(See the first chapter for disclaimer, notes, spoiler, etc.)

Chapter Five: "To Make Sure That"

Evy

She climbed out of the Uber and put her arms through the straps of her backpack. God, it was SO heavy! "Thanks," she said quickly as she lugged out her two suitcases. As the car pulled away, she dropped her luggage to the ground and looked up at the house. Anyone else would say the house looked the same as it always did. It was the house she and her two older siblings grew up in. It was the house Mom and Dad spent their entire married lives. But, now, when she looked at it, it was different. Without Dad, it was…emptier. She knew it when she left on Sunday with Sean and his family for the airport.

That's why she came back.

"Evy?"

She looked up, seeing Harrison come out from the garage. "Hey!" she said, hugging him tight.

"What- what are you doing here?" he asked.

"It's where I need to be," she said simply. "Why aren't you in school?"

"Teacher planning day." She watched as he grabbed each of her suitcases and made a face. "Geeze, how did you carry these yourself?"

"My R.A. helped me get them out of my dorm."

"So…why aren't you in school?" He looked up with a grin. "Did you drop out?"

She shook her head as she followed him through the garage and into the kitchen. "Of course not. I just…I just withdrew from this semester."

She heard him chuckle as he turned for the back staircase. "Would've been cooler if you dropped out," he teased and she reached out, playfully swatting his shoulder. She rolled her eyes as she dropped her backpack onto one of the kitchen chairs as he called out, "I'll put these in your room."

"Thanks, Harrison!" She rolled her shoulders and exhaled deeply. Her poor body was confused as tremors of jet lag wrecked through it. Even as her stomach turned, she couldn't help but sigh in relief. She was home. No more cross-country flights for a long while. As she kicked off her Converse sneakers, she thought of Dad with a pang. For as long as she could remember, he was always going somewhere. How was he not wrecked by the jet lag and all his international travel? With a deep sigh, she rolled her stiff neck and left the kitchen. Her sock-clad feet padded on the tile as she walked through the first floor. As she yawned, she saw the open door at the end of the hall and stopped short.

Dad's study.

The door was open.

She felt her shoulders slump as she walked down the hall to the room. She hadn't been in there in weeks. Not since she was home for Christmas break.

"Hey, Dad?" She lingered in the door, watching as Dad glanced up from the stack of papers on his desk. "Mom said if you don't come now, you're going to need to starve for the rest of the night."

He sighed, took off his reading glasses, and rubbed his eyes. "She's never starved me once in all the years we've been together."

"I mean, not yet," she retorted as she neared him, resting her hands on his deck. He chuckled as he stacked his papers into different piles. "I don't think you should push her. You know she stresses during the holidays."

"She'll be fine," he said stood and came around the desk. A moment later, his arm was around her shoulders as he led her out of the study.

"I mean, you say that now," she teased as they walked down the hall. "But, when she has her annual meltdown, you can put that fire out."

Dad cupped the back of her neck and drew her closer to him with a gentle squeeze. A moment later, she felt his lips brush against her forehead. "She just wants everything to perfect. Christmas is her favorite holiday."

She shivered, remembering the way his hand felt against the back of her neck. The way it felt when he kissed her forehead. The way it felt when he was here. Her hands twitched against her legs as she stood in the doorway and looked in. Mom was sitting quietly on the leather sofa, the late morning sunshine holding her in its embrace. A pillow was wedged beneath her right arm, supporting the sling. But, her face… Her expression was twisted, as if she was in pain. Her blue eyes were frozen, fixed on Dad's leather chair. "Mom?" she asked quietly as she stepped into the room.

Only Mom's eyes moved as they flickered toward her. She blinked, watching her for a long moment before her lips parted. "W-what are you doing here?" she asked softly.

She shrugged as she crossed the small office and sat next to her on the sofa. With a sigh, she began, "I couldn't be at school. I just couldn't sit through History of Western Civilization Since 1715." As she took Mom's hand, she heard her sigh her name. "Mom, I just don't care about anything. Dad is dead. I want to be at home."

It wasn't at all the way she rehearsed it on the plane. It had sounded so much better in her head. But now, sitting here next to Mom, she felt all her reasoning waver. "You can't become a dropout," she heard Mom say and she glanced up. Mom's expression was clear as she sighed, "Your father would never forgive me if I let that happen."

"I'm not a dropout," she sighed as she leaned back and folded her legs beneath her. "My advisor already signed me up for the summer semester. It starts at the end of May. I'm on sabbatical until then."

"Sabbatical."

The word hung between and she watched Mom meet her eyes. "It's a good word, right?" she teased, hoping to see Mom smile. But, she didn't. Instead, her left hand brushed against her jaw as she sighed again. "Sounds very official, like something an Oxford don would say." Mom only sighed as her hand fell away. She inched closer, looping her arm around her mother's left one. "Are you mad?" she asked softly.

"No. Of course not."

She watched as Mom turned back to Dad's desk and sighed. She followed her gaze and swallowed. This was why she came home: so Mom wouldn't sit in here by herself. "It-it smells like Dad in here," she whispered.

She looked up, just in time to see the whisper of grimace in Mom's expression. "Yes," she said, inhaling. "Yes, it does." Mom's face was shrouded in deep wrinkles that seemingly appeared overnight. The grief was slowly leaving its mark on her. She looked twenty years older now. She bit her lip and glanced away from Dad's desk. She didn't often think about how much older Mom and Dad were than her friends' parents. They never seemed old. They were always the fun parents. Most of her friends liked them more than their own parents. But, now it was so obvious that time was the enemy as she looked into Mom's heartbroken expression. "His cologne."

"What about it?" she asked.

"He always wore it." She sighed deeply and she closed her eyes. A moment later, she saw a wave of pain crest across her face. "It was stupid, but…"

"But what?"

Mom opened her eyes again as she murmured, "I thought it might help me remember." She raised her left hand and rubbed the space between her eyebrows.

"Remembered what, Mom?"

"The last day in Florence."

She frowned and sat up. "You hit your head," she said softly. When their rental car flipped down a hillside outside of Florence. She took Mom's trembling hand and squeezed it gently. "Maybe…maybe it's a good thing you don't remember the accident," she offered. Sean had described what Mom and Dad's rental car looked like. It was shredded. Mom shouldn't be tortured with having to remember that.

She shook her head. "I don't want to remember the accident, Evy. I want to remember your father."

With a sigh, she snuggled against her mother's left side and rested her head against her shoulder. "Remember something else about Dad instead." She angled her head up and said, "Like your first date. Remember that." Mom sighed and she thought she saw the brief flash of a wistful smile. "What?"

"Our first date." Mom sighed deeply before she continued in a whisper, "I went home that night thinking it was the last time I was ever going to see him."

She sat up and turned to her mother. This was not part of her parent's story she'd ever heard before. "What are you talking about? Dad always said he knew you were the one he wanted to marry that night."

Mom shrugged and continued to watch Dad's chair. "I didn't know that then. That night," she sighed with a deep exhale, "I thought I blew it."

A dozen confused thoughts swirled in her head as she asked, "How?"

"Bette said to play hard to get and…I didn't."

There was a heartbeat of silence before she instantly understood. "Mom! You gave it up on the first date?" She frowned. Whenever she asked Mom for dating advice, she had always told her to play hard to get.

"I know," Mom marveled, her voice flat. "That very well could've been the end of it. Up until then, I had spent weeks ignoring him whenever I saw him." Slowly, her hand slipped into Mom's as she continued, "I didn't realize I'd been holding my breath until I gasped when he called me the next morning."

She smiled as she squeezed Mom's hand. "See? You were always the one he wanted Mom."


Casey

"Caitlin is going to flip out when she finds out you've come home." He rubbed his face and sighed deeply.

"Caitlin isn't my mother," Evy retorted. "She's just going to have to deal."

No one ever told him how exhausting it was to have sisters. He nodded as his youngest sister continued to rail as he vaguely remembered all the times Meg complained about Sara. Perhaps he should've paid more attention to her. "Take it easy, Evy," he sighed.

"No, I mean it." She laid her spoon in the bowl of fruit and sighed. "She's been an over-the-top control freak ever since…well, you know." He nodded, choosing to fold his arms against his chest and listen as she continued, "I mean, who died and made her boss?"

He winced, her words coursing through them as she gasped and flung her hands over her mouth. "She's upset and sad," he pointed out softly. "Just like you. She just wants things-"

"She wants things the way she wants them," she insisted stubbornly. "Well, she doesn't get a say about my life. She can stick with dictating the terms of living for Charlie and the kids."

"Ok," he said firmly, leaning closer to his sister. "Take a breath. I mean it."

Her brown eyes widened as she sat back in her chair. "You sounded a little like Dad," she murmured, absently chewing on her thumb.

He sighed. He did, didn't he? He sounded like Gregory. He could hear it. "It's exhausting keeping the two of you from ripping out each other's throats."

"I think that's just a tad overdramatic," she grumbled as she dug her spoon back into her bowl of fruit.

"Maybe." He stood, ignoring the way his spine popped in five places. He grabbed his mug and turned for the Keurig in the corner of the counter. A dark feeling swirled from deep within his core as he forced himself to say, "Send her a text and let her know you're home."

"Umm, yeah right," Evy retorted. "Mom knows I'm home. I don't owe Cait any explanation."

He clenched his jaw as he stabbed the buttons of the coffee machine with his index finger. "Evy! For Christ sake!" He smacked his hands on the counter, boiling irritation coursing through him. "ENOUGH!" He breathed deeply as he squeezed his eyes shut, waiting for the tension in his chest to subside.

"God. You really do sound like Dad."

"Seriously!" he exclaimed, inhaling deeply as he turned around. His younger sister watched him defiantly and he was struck by how much she looked like Gregory in that moment. "You love Caitlin and she loves you. And, one day, – soon – you're going to feel really bad about the way you're acting." As she opened her mouth with a rebuttal, he shook his head and turned back to the Keurig. "Text her. Now."

"Fine," she sighed as the doorbell rang.

He picked up his mug and left the kitchen, sucking air into his tight lungs. He loved both his sisters, but tensions had been running high between them the last few weeks. Since Gregory died. He was confident things would settle down between them, but that didn't mean being the referee was easy. With a sigh, he shifted his mug to his other hand and pulled open the front door. An older man, around Gregory's age, was on the other side and he watched him remove his sunglasses. "Can I help you?"

"Hello."

He waited expectantly as the stranger chuckled beneath his breath and tucked his sunglasses into the breast pocket of his blazer. "Can I-"

"You're Greg's son? The new one?"

He stiffened. It had been several months since anyone expressed surprise at learning Gregory was his father. In fact, he had gotten used to how unsurprising – indeed, normal – it was for Gregory to be his father. He didn't need this. Didn't need the reminder that he was the new son. Didn't need his sisters to be at each other's throats. "So," he asked, hearing the way he forced the word from his clenched jaw, "how can I help you?"

"Temper like him too, it looks like," the man chuckled and he felt his hand clench around the mug. "I was wondering if Olivia was feeling up to a visit. I didn't get a chance to pay my respects to her after the funeral. I wanted to make sure that she knew I had heard about Greg."

He frowned. He had gotten to know Gregory and Olivia well the last few months. He had gotten to know their friends. The couples they went out with. But, this man...he didn't know him. "Sorry, she's resting. I can let her know you stopped by though, Mr…?"

"Stanton. Morris Stanton."

"Well, Morris," he replied, feeling for the door knob as he prepared to close the front door, "I'll tell her you came by. Perhaps when she's feeling up to it, she can-"

"Morris?"

He glanced up, hearing Olivia's gasp echo across the hallway. She must've come from her study, he realized, as he looked past her to the open door at the end of the hall. Or she was still in Gregory's study. That's where Evy said she was when she came home. He watched her close the gap between them as her left hand danced against her mouth. "Oh, Morris," she sighed tearfully as she stepped into his embrace.


Morris

"Still the same house," he remarked as he sat on the sofa with a glance.

Olivia nodded and sat next to him, watching him carefully. They hadn't seen each other in years. Not since her son was born. They had occasionally passed each other in town, but those times were few and far between in the subsequent 35 years. He didn't exactly run in the same social circles as her and Greg. "Yes," she said softly, her eyes still glued to him.

The other son – Greg's son – had stepped away long enough to get him a cup of coffee. Olivia insisted on it. Otherwise, he had a strong feeling he wouldn't have been left alone with her. "It always was a nice place," he said, returning her inquisitive gaze. She looked worse for the wear when he saw her from afar at the funeral. When he stood in line to see her. But, there were too many people ahead of him in the line and she left shortly after the impromptu singalong.

He watched her nod slowly and adjust the way her left hand cupped her right elbow. As she opened her mouth to reply, he watched the way her eyes flickered behind him. "Darling, come here," he heard her say as turned slightly, looking over his shoulder. A young blonde girl looked back at him, staring hard at him as she continued, "There's someone I want you to meet."

"Yeah, Casey said someone was here." He pushed himself up, meeting the girl's extended hand. "I'm Evy."

He nodded, marveling how much the young girl looked like Greg. "I'm Morris."

"Morris and Daddy were roommates at university."

The young girl watched him skeptically as she pulled her hand back. "You went to Cornell with my dad?" she asked doubtfully. As if she didn't believe him…or her mother.

He chuckled. Suspicion must've been in the Richards gene pool. "Cornell needed a linebacker," he explained with a chuckle. "Greg and I were both scholarship cases, so we shared the tiniest shoebox of a room our freshman year." He glanced back to where Olivia sat quietly, watching their introduction. "Did Greg ever get one of them to Cornell?"

She shook her head, her lips pressed together in a line. "No. But, Evy goes to Columbia, so I think he thought that was close enough."

"Ithaca is practically to Canada," the daughter grumbled as she collapsed into the armchair across from the sofa. "Way too cold."

"Greg used to say the same thing," he pointed out as he sat back down. She watched him carefully and only smiled in response. A polite smile. One he remembered seeing on Greg too often. He cleared his throat, painfully reminded of why he was here. Sitting in Greg's living room after all these years. Olivia sat up straighter when he looked back at her, as if she knew what was coming. "I was sorry to hear what happened," he said softly, hearing the way Olivia inhaled. He heard his own breath catch as he said, "He was a lion. And, I loved him like a brother."

"Thank you, Morris," she said softly. She winced and leaned into her left side, exhaling slowly.

He nodded and cleared his throat, forcing his eyes down. But, it was the truth. As a black 17-year-old from Bed-Stuy, he hadn't exactly fit in on Cornell's campus in 1967. In more ways than one. But, he found he did fit in with Greg, whose need for a full financial aid package set him apart from their wealthier counterparts on campus. "We hadn't spoken in years, but-"

"I-I never told you I was sorry," she interrupted with a small gasp. "Sorry that I was the reason he stopped speaking to you."

He looked up quickly even as he felt her daughter's curious gaze sharpen against him. "Olivia, it wasn't your fault," he said softly. She only shook her head and looked away, as if she didn't want to hear it. Maybe she didn't. It wouldn't change anything. Greg was still dead.

"Do you live in Sunset Beach?" Evy asked after a long moment. She didn't say anything else, but he could hear her mind working. She was trying to figure him out. Trying to place him in her father's life.

He looked up and nodded, suddenly grateful her question changed the conversation. "Laguna Niguel," he explained. That was the simple explanation. "I used to live in Sunset Beach, but I moved back to the area a few months ago from Oakland."

"But, you hate the Bay Area," Olivia murmured as she turned back to him and he chuckled.

"I can't believe you remember that!"

With a one shoulder shrug, her dulled eyes slowly connected with his. "Who could forget all the times you and Gregory tore the area to shreds?"

"But, wait," Evy interjected as she sat up, "Dad went to Stanford. He lived there during law school."

"And, he hated every moment of it," Olivia said dryly as she leaned forward, shifting on the sofa cushion. "From what he always said, you going there to visit didn't help endear him to the Bay Area." Their eyes met as she continued softly, "You reminded him of New York."

He nodded, remembering. "Those reminders got us thrown out of some bars after we trash talked the home teams." He watched Olivia force a smile and he saw the way she clenched her teeth. He cleared his throat. "Sorry, I shouldn't keep you. You should rest."

Her eyes widened as she shook her head insistently. "But, your coffee…"

He smiled and reached out, covering her hand with his. "Another time. I promise."

"Tomorrow?" she asked and he smiled, squeezing her hand.

"Tomorrow."