A/N: Thanks again, many many many times over for your encouragement. I had no idea the Hairbo Duo was from SLC – I picked it kind of randomly. I couldn't picture Pony staying in Tulsa and Salt Lake seemed like a place he'd like, full of mountains and sunsets and nature. And Mikal Gilmore, who is a kick-ass writer for "Rolling Stone," is from Utah. So there you go. I did do a couple of subtle things on purpose – like both Laura and Sarah have the middle name Mary, which is what I named Mrs. Curtis, and Darry saving their dad's Social Security checks and splitting the money three ways, kind of makes his mad saving make senes.

I thought of writing all the letters, but I thought it was better to keep most of it private, between Darry and his siblings. He was a pretty private kind of guy. This is the last chapter, then the epilogue. And then onto my next idea. This site is going to be the death of me.

-- Sox

Chapter 15: Letters from Heaven

"Dad?" Laura came into Soda's room and flopped on the bed beside him. "I need to talk to you."

"Shoot."

"I need to talk to you about -- about Emily. Mom. Glory, about the lady who got pregnant and had me."

"Your mother, Laura," Soda said patiently. He had always referred to Emily as such – "your mother" – because it was true; Laura had come out of Emily's body. But he'd never called her "Mom" or even "Mommy" when Laura was little; that title, he believed, had to be earned.

"She gave me her cell number."

"I know," Soda said. "She asked me first."

In the years that Emily had been gone, Soda had built up a strong dislike and a slow anger for her. There were moments – like when Laura first got her period, when she wanted to pierce her ears, when it was time to tell her about sex – that Soda had actually hated Emily. His disdain was two-fold; he was furious that he had to handle of this on his own, without the benefit of a woman's point of view, and he was irritated for Laura's sake that the closest she came to motherly advice was long-distance calls to Cinnamon. All these years, he had pictured Emily as she had been the last time he'd seen her, drunk and defiant, accusing Soda of forcing her to have "that little brat." Then she'd vanished. He'd rehearsed his speech over and over again, ready to tell her how selfish she was, how she didn't deserve to see Laura and would do so over his dead body. Then he saw her at Darry's wake, of all places. She was humble and respectful and took Laura's lead before she even tried to hug her.

The night before, unbeknownst to Laura, Soda had met Emily down at the local coffee shop to work out the particulars of Emily's seeing Laura. She was grateful for any contact Soda was willing to allow her and sincerely troubled she had not had the chance to thank Darry for picking up her slack. She gave Soda a brief update on the last 15 years and Soda found he was profoundly grateful she had kept her distance.

"It's so funny, Keith ended up being my sponsor, and here he's known Laura her whole life," she'd said. "I have to believe that means something."

Soda had to agree. They'd even hugged, not the hug of old lovers, precisely, but the careful hug of old friends willing to be better about being in touch.

Now he looked at his little girl, almost grown up, with her red-gold hair and startling blue eyes, with Darry's graceful height and Emily's slim waist, with Soda's good looks and Pony and Cinnamon's smarts. She was a Curtis, through and through, but she was also part of Emily.

If Emily ever comes back, and she's okay, you should think about letting Laura see her, Darry's letter had said in part. Every little girl needs her mother and God knows, we've probably done enough damage.

And Laura wasn't a baby any more.

"You can see her, Laura," Soda said. "Is that what you wanted to talk about?"

"I didn't think you'd let me."

"The lady who left isn't the lady who came back," Soda said simply.

Laura nodded and to Soda's surprise, she started to cry. "I want to, but I don't want to want to," she sobbed. "She was never here, she left me – she left me and I was just a baby, and I still want to see her. What's the matter with me?"

"Sweetheart." Soda sat up and pulled Laura into his lap as if she were six instead of sixteen. "Nothing's the matter with you."

"I don't want to hurt you, Daddy."

"You're not," Soda said calmly, and he was surprised to find that was true. "It's not about me."

Laura was quiet for a minute, then said, "I really miss Uncle Darry."

Tears immediately sprang to Soda's eyes. He remembered the months after his parents had been killed, the slightest reminder sent him into a fit of weeping. He'd once hidden behind the gas station, trying to muffle sobs into his hands, because some guy had come in to buy the same brand of cigarettes his father had smoked.

"I miss him, too, Laura. We'll miss him forever. But we'll be all right."

"Are you sure?"

"When Grandma and Grandpa died, I thought that would be the end of the world," Soda said. "I was just your age. I thought I'd never be happy again. I couldn't imagine it. But, darlin', you have been my greatest joy. And we've been okay, all of us. Uncle Darry – this ain't nothing but a curve ball. And he'd say the same, you know he would. You can go on and be happy and live your life, and still love and miss him."

Laura stared. "Daddy, that was downright profound," she said.

Soda smiled fondly at her and tapped his pocket, where Darry's note lay. "Your uncle says I'm smarter than I give myself credit for," he said. "Maybe he's right."

"Darry had money."

"What do you mean?"

Clint and Cinnamon were packing up, preparing to go back to Missouri for good. As they sorted and folded a load of laundry, Cinnamon explained the particulars of Darry's estate to her flabbergasted husband. He'd already read his note and was happy to know Darry had held him in high regard and agreed he was a perfect match for Cinnamon.

Cinnamon's letter had been longer, full of memories, and love, and brotherly advice he wouldn't be there to dispense, including a whole paragraph on how she should treat Johnny and Sarah's future spouses, based on Darry's experiences with Clint and Michelle. And the PS: Don't think about spending that money on anything that is not for the four of you. I am watching you, and I will know. It was what he'd taken to saying when she was in high school, and then home summers from college, usually in reference to drinking and sex. "Don't you even think of sleeping with that boy, Cinnamon Marie," Darry would say, right in front of her date, as she wanted to sink into the floor. "I am watching you, and I will know." Any hope her boyfriends might have had immediately vanished.

"I'll miss being Darry's little sister," she said.

Clinton smiled. "I know. But you're still Soda's little sister."

"Oh, please. That's only true by the calendar. Do you know how many times I bailed his ass out of stupid stuff?"

Clint laughed. "Hey, I have a question."

"Shoot."

"All that money, why didn't he move?" When Cinnamon's eyes narrowed, he said quickly, "I'm not trying to be disrespectful, and I know the neighborhood is better now than it was when y'all were kids. But this place is smallish, and he'd grouse about all the little things that he could never repair – why didn't he just sell it?"

"Because it's Mom and Dad's house," Cinnamon said. "It's home."

And it was, indelibly marked by all of them. There was the stain on the living room hardwood where Cinnamon dropped the bottle of iodine when she heard Johnny had died. There was a line grooved into the wall in Pony and Soda's old room, behind where their bed had been, from the headboard banging the plaster during countless wrestling matches and pillow fights. There was a hole in the bathroom wall, behind the door, where Darry had flung it open too quickly. In her parents' old closet there was a small spot on the floor from a long-ago shoe polish bottle their father had knocked over. In the yard, there was a rose bush, straggly and struggling, that their mother had planted.

Home.

"Can we do Christmas at our house?" Pony asked Michelle. They were sitting on the back step, watching the end of a glorious sunset, while Danny played in the yard. Their flight back to Salt Lake City was leaving in the morning. "I'd like to be with Soda and Cinny but I don't think being here's a good idea. Not this year."

"Of course we can," Michelle said easily. "We can do whatever you like."

"And everyone will be able to afford the airfare," Pony observed.

"I'd say so," Michelle said quietly. She still couldn't quite believe it. Pony had explained it carefully and she'd seen Danny's bankbook and the various legal papers, but it was still sinking in.

"Did you finish your note yet?" Pony asked quietly.

"I will," she said. "I'm just not quite ready yet." Dear Shelly, it has been my honor having you as my second little sister, the letter began, and she had to fold it up and put it away. "Your brother was quite a guy."

"He was," Ponyboy agreed. "He took really good care of us. I can remember when I was in college, it occurred to me one day that I was just worried about passing my English Lit final or whether or not I had the guts to ask out some girl, and at the same age, Darry was practically raising a family of four. I know Soda helped a lot, but Darry was always in charge."

Pony, like Cinnamon, remembered Darry's sternness when it came to dating and studying and underage drinking and drugs. In the months after their parents died, Pony mistook Darry's demeanor for meanness, but over that first, hard year, he'd realized that was not the case. They were different as boys and they were different as men, but they'd come to a place where there was enormous respect and love between the two of them. Darry believed Pony's life – as well as Soda's and Cinnamon's – was small proof that he'd done well by his siblings. He was pleased with all of them.

And if Pony had any doubts, Darry had told him so. I remember I used to holler at you that you didn't think and had no common sense. I was afraid you were too much of a dreamer to make your own way. But you dreamed your way into a job, a wife and a son and I can see how happy you are. That makes me happy. I'm proud of you, baby brother.

Pony took the note out of his pocket and ran his fingers over his name, his name in Darry's handwriting.

"Shelly."

"Hmm?"

"I want us to have another baby. I want Danny to have -- " Pony held up the note. "To have this. To have the opportunity to have this."

Michelle snuggled up next to him. "I would love to be the mother of your next child, Ponyboy Curtis."

Pony hugged her tightly and kissed the top of her head. He slipped the note back into his pocket. Years later, when he died, his grandson would find it tucked into an ancient copy of Gone with the Wind next to a note bearing the faded signature, "Your buddy, Johnny."