I woke up to the sensation of being stared at. Sure enough, when I opened my eyes, Scout was lying there, in exactly the same position she had fallen asleep, staring at me.

"What are you looking at?" I teased her. She looked like she almost smiled but it was clear from her eyes that there was just too much sadness to allow any vestige of happiness to cross her face.

"Scout?"

"Yeah?"

"You're killing my arm." The two of us must have remained perfectly still all night, and due to her head having been on my bicep, I felt as though my lower arm was now completely devoid of blood.

"I'm sorry," she said. It was funny neither of us had moved. Usually we are both pretty restless sleepers.

"Thanks for letting me sleep in here," She moved to get up and leave.

"I was kinda glad you came in, actually." I pulled her back down.

She lay back down. I rested my head on my elbow and looked over at her.

"I just thought you might be mad, I mean… I know you don't really want us in here," she said. I felt pretty bad that she had felt she had to sneak in. "It's just… Pony and Soda have each other. I felt kinda scared being alone." I was surprised to see that we had been feeling the same way. I wondered if she envied the boys' closeness too.

"I have a feeling that might change," I said. I wasn't sure why I had been so intent on keeping everyone out of my room. It's not like any of us ever really barged in on each other without knocking if the door was closed.

"Have you heard the boys up?'

"Not yet. I think we're first." It was fairly unheard of for Scout to be awake before Soda, and I was wondering when the obvious lack of sleep would catch up with her.

"You still tired?" I asked.

"No." I'm pretty sure she was lying.

"Want to help me with breakfast?" I asked as we both climbed out of bed. I had cooked breakfast a few times with Dad. She had been right, last night- If we didn't eat, we would all get sick.

"Ok, I guess." She followed me out of my bedroom into the kitchen and wandered into the bathroom to shower.

I stood leaning against the kitchen counter for a few minutes after Scout disappeared into the bathroom. I still half-expected my parents to come through the door at any minute. I wondered how long it would be until I stopped feeling that way – or if I ever would. It was impossible to stop thinking of them; they were everywhere. Their handwriting on the notepad by the phone, their shoes by the door, their coffee stains on the cookbook pages as I searched for the recipe for pancake batter Dad and I had used when we cooked Mom breakfast every Mother's Day. As hard as it was to see them everywhere, I didn't want those little reminders to go away. I just wanted to be able to see them without the horrible feeling of loss that had settled into my heart. I sighed heavily as I opened the refrigerator and took out the eggs and milk and set them down on the counter.

I guess I had been standing against the counter longer than I thought, because as soon as I got out the rest of the ingredients, Scout reappeared in the kitchen, freshly showered, her hair still wet.

We worked silently, me measuring out the ingredients and cracking the eggs into the bowl, and Scout mixing. Then she poured the batter into the griddle and I flipped the pancakes over when the top bubbled. I had learned that from Dad. I'm not sure we said more than a few words to each other the whole time.

Scout went to get Pony and Soda for breakfast and even with the four of us at the table, the conversation was limited to "Can I have the butter?" and the like. What the hell do you talk about at breakfast after your parents just died? Mealtimes had always been a social event at our house; now, it was just a formality, a necessary part of the routine to which we were forcing ourselves to adhere. We tried to eat, but I could see that Scout just moved stuff around on her plate, trying to make it look like she was eating.

Predictably, the doorbell rang. It was happening at least once an hour since the previous afternoon, as people heard about the accident and translated their sympathy into edible form. We were gonna need another freezer if too many more casseroles showed up. It was tedious to be the one to answer the door. I'd always thought that offering expressions of sympathy was tough; now I realized that receiving them was just as difficult and uncomfortable.

Soda was closest to the door, so he got up. I heard him talking in the living room and then he called Scout in. We had been trying to avoid making her get the door but whoever it was must have asked for her. She looked up questioningly and I nodded. She hesitantly got up and started for the living room.

She picked up her pace when she saw who it was and I recognized the other voice in the room then as Ben, effectively Scout's other half. The two of them were virtually inseparable, and I realized how much harder this must have been in his absence. His Mom and brother had taken him to Florida to visit grandparents, or something.

She came into the kitchen dragging him behind her.

Darry, It's Ben. Can I be excused?" It was extremely strange to be the one getting asked for permission to leave. Just another thing I hadn't considered. Not that it was a big deal, but the immediate transfer of duties onto my shoulder was startling to me at each instance it came up.

"OK." I was glad for her, that she had him back. "Stay in our yards." I was glad also to have her out of the house for a while. I wanted to talk to the boys about some things that she really had no need to deal with. She headed outside and Ben handed me a bag.

"It's just some snacks and stuff. My Mom figured you probably had a million casseroles." Ben's Mom was a really nice lady, a widow, and had been close with my parents. She knew the score.

"Thanks, Ben. Tell her thanks for us, please."

"I will, Darry. Take care. Bye Soda, Pony. I'm really sorry."

"Thanks, Ben," Soda said. Pony didn't say anything. For some reason I always got the impression that Pony didn't like Ben. It wasn't as obvious as the fact that Soda's friend Steve didn't like Pony, but I could tell there was no love lost between Ben and Pony. They were civil; friendly, even, but something intangible hung between them and kept them from getting too close.

"I'm glad he's back," Soda said when he had gone out the door after Scout. "She needs him right now."

"I know," I said. We finished eating in silence. Eventually I saw Scout and Ben sitting in the backyard talking. I cleared the dishes and was relieved that Pony got on them right away. I didn't feel like another power struggle. In fact I was so grateful that I offered to do the last few. He looked surprised but accepted. He went over to the couch and sat with Soda. The TV was on and they were both looking at it but there was no indication on either of their faces that they registered what they were seeing.

Scout came back in and I could feel her standing in the doorway, but I didn't look up. I just stared at the water spiraling down the sink.

"Darry, is it OK if I go over to Ben's for a while?" I guess she had taken my directions to "stay in the yard" literally. I had intended the yard to also include either of our houses. I just wanted to know where she was.

"I guess so. Be back by 2, I have to go drop off that stuff at the funeral home and go pick up Uncle Pat at the airport and I don't want to make Pony or Soda stay home alone." I thought for sure Ponyboy would hear me and put up a fuss but he didn't say a word.

"I thought you said Uncle Pat was coming alone." Scout asked me, and I didn't right away understand why she was asking.

I turned to her. "He is."

For a moment she looked utterly puzzled, then her expression fell and I realized what was confusing her. She had forgotten that we didn't have a car anymore. Just my truck.

"Oh. Right." She looked sad and I didn't know what I could say to help.

She started back to the door. "And Scout?"

"What?"

"Use your manners." That had always been our Mom's parting words to us. She would have said the same thing to us whether we were visiting the White House or visiting Dallas in jail. Our parents raised us right. I hated to say it, because I knew it would make her think of Mom annd maybe make her cry again, but I didn't want us to forget who they had raised us to be, either. She didn't turn around as she left but the words finally broke the spell of the TV as both boys looked up from the couch at me.

I finished the last dish and grabbed a dishtowel to wipe my hands. Tossing it over the faucet, I went into the living room and faced the boys on the couch.

"Listen, I have to gather up any kind of paperwork Mom and Dad had about their bank accounts, and all of that kind of stuff so I can go over it with Pat. Do you know of anywhere besides the desk they kept that stuff?" This was the aspect of guardianship that was causing me the most anxiety: the money. I had absolutely no idea what kind of shape our family was in, financially speaking. We had always been on a tight budget, but I personally had never considered us truly poor. Our parents had never talked to me about money, and I had never asked. I had my part-time job to pay for my own expenses, and Mom and Dad paid my tuition. I felt ignorant and I wanted to dig up all the paperwork before Pat arrived so I could try to make some sense of it.

"I think Mom has a box in her closet," Pony said. "Like, a file box. I know that's where our birth certificates are."

"I don't know," Soda said. This was as I had expected. Pony notices details like that; Soda doesn't.

"Can you get it for me, Pone?" Immediately after I asked I realized he might not be ready to go into their bedroom yet. I remembered how Scout had hesitated.

"I guess so," he said. I guess Pony wasn't spooked or saddened by the same things Scout and I were. He walked into the room like nothing was out of the ordinary and after a few minutes of rummaging through Mom's closet he came out with, just as he had said, a file box labeled "legal documents, etc." I was grateful for how organized our Mom had always been. Pony handed off the box to me and I carried it into the dining room and set it down on the table. I opened the desk drawers and again, most of the files were clearly labeled. The checkbook was updated to the day of my parents' death. I took all of the paperwork and spread it out on the dining room table, trying to make sense of things.

I sat there for hours looking through those papers, and in the end I felt sad that, largely, this was what my parents' lives had come down to, a stack of papers. It was all there, from their own birth certificates, to their marriage certificate, us kids' birth certificates, and finally, after I had added it to the pile, their death certificates. A perfect paper trail of who they had been. Just like at the funeral home, I felt an emotion akin to anger rising in me. They had been so much more than what lay before me on the table.

Yet I knew that the numbers on those papers were ultimately what would dictate our existence as a family from here on in. And so far I had very little idea what the numbers were saying. I felt helpless and inadequate and suddenly Patrick could not get there soon enough. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Pony head out for a smoke and the thought of it almost appealed to me. Everyone thought I had never smoked; the truth is, I had tried it a few times in high school and just couldn't get past the smell. But I could certainly have used something to help relax me right then.

I lay my head on the table, just to close my eyes for a second. Soda must have been watching me from the living room because he came over and massaged my shoulders, hard, the way he knows I like it.

"I hope I can do this, Soda," I said. "I'm gonna need your help with those two."

"You got it," Soda said. "I'm not going anywhere. Everything will work out."

Oh, how I wish I could have known that, for sure.

A/N: I know I have been posting like a maniac lately and I apologize for inundating my subscribers' mailboxes. We are recovering from a huge ice storm up here and I haven't had to work since last Thursday! I have been manning an emergency shelter for people with no power or heat (thankfully I have both!) and have had little else to do but type away on my laptop. I hope you are enjoying!