The next morning brought both the sun and a wave of immense guilt.

As Steve fixed breakfast for himself and the boys, he tried to avoid glancing over to the table as much as possible. He could see the slightly raised placemat out of the corner of his eye. He could hear the ripping of the envelope every time the accusing silence swelled in the house. He could see his fingers ghosting over the eggshell white paper, contemplating whether or not to remove it from its place in the envelope. Decisions were never his strong suit, that was Alice's place. He handled the finances, his job, and his kids and that was it; he had chosen to stay as far away as possible from life-changing decisions that could disrupt everything. So far, this approach had been beneficial, seeing as how he hadn't even heard the name 'Tulsa' in almost four years.

Initially, he had promised himself he would open the letter after his game of night football with Chance. Then, he had promised himself he would open the letter after making sure Chance and Daniel both finished whatever homework they needed help with. After that, he had promised himself he would open the letter after all three boys got to bed alright. However, as each task was finished, a new one arose and he eventually ended up telling himself he'd open the letter in the morning.

Morning came much too quickly.

"Guys! Breakfast is ready!" He called to the rest of the house as he slid two pancakes onto each plate, placing the slightly burned one on his own. He began to clean up the remnants of pre-made pancake mix lingering on the counter just as all three boys made their way into the kitchen, automatically grabbing a plate of pancakes.

Steve had certainly improved in his nonexistent cooking skills in the last seven months. After Alice left, they were rendered basically helpless in the food department. While Steve used to help her cook on occasion, he didn't know how to make the elaborate dishes she conjured up which always seemed to be both healthy and delicious. He knew how to cook basic dishes already, such as pasta and more pasta, but he had no idea what growing kids needed to eat to stay healthy. In the first few weeks of Alice's abscence, their meals consisted mostly of salad and pasta. Eventually, everyone got tired of salad and pasta, so he spiced it up a little by putting chicken in the salad. Unfortunatley, that wasn't the change they needed. By the time the first month had passed and Alice's absence had finally sunk in, Chance started rifling through her old cookbooks and picking out the recipes he had witnessed her make before. His first dish he ever made nearly burned down the house. The second dish he ever made was not as catastrophic; it was grilled chicken with a lemon dressing and it was heavenly compared to salad and pasta. So, Steve started letting his son cook, which seemed to please everybody in the end. While he still helped out around the kitchen, it was mainly Chance's domain, which was fine by Steve.

While Steve wasn't usually a fan of the chaos of typical Tuesday mornings in the house, he was prepared to delay the inevitable and forestall the opening of any letters. He listened intently as his sons rambled on about their lives, only stopping between phrases to scarf down a bite of pancake.

"Dad, I have to stay after school today for baseball."

"Dad, I got a B on my Trig test so can I use the car this weekend?"

"Dad, I still don't know how to tie my shoes. Can you help?"

Ever since his immediate transformation into the primary parent of his household, Steve was constantly bombarded with twice as much work as usual. Trying to balance his own business while making sure all three boys stayed in line did not prove to be an easy task. However, he wore himself thin each day to make every deadline and help with every project and make sure everything at work was going smoothly. He couldn't say it was an easy job, but he wouldn't trade it for a life of loneliness and substance abuse that he had seen his own father embrace after Steve's mom had disappeared from their lives.

Ever since he was a teenager, he promised himself he would exceed everyone's expectations. He wouldn't end up like his father, left to rot in an old ghost town where the ghost wasn't even dead. There was this kid in his old group of friends— Ponyboy Curtis. The golden child. Constantly praised by his family, the rest of their friends, and the school, Ponyboy didn't have a doubt in his life. He flew threw high school with flying colors, greedily accepting the plaudits from his teachers and family. Nobody ever praised Steve for staying in school. Nobody ever looked at Steve and knew he would succeed. Nobody would've thought twice if Steve dropped out and worked at a gas station for the rest of his life. If nobody did it for him, he would have to do it for himself; which was exactly what he did. Looking back on his life, Steve knew he was better than his father. If he could do that right, he could do anything right. Looking at his kids, he knew he had done a lot right.

The three boys were soon out the door, complaining about tests and quizzes and untied shoelaces. The silence that invaded the cramped kitchen was overbearing, but he couldn't move from his seat. He knew if he stood up to do the dishes, he would never make his way back to the letter; courage was an easy thing to lose for him and he often misplaced it in dire times. So, he slid the folded envelope out from underneath the placemat, telling himself that on the count of three he'd pull out the letter. It took him about ten times of counting to three before he finally extracted the white parchment, skillfully unfolding the document in a swift movement. His eyes scanned the paper, making their way timidly up to the center where a cursive title screamed "You've been invited to the wedding of Keith Matthws and Robin Kelly!"

He nearly choked on air.

That was what he was so stressed about? That was the letter that had taunted him for hours, never quite leaving his thoughts no matter how hard he tried? A wedding invitation had sent his heart racing every time he subconsciously thought about it and distracted him from the world. A freaking wedding invitation.

He contemplated crumpling it up, tossing it in the trash, and promptly forgetting it ever happened. However, some invisible force prohibited him from doing so. He skimmed the letter once more, noting the distinguished calligraphy and dates. The wedding was a week from that Saturday. Even if by some miracle he actually wanted to go and catch up with everyone, he couldn't. Aside from the fact he worked everyday, he had three kids to take care of that certainly wouldn't be interested in going to a wedding in Oklahoma. He set the letter down on the cluttered dining table, still unable to just toss it into the trash can; he cared too much about sentimentality sometimes. He had no idea why he was forcing himself to be so miserable, he knew even looking at the letter would bring about a wave of unwanted emotion and memories, but he just didn't have it in himself to throw it away. He'd probably discover the obscure reason for his inability to just forget about the letter, but for the moment, he had a life to live. He couldn't put everything on hold to contemplate the meaning of a wedding invitation and just think about his old life. He would put off thinking about his old life until the end of time, even if it killed him in the end.

Thinking was worse than being.

xxx

Work was calming.

The grinding of metal car pieces, the thud of the bass coming from the radio on Sammy's workstation that constantly played Van Halen, the shouting from a displeased customer, the smell of paint as someone detailed a nice car brought a wash of peace over everyone that worked at Spencer's Auto.

Steve didn't have much ambition until his first child was born. He had graduated high school, just returned from a three year tour in Vietnam, and had no idea what he wanted to do with his life. He was out of work, out of school, and out of dreams. So, the second Alice offered, he booked it to Texas with her without even looking back. He didn't care much for the hellhole that had become Tulsa, Oklahoma and had no real connection to it aside from a few people he had left behind in his wake. He had always explained to Alice how much he longed to work on cars and start his own auto body repair shop. Alice's somewhat benevolent father, always the eavesdropper, overheard him speaking so passionately about his cars and offered to go into business with Steve so Steve could leave his soul-crushing factory job at GM. He accepted in a heartbeat. Spencer's Auto opened that year, 1972, and had remained opened since, even after Mr. Spencer passed away. Despite his business partner's death, he was still planning to open two more locations in Arlington that year, he could use the money.

That was what he was doing that morning in the only office in the vicinity, silently appreciating how all the noise and calamity from the garage seeped into the office and worked to calm him somehow. He was planning out the location of the two upcoming garages when the phone rang, pulling him from his trance and startling him. He absentmindedly answered as he continued his work, balancing the phone between his shoulder and his cheek.

"Spencer's Auto, this is Steve Randle." He greeted with the protocol he had created for when he answered the phone in his office so he could sound relatively professional.

"Hey! Steve-o! You get my letter?"

He could feel his stomach drop. He hadn't heard that voice in what had to be sixteen long years. He had always heard people tell him that his past would catch up to him, that you could never escape your past. He ignored their comments, blatantly brushing them off as sentimental bullshit created by a generation of nostalgic idiots. He knew now that they were all eerily accurate. He couldn't help his ragged breathing, the panicked shaking of his hands, the speeding up of his heartbeat. This wasn't happening.

He needed to hang up, but he couldn't. His hands wouldn't work.

"What do you want? I'm at work." He questioned, treating his old childhood accomplice the same way he treated one of his sons when they called him at work even though they knew they shouldn't.

"Why so harsh, Stevie? Don't you love me no more?" He drawled, feigning sadness. Steve couldn't help but roll his eyes, not at all amused by the man's easygoing personality.

"I'm hanging up." He stated simply. He didn't have the time or the energy to deal with grown men who still acted like children.

"Wait! C'mon, lighten up Randle," he chuckled lightheartedly. Steve merely remained in tight-lipped silence, the only noise that could be heard in the office being the scratching of his pencil on his pad of paper as he reminded himself to call the foreman that would be working on the new shop location. "Okay, look, I want to know if you're coming to my wedding or not. It would be really nice to have you there." Keith elaborated, for once sounding somewhat serious. Steve let out a breath he wasn't aware he was holding in as he glanced up from his notepad.

"I have kids and work, I can't just get up one day and leave for a weeken-" he began, irritation evident in his voice as Keith cut him off halfway through his excuse.

"You can bring your kids if you want, Steve. It's not gonna be this huge, fancy event." He offered and Steve found himself nearly rolling his eyes once more. Couldn't this man tell he didn't want to go? "A few of us are getting together before the wedding. Pony's coming into town and we're all gonna stay at Darry's house for a few days. If you're interest-" this time, it was Steve who cut of the other man.

"I think I'm good, I'll get a hotel room." He scoffed, running a hand through his dark hair, letting a few unkempt strands fall back into his eyes. He could remember a somewhat distant time when his hair was literally constantly loaded up with three pounds of product and grease. He considered himself the top of the town, he and his friends ruled their street and could take on anything or anyone that challenged them. That naive mantra fell away real fast after they saw what the world had to offer to street hoods.

"So, you're coming?" The other man asked, Steve able to hear his mile-wide smile from over the phone. He wanted to be equally as excited, but he just couldn't, he only felt sick.

"Goodbye, Keith." He merely responded before hanging up the phone, letting the noise of work consume him once more and drown out all of his worries.

xxx

He found his two younger sons the same way he found them the night before.

James was at the table, concentrating on one of his homework sheets. Chance was in the kitchen, trying to work through what looked like a page of algebra equations and Steve found it in himself to grin at his middle son's confused and somewhat furious expression. Daniel lurked behind him as they walked in from work, instantly rushing to the kitchen to get himself a helping of whatever Chance had cooked up that night. Although his oldest son only helped out at the garage after school, he had complained the entire drive home about how absolutely exhausting work had been Steve wasn't in the mood to reprimand him for his pointless grumbling, so he merely ignored him and let his son vent. Besides, there was something else occupying his mind that evening, weighing heavy on his shoulders as the information threatened to crush him.

As he automatically helped himself to a plate of chicken and mashed potatoes, he took his seat at the table next to James who had apparently resorted to just doodling pictures of explosions in the margins of his homework. All of his sons struggled with their math, and unfortunately Steve wasn't exactly a genius, but he always set aside an hour or so every night to check their work.

As soon as he sat down, he was joined by both Chance and Daniel, the two older boys immersed in a mumbling conversation, probably involving girls or music. He was genuinely surprised the way they were all sitting together at the table, as it was a rather rare occurrence in the Randle household after Alice had left. Chance made dinner for the family after school, usually leaving afterwards to go be with his friends or for baseball practice, Daniel and Steve always got home late, and James often spent his afternoons with Chance or with one of his school friends who lived close by. They weren't exactly a family, but at the same time they were.

"How would you guys like to take a few days off school?" He suddenly proposed, genuinely surprised at the words coming out of his mouth. All three boys looked up at him at once, also shocked. Steve placed a great amount of importance on school and Daniel had experienced his anger firsthand his entire life whenever his grades sunk below C's or better. So, for Steve to offer something as inane as leaving school for a few days, they were slightly confused and taken aback.

"Why?" Daniel ventured, wary of his father's reasoning. The last time the boys had been pulled out of school early was nearly seven months ago when Alice had left. Steve had come home from work early that day, feeling sick and not prepared to endure a day at the garage. He and Alice had suffered a particularly nasty fight the night prior, but they had worked through it. He remembered one of her nice wine glasses shattering on the floor after he accused her of putting her ambitions in front of her family. Alice longed to be swept up in the culture and art that engrossed the rest of the country. After expressing that she wanted to travel by herself over the summer, Steve was enraged. However, they made up in the end, they always did. So, he was surprised to find the hand-written note resting on the kitchen counter. She left him basically everything, packed up her clothes and most of her trinkets, closed their joint bank account, and left. The note claimed California, but that was months ago. He had no idea where his wayward wife had traveled to, and neither did her concerned children. He had taken all three boys out of school early that day and broken the news over dinner at their favorite fast food place downtown. He didn't show them the note, a note that they weren't even mentioned in. Instead, he obscured the truth and told them she had left a note saying how much she loved all of them, and how her and Steve just didn't work. It was the same cliche that had been used since the dawn of time, but he couldn't help himself. The look on his sons' faces were more heartbreaking than anything Alice had done that day.

"Just thinking we could take a little trip, a buddy of mine invited me to his wedding and I thought it could be fun." The words tasted strange in his mouth. He didn't much importance on having fun with his kids, and although he knew he should, that was always more of Alice's job. He worked eleven hours a day to put food on the table, to make sure everyone was clothed, to make sure they all got to school all right. When Alice's absence was still hitting them, he would take all three out every weekend for an activity, but after about the fourth week, they caught onto his ruse and stopped playing along. The words 'Steve Randle' and 'fun' just didn't seem to go together all that well.

"Is that what that letter was about?" Chance questioned, leaning forward in his seat, suddenly more interested. Always the sharpest, of course Chance hadn't forgotten about the letter. The kid caught on quicker than Steve always preferred.

"Yeah, so what do you guys want to do?" He questioned, instantly veering away from the subject of the letter, much to the confusion of the other two boys. He tried to ignore Chance's prying gaze, but it was difficult. The boy was too skilled to let Steve get away with his casual pretense.

"If it gets me out of school, I'm in." Daniel scoffed in-between bites of cornbread. James nodded in silent agreement, still fixated on the pictures he was drawing all over his homework that Steve would undoubtedly tell him to erase later.

"Sounds good." Chance shrugged, still locked in an intense staring match with his father. He held his son's eyes for a moment, unable to break away. He often reflected on his sons as kids and his sons now, and something had shifted within Chance. Something had turned him from the open, carefree child he was into the wary, tenuous, stressed mess he was now. At least at home, Steve could tell that his son was different; he had no idea what sort of pretense the boy kept up at school for all of his friends. Steve could always guess, but it was hard to read someone who was so much like himself without even trying to be. Emotions seemed to merely be an option for Chance, and he had turned them off long ago. He wanted so badly to tell his son that it was okay to feel, because he knew if a boy his age got too tough and too alone, he'd end up the same way troubled boys from Steve's past did. Troubled boys illuminated in streetlights, getting shot at by the police. Troubled boys dying in hospital beds with their best friends sobbing over them. Troubled boys running away and never facing anyone ever again, even if they really wanted to.

xxx