspected an ulterior motive on her part."

"You never said anything about this before," Sarah said slowly. "What do you mean?"

"What I mean is that Mrs. Bailey knew quite well there is strength in numbers. It's much easier to control a prisoner, to make them feel powerless and alone, if they're isolated in their captivity. I believe your grandmother observed you and your brothers for some time, and decided you were the one over whom she could have the most influence. She probably viewed the others as lost souls and not worth her efforts. And they were boys, far more difficult to discipline and control."

"You—you really think she saw us that way?"

"Not only you. Consider your mother's behavior. Whatever methods your grandmother used on you, I have absolutely no doubt she practiced them upon your maternal parent first. And you saw first-hand the results." Prof sighed softly. "Far be it from me to suggest every fucked-up adult is the direct consequence of a parent's bad judgment. There are plenty of arses on this planet with wonderful mums and dads. But in this case, I believe the correlation is quite clear and fully justified."

Sarah said nothing for some time, as she took in what he'd said. "So she made sure Ben couldn't escape, just so she would have me. Because . . . because Mom didn't turn out the way Grandma decided she should." A swell of fury filled her. "That miserable bitch."

"Pre-cisely. You have at long last placed responsibility with the appropriate party." Prof sounded pleased. "Well done."

"Why didn't you say anything about this before?"

"You weren't ready," Gordon said simply. "Now when you speak with Benjamin again, you'll see things from a different perspective. I believe it will open the way for you to find the closeness you've been denied for so long, and which you both deserve."

She sat in silence after the call was done, and looked out at the bright day beyond the window. A few leaves fell past the clear glass, russet and gold, brown and scarlet. The hills beyond the meadow held the first edge of prime color; by the end of the week they'd be in full glory.

I wish Ben could see this. I mean really see this, not just pictures. She wasn't surprised to find tears in her eyes at the thought. She wiped them away with her fingers, then booted up the computer. She chose a playlist and picked up her pen as the music began to play.

You would like my analyst, Sydney. He's a bit of all right, as his people say. I met him in university, when he taught my first class on psychology. Over the years he's become my mentor and the closest thing to a father I'll ever have, and I'm blessed to know him. He gave me an insight today that's changed everything . . . everything. Sometimes I think if humans have any truly useful function, it's offering insight from outside and objective observation. But then I would say that, since it's my job description after all. I know you understand.

A tentative knock at the door brought her out of her thoughts. Jason stood in the doorway, still bundled into his jacket and work gloves. "Hey," he said, clearly uncertain as to his welcome.

"Hey you," Sarah said, and gave him a smile. "How's it going?"

"Garden's done. Are you okay? You're crying. Did your brother hurt you?" He tried to keep his expression calm, but Sarah could see her son was beside himself with worry.

"Everything's okay," she assured him. "I had a good talk with your uncle Ben, and I talked to Prof too. We had a really excellent session. Everything's cool, no worries."

Jason shifted a bit, but he still looked anxious. "Well . . . okay."

"I have an idea," Sarah went on. "Why don't we take some vids of the fall color and other things to send to your uncle? Ben would like that."

That surprised him. "Okay," he said slowly. "I thought . . . you weren't gonna let him know too much about us."

"Let's just say . . . now I can give my brother something I wanted to give him a long time ago." Sarah set her pen aside and stood. "Come on, let's leave a note for Dad and grab the recorder."

"Dad's home, he just drove up," Jason told her.

"Excellent. You get the recorder and we'll meet you outside."

Gene had just set an enormous pumpkin on the porch when Sarah came out. She went straight to him and enfolded him in her arms, her cheek against his chest. He returned her embrace without hesitation—the best home she'd ever known, and the only one she ever wanted.

"Everything okay?" he wanted to know. She nodded.

"It's all good," she said, and it was.

everybody needs a place to rest

everybody wants to have a home

don't make no difference what nobody says

ain't nobody like to be alone

everybody's got a hungry heart

'Hungry Heart,' Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band