Tom wandered back home around 9:00 PM. They had finished work on the old Peterson place around five, but the other men had wanted Tom to join them for a drink. No one cared that he had just turned eighteen in January or that his parents probably expected him home before supper. "You're a working man, Jennings!" one of them had joked. "You can stand just a little." Tom didn't know what to think of being called a "working man," but he willingly accepted their hospitality. In a few months, he would be starting college. He only took jobs as a handyman to make extra money before heading off for school. When he told the others that he would be leaving small town life behind to search for something better, they laughed. "This is Collinsport, kid," one had said sympathetically. "There's not much room for change. You think you're going to learn something and get a great big job in the city, but the stakes are against you. You can't fight fate."

Tom humored them, but he knew deep down that he would get away. Joe might have become entangled in the small town's snare, but Chris had escaped. He recently graduated from college and he planned to be an architect. Tom thought that his brother would make a fine one but refused to tell him so. The silence between the two after the graduation ceremony had been horrendous. Friends attempted to get Tom to lighten up and speak to his brother, but he shied away from doing so, thinking that Chris didn't want him too close to him as his friends. His brother seemed so distant. Some chalked that distance up to whatever deep thoughts might be floating through the graduate's head. Tom knew Chris' head was muddled by either thoughts of the leggy redhead at the bar or plans on how to celebrate his quickly approaching 21st birthday. Either way, Tom let Chris be and only spoke to him before he left to go home.

Tom had been the first to leave, followed quickly by his mother, and much later by his father. Lenore had been too ill to attend. His father had stayed long enough so that he might adequately celebrate the achievement of his favorite son. Chris was the first member of the family known to have graduated from college. That mere fact dwarfed Tom's quickly approaching high school graduation. Tom would graduate in the top ten percent of his class. Of course, Chris had graduated just as high in his class, and in their father's eyes, that was the weightier feat. Tom wasn't jealous . . . not at all! He only wished that Chris would screw up once. For once in his life, he wanted to be recognized for existing. He highly doubted that it would happen.

As Tom crept back into the house, he noticed that the lights shown dimly from the living room. Everyone was usually in bed by nine. What could be going on? The moment he entered the room, all eyes settled onto him. The eyes he immediately searched out were those of Amy. The little girl sat on her mother's lap, her smile broadening as her big brother approached. They once thought that she would be some fragile flower, her health improved quickly and seemed to love touching all things that moved into her field of vision. She loved her brother Tom most of all. The beautiful girl laughed most in his presence and demanded him to play with her at least once a day. He spent his time with the girl early this morning, but he could tell that she wanted him to hold her now. She cooed as Tom took her into his arms and let her sit with him in the old rocking chair. He kissed Amy's nose and looked up. He was shocked by the way his mother, father, and Lenore stared at him. "What am I missing guys?"

His father cleared his throat and said, "I've got something to tell you . . . something about Chris."

Tom quietly sniffed as he ran his finger over Amy's small nose. "What's he done now? Stopped world hunger?"

"It's not like that. Chris is missing and has been since last week."

"Last week! And we're just finding this out!" Tom fell back into the rocking chair, careful to hold Amy close as the chair bucked. He looked back to his father and asked, "Do they have any idea what happened?"

"They don't really know. His room's a wreck. All of his things were just strewn around the place like someone had ransacked it looking for something."

"So the authorities think there was a struggle?"

"They don't know. They can't think of anyone that would want to harm Chris. Do you know anyone who would want to hurt your brother?"

Tom didn't know of anyone specific who would want to hurt Chris, but he knew of a few general things that would get him in trouble. Chris was quite a drinker and, on occasion, he was known to smoke something a little stronger than cigarettes. Rumor also had it that Chris was notoriously unfaithful to his many partners. He could have easily angered some anonymous brute that wanted to avenge his deflowered girlfriend of stolen stash. If Chris had been beaten up, he might have deserved it. Tom couldn't tell his father that, though. "Um . . . I don't know."

His father sighed and shook his head. "It doesn't matter. They don't think it was someone else. They don't think anyone did anything to him. They think that he just left and that he was the one to ruin his room. Do you know why he would do such a thing?"

"I don't have a clue," mumbled Tom. In all honesty, he didn't know why Chris would have done such a thing. If anyone had the world by the throat, it was his brother. Chris could have anything he wanted. Why would he leave it all behind? Why wouldn't he call anyone and tell them where he was? It was too much to think about now. Tom politely excused himself and took Amy with him. He quietly put the girl to bed and slipped out the back door. He pulled one of the cigarettes he had accepted from one of his coworkers and lit up. A moment after he inhaled, he heard footsteps creep up behind him. He turned to see Lenore standing before him, leaning on her smooth wooden cane as if it were all that were keeping her up. "There's nothing more to say, grandma."

"He's gone," she whispered as she moved to stand next to Tom. He noticed the stilted way she moved now. When he looked into her face, he could see that the lines had deepened into her flesh, creating heavy folds in her once lovely visage. Lenore had always seemed so youthful to him. When did this change overtake her? When did she officially become old? "He's gone and he won't be coming back . . . at least not in my lifetime. This has really been a blow to your father."

"I can imagine. You can't believe how many times I've heard 'why can't you be more like your brother? Why can't you be like Chris?'"

"I know. Now they're depending on you."

"Huh?"

"You're leaving for school in a few weeks. I think this incident with Chris might have made him realize that you've always stuck around, that you're the one who's done what you were supposed to do and did it well."

"I'll never be respected in this family. It'll never happen."

"Just wait and see, Thomas. Just wait and see." Lenore kissed Tom's cheek and wandered back into the house.

Tom waited outside a bit longer, slowly smoking away and trying to contemplate what had happened this night. He squashed the cigarette butt and tossed it into the yard after making sure it was out. Horror filled his eyes as he noticed his father standing a few feet away. "It's not what you think," he mumbled frantically.

"It's no big deal, Tom. You're eighteen and you were smoking a cigarette. It could be much worse." He took a seat on the porch and stared out into the back yard. Tom wasn't even sure if his father remembered that he was there. His father finally looked over at his younger son, his wearied stare barely able to focus. "I can't believe he's gone. Why did he do this?"

"I don't know." Tom leaned against the railing, careful to keep his face emotionless and his hands burrowed into his pockets. He wanted to appear devastated, but he couldn't bring up the emotions. He felt some disappointment in his brother, but, in all truth, he didn't care what had happened to him. He didn't see a life without Christopher Jennings as being a bad thing. "We don't know what happened. It might not be something he cann't explain to us right now. He'll get in touch with us in his own time," he murmured.

"Maybe so, Tom, maybe so. I just don't now if I will want to talk to him when that time comes." He looked away, focusing his eyes back onto the expansive back yard. "He's hurt me. He's hurt me bad."

"I understand, dad."

"No you don't understand! You won't understand until you have kids of your own." He rose from his seat and joined Tom at the rail. They didn't touch; they didn't even look at one another. If they had, Tom would have moved to the seat. "I spent so much time with that boy," moaned his father. "I urged him on with everything that he did."

"I know," groaned Tom quietly.

"I praised the boy; I tried to make him feel like he was needed. I tried to give him what I didn't have from my father."

"Yeah, I know."

"You don't know shit, Tom," snapped his father. "You don't know anything about how Chris and I were."

"Of course I do! I was there!" yelled Tom. He moved away from his father and stood closer to the house. "I know how you treated Chris because I know how you didn't treat me. You treated him like a king and you treated me like a peasant. How do you think I felt? I've stuck around here; I've pulled my weight. Chris spent all his time playing around with his friends and then left us pretty damn quick for college, never bothering to return except when they closed down the dorms or when he ran out of money. Did you seem to care? No! You just gave him what he wanted without question. How did you think that made me feel?"

"I . . . I didn't realize that I did that," stuttered his father.

"I don't see how! You did it so blatantly."

His father only sighed. He moved closer to Tom but his son pulled away and headed toward the door. His father was able to reach him before he walked back into the house, grabbing him by the arm and pulling him back out onto the porch. "I love you, Tom. I know I wasn't that great at saying it, but I do love you."

"You know, I can't figure out what you're more disappointed about: the fact that you lost Chris or that fact that I'm the son you're left with." With that, Tom pulled out of his father's grip and ran into the house. He didn't know how his father reacted to his last comment; he didn't care. He only wanted to get to his room and go to bed. On the way there, he heard crying from Amy's room. Carefully, Tom opened the door to see Amy sitting up in her crib. She was staring at her wall. It should be noted that he walls of her room were painted like the sky. One side of the room was painted to appear like day; the other was painted to appear as if it were night. It had taken quite awhile to prepare the room but it was accomplished before her birth. Tom was only glad that the girl seemed to like it. He picked up his sister and held her close to him. "Shh, honey. What's wrong?"

Amy's crying dulled to broken whimpers as she pointed a chubby finger toward the left wall. It looked to Tom as if she were pointing toward the large full moon on the facing wall. "Is it the moon bothering you, hon?" Amy cried and wrapped her arms around Tom's neck. He kissed her forehead and walked her toward the wall. He took one of her hands into his. He carefully made that hand touch the moon. "It won't hurt you, don't you see?" Amy pulled her hand away from his and began to wail. She wasn't getting the message.

Tom carried Amy with him to his room. He searched through his desk until he found a piece of dark construction paper and a roll of tape. He went back to her room and taped over the offending moon. Amy calmed instantly. Tom didn't understand it, but he had placated his sister. He kissed her forehead and waited around in her room until she fell asleep. He left her room and headed back to his. Tom didn't know what he was going to do about his family. He knew that his relationship with his father would be edgy. He was only glad that he would be leaving for college in a few weeks. He wouldn't have to deal with all the drama.