A/N – You're right about Darry and college – I just found it in the book. I had thought since he was 20, he was already there. Ah, well. In this chapter you'll definitely notice the way I played with the time line. Thanks so much, to all of you, for taking the time to read this. It's not like I could publish it anywhere else. And yes, I am cranking this out, but that's because it's been in my damn head for 30 years.  (And I, of course, starred as Cinnamon. Any of y'all ever do that?)

Chapter 8: Visiting old friends

Green Acres Memorial Gardens had always struck Sodapop as an odd name for a cemetery. He always got that snatch of song, the theme from the old TV show, stuck in his head. He walked down the path with his sister and nephew, softly whistling.

It was early Saturday morning. Clint and the kids had returned around midnight. Darry had come home from the hospital Wednesday afternoon, right on schedule. None them allowed themselves to think that Darry had come home "to die" but Cinnamon had quietly called the hospice department at Saint Frank's and Clinton and Soda had stashed a hospital bed in the garage in case it became necessary. Neither Soda nor Cinnamon talked about the primary reason for their trip, each pretending for the other's sake they'd come to only to pay respects to their parents and old friends. That was true – but they also wanted to see if it was a place Darry might like. Pony had refused to come and his siblings hadn't pushed.

They'd been to see their parents, and the small, set stone that only said "Winston," and now stopped at a plot under a red maple tree. For years, Johnny's grave had been just a marker, a round metal plate with an anonymous number on it, and every couple of months one of the gang came by and pulled the weeds around it so it wouldn't disappear completely. Now, there was a simple stone:

John Walter Cade

1969-1985

Stay Gold

Four years before, Pony and Cinnamon had split the cost and never told anyone.

"Until this showed up, I never knew his middle name was Walter," Soda said.

"Me, either," Cinnamon replied, a small smile playing about her lips, remembering the conversation with Ponyboy.

Walter? You're sure?

I'm a reporter, Cinny. I knew where to look it up.

Cinnamon traced her fingers over the recessed letters. Soda snuck a glance at his sister. He knew she loved Clint with her whole heart, but he also knew Johnny had been her first true love, and she'd seen that end in spectacular fashion. When they'd been on the run with Pony, the three of them sleeping in the church in Windrixville, Johnny and Cinnamon had fallen hard, finally acknowledging the feelings they'd been having for months. The gang had no idea; they all thought of her as a little sister, but Soda, having Sandy, had seen it coming a mile away.

Soda heard the story from Ponyboy as the younger boy shivered under his arm in the middle of the night. Dally had showed up to check on them and Johnny decided they'd go back and turn themselves in. The whole time Johnny was explaining his reasoning to an increasingly angry Dally, Cinnamon had sat quietly, rubbing her fingers on his shoulder. She'd have stayed by Johnny if he'd been sent away, Soda knew. Cinnamon was a greaser girl, but she wasn't trash like Dally's old girl, Sylvia, and she wasn't a two-timer like his Sandy turned out to be. And she wasn't a runner, like Emily, Laura's mother. Cinnamon was poor but she was decent and sweet and she looked at Johnny in a way none of her brothers had never seen before.

When they got back to the church to find it in flames, as they raced toward the sounds of screaming, trapped children, Johnny had skidded to a stop, turned to Cinnamon, and bellowed in her face, "Stay here!" Dally and Pony were momentarily stunned by the strong, decisive voice coming from meek little Johnnycake. Johnny crushed Cinnamon in a kiss and repeated, "Stay here. I love you. Stay here."

She obeyed, and so she'd had a perfect view when Hell fell in on top of her baby brother, her old friend, and her first real love.

"Johnnycake, come on by here," Soda called to his nephew, and for a moment Cinnamon's heart skipped a beat. It was as if the world had tilted, hearing Soda call out that old name as she knelt by Johnny Cade's grave.

Cinnamon drew her son close to her. "Sweetie, this is Johnny. This is the boy you are named for."

Johnny, her Johnny, looked seriously at the stone. "Is he dead, like Grandma and Grandpa?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Was he in an accident, too?"

"No." Cinnamon cleared her throat. "He was hurt in a fire. He was a hero, Johnny, he saved a bunch of children, about your age. Uncle Pony, too."

"And Dallas," Soda said quietly.

"Yes, and Dallas," Cinnamon said. "Do you remember we told you a little about Dallas? And he's buried right up there? He helped them. He pulled Johnny and Uncle Pony out when the fire got really bad."

"Really?" Johnny's voice was awed. "So he saved Uncle Pony's life?"

Cinnamon's breath caught in her throat. "Well, yes, I guess he did." She looked up at Soda. "All these years, and I never thought of it like that, but I suppose that's the truth. He helped save those kids and Pony and Johnny too."

The newspaper had thought so – Cinnamon still had the articles up in her attic, the pages of newsprint praising the "hoodlums turned heroes." But Dally had been the only honest-to-God hoodlum of the bunch and he'd been the most reluctant hero. He had been swearing a blue streak for Ponyboy and Johnny to come out of the flames before he finally went in after them. When the police and ambulances showed up, Pony and Johnny were both unconscious and Dally was still swearing, despite the burns on his arm. Cinnamon was calm, ordering the paramedics around and answering the policemen. Later, at the hospital, they said she was in shock. She stayed cool, spooking Ponyboy even more than he already was, until Darry and Soda came.

She wanted to stay, Soda remembered suddenly. When Darry and I got there, and it was time to go home, she wanted to stay with Johnny, and when Darry wouldn't let her, she just sat down on the floor and cried until I picked her up and carried her out to the car.

"It was like the whole world was on fire," she said now, as if she were reading Soda's mind. "I couldn't think of anything at all until I saw you and Darry." They had hugged and cried and leapt around like fools, and once the dam broke, she simply couldn't stop.

Johnny watched them quietly. He adored his uncles. Uncle Soda was cool, he drove fast cars and was always cheerful and smiling and he could fix anything. Uncle Pony was quiet and typed a lot but he would sit down and play games and listen to you forever. And Uncle Darry knew all about football and played hard in the yard with him, never too busy to rough and tumble.

But he'd been too sick to do that since Johnny had arrived.

"Mom?" he asked.

"Yes, baby?"

"Is Uncle Darry sick?"

Soda's breath caught, but Cinnamon just said, "Yes, baby."

"Is he sick enough to die?"

"I think so, Johnny, yes," Cinnamon said quietly.

"What made you ask that, buddy?" Soda asked.

Johnny shrugged. "He looks funny. Y'all are whispering. Uncle Pony's upset. I just thought." He paused. "I was hopin' you'd say I was silly, though." He fiddled with the grass. "Can we go home now? I want to play with Uncle Darry. You know … for now. While … well, I just do."

Soda had to look away and his gaze fell on the section of the cemetery where their parents were buried. What if they had known? What if he'd been able to give his father one last hug, his mother one last kiss? Just one more "I love you" to make sure they knew. And to make sure he knew they knew.

He held out his hand and pulled Cinnamon to her feet, keeping her hand firmly tucked in his and reaching for his nephew with the other. "I think that's a wonderful idea, buddy," he said. "Let's go home."