Tom was pleasantly shocked by how well he thrived in college. Classes weren't half as hard as he had expected they would be and he had made friends easily. Everyone seemed to be instantly taken by the lovely shy boy who sat on the green each afternoon with a sketchbook and a pack of multicolored pencils hidden away in his satchel. "What 'cha drawing, Tommy?" they would all ask him. Tom would smile, shrug, and politely ask them not to call him "Tommy." Most of the time, he had no clue what he was drawing. He would look at the sketches later to find numerous abstract shapes, most of them all jagged edges and vivid, angry colors. Tom recognized that he had stores of anger hidden away in his system. He supposed that these odd doodles were his way of letting it all out.

Tom kept, as close contact with home was he thought he was able to manage. He rarely talked to his father; they had nothing to say to one another. Tom hadn't apologized for the things he had said to him before leaving for college. In all truth, he didn't feel sorry for saying them. He felt those things deeply, so deeply that they penetrated his core and, now, he would find life unrecognizable without those scars lying across his heart. He didn't hate his father, whose problem lay in that he had fallen into the praise trap. Many men and women had fallen into it and many more would fall in later. He had meant no harm; he had been naïve. Tom, however, cut his brother little slack. Chris had called the family once to prove to them that he was still alive. He refused to answer any of their questions and refused to apologize for abandoning them. Although he had begged their forgiveness for the worry he had caused, he resisted coming home or explaining why he fled. Chris was acting like a child, proving himself to be a complete idiot. Tom never wanted to see him again.

On one seemingly normal day during his second year of college, Tom returned to his room to find a prim looking woman sitting with his roommate, Chad Holliman. Neither of them looked particularly happy. Chad looked particularly devastated. Tom dropped his satchel by his desk and took a seat. "Um . . . I don't believe we've met?" he asked the woman quietly.

The woman nodded curtly and said, "My name is Veronica Buckley." She shook Tom's hand with a firm, stagnated grip. He thought she could have been pretty if she had just loosened up. "But that doesn't answer many questions for you, does it Mr. Jennings? I've come from Collinsport. I have some terrible news to tell you."

"Wh . . . what is it? Has anything happened to Amy? Grandma?" The looks on the other two's faces showed that he hadn't hit the right names yet. "Mom? Dad? Both! What happened?" yelped Tom as he attempted to rise from his chair.

Ms. Buckley ran up to him and pushed him back down into the chair. "Calm down, Mr. Jennings. There's nothing you can do now." She sighed and knelt in front of the seat, careful not the muss the hem of her skirt as she pulled both knees beneath her body. She took one of Tom's hands into both of hers, gripping it with warm conviction. She looked into his eyes and said, "There was an accident early this morning. Your parents were driving home when a truck rammed them from behind. Your father did his best to control the car, but he couldn't and the car ran into a large tree. The impact was massive. Your father died on impact and your mother only survived to the hospital. I hate to tell you this but your parents are dead. Do you hear me, Mr. Jennings?"

Tom didn't hear a word she said. Dead? His parents were dead? He had talked to his mother the night before. How could she be dead now? And his father! No, they weren't getting along as of the last time he had been home, but Tom had always believed that they would have had enough time to reconcile. Now they wouldn't have the chance to quarrel much less mend fences. The realization sent Tom into hysterics, wailing and writhing as if he couldn't control himself. Ms Buckley took him into her arms and held him to her. "Please calm yourself, Mr. Jennings," she whispered. "I say this not to be cruel but to be practical. Your grandmother is making the arrangements. She wants you to come home and I was sent to retrieve you."

"I hav . . . have ma . . . my own car," stuttered Tom as he pulled away from Ms Buckley.

"But you're in no condition to drive yourself home, are you?" Tom couldn't disagree with her. "Okay. Pack a bag and I'll be waiting downstairs to take you home." Ms Buckley's face crumbled for a moment and she took Tom's hand back into her own. "I am so sorry Mr. Jennings. I know that you must be taking this hard."

Tom nodded and watched as Ms Buckley left. The moment the door closed, he emptied out his satchel and began cramming it with clothes. Chad walked up behind him and touched his shoulder. Tom pulled away quickly, but turned back and murmured, "I'm sorry, but I don't think I can have anyone touch me right now."

"Understood." Chad moved away and retook his seat. The room went silent for a few moments, each second feeling strained and heavy as the boys went about their business. Chad finally spoke up, saying, "Everything's going to be okay, ya know?"

"I know," mumbled Tom, who was now struggling to shove a pair of black dress shoes into his bag. He took them back out and stared at them, his contempt for the scuffed leather showing before he jammed them into his bag with a "Goddamn shoes" managing to escape his lips. Tom grabbed his keys from the counter and headed for the door. "See you later."

"Yeah." Chad paused before adding, "You are coming back, aren't you?"

"Sure. Wouldn't dream of staying away."

••••••••••••••••••••

Tom didn't want to see them, to view his parents lying still on their mortuary tables. He would be able to take the funeral; they would be clean and pressed, perfectly coifed for their trip to the great beyond. But now, now they were as the accident had left them. He knew that he couldn't take that. Yet he was more than ready to greet Amy when the nearly three year old ran into his arms. She was in tears, but Tom doubted that she understood much about the situation. Actually, he didn't want her to remember this. He looked up to see Lenore standing before them. The lines in her face had gone deeper, making her appear much older than she really was. God, what this most have done to her! Tom offered her his free arm and she gladly took hold of it. "How are you taking it?" she whispered.

"I'm not." He looked down at Amy and asked, "And how is this one?"

"As well as to be expected," moaned Lenore. "I don't know how to explain it to her. The local councilor told me a few things to say and I said them. I don't know what good they did but . . . "

"You did your best."

Lenore nodded. "It'll take awhile for her to realize what has happened."

"Yes, it will," sighed Tom.

"She'll be inconsolable."

"She will."

"God, what am I going to do without you?"

Tom looked up her oddly. "Who says I'm leaving?"

"You're going back to school."

"No I'm not!" Tom was shocked by the look that overtook his grandmother's face. She looked a mixture of disappointed and irate. They would have to talk. Ms Buckley wandered back into the room and Tom handed her Amy, telling her than he would b back in a minute. He turned to his grandmother, and, wordlessly, they headed outside. "I don't see what the problem is," he hissed carefully. "It's my life."

"That's what I'm afraid of," cried Lenore. "You have a life to live. You can't stay behind to take care of an old woman and a young girl."

"Well, that old woman just happens to be my grandmother and the young girl my sister. I can't leave you two alone at a time like this."

"I can take care of Amy."

"I don't think so," said Tom.

Lenore laughed, leaning against the wall to brace her featherweight body. For a moment, Tom thought she had grown younger. The lines had practically disappeared and her mannerisms had changed. She was trying to prove to him hat she wasn't her age. "I'm not that old."

"You're almost 70."

"In 3 years!"

"Precisely! Anything can happen in 3 years and I don't want to be miles away if it does."

Lenore frowned, allowing the age to creep back into her face and overtake it. Tom hated to see that look return. She glanced back up at him, tears filling her eyes, and asked, "I can't changed you mind?" He shook his head. "Okay. I'm glad to have you here, but God, I wanted so much better for you, Thomas."

"I'm with my family," said Tom, wrapping his grandmother in his arms as he spoke. "Where else am I supposed to be?"