Chapter 7

Don was shocked when he saw his father lead Charlie out of baggage claim. His brother looked pale, even from a distance, like he'd been ill for months. He walked slowly, stiffly, his backpack hanging so precariously from his shoulder that Alan had to keep pushing it up, finally taking it to carry himself. He led Charlie to a bench outside the airport and searched the pick-up traffic for Don's SUV. He spotted him, smiled a tight smile, and signaled. He turned back to look at Charlie, then looked at Don again and shrugged.

Don couldn't help but remember the last time he had picked Charlie up here, a year-and-a-half ago, after his hitchhiking trip to Oregon, when he'd been gone for six weeks. He had spotted the SUV and loped up to the passenger side before Don had even seen him. Don pulled over to the curb. No loping today.

Alan opened the back door and threw in the bags, then waited for Charlie to climb in. "You need help with the seatbelt, son?"

Charlie grimaced, but his voice sounded weak. "I can do it, Dad."

Alan shut the door, opened the front passenger one. "He got sick on the airplane," he said, getting in beside Don.

Don ignored the security guard waiting for them to pull away and turned to look at his brother.

"I'm okay," Charlie said before Don could speak. "I don't know what happened. I've never been airsick before."

Don gripped Charlie's knee once before he turned back around. "Just don't lose your lunch in my car."

Pulling out, he heard his father mutter something about Charlie having to eat lunch before he could lose it.

"So, I'm done for the day," he said. "Thought I could just hang out with you guys tonight?"

Alan smiled. "Of course. I saw the story in a newspaper while we were waiting in San Francisco: 'L.A. F.B.I. Office Breaks Homeland Security Fraud Scheme'. Very impressive."

"Yeah," put in Charlie. "Lots on initials."

Don grinned into the rear view mirror. "Chinese take-out?"

He heard his father's affirmation, but didn't miss the green tint on his brother's face. "I'll take you home, first. You can rest for a while."

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Charlie descended the stairs slowly. He felt as if he had been hit by a truck. At the bottom, he looked into the living room and smiled. Don might have said he was stopping at home first so that Charlie could rest, but he was the one unconscious on the couch. Alan was snoring in the chair nearby. Charlie had made an effort. Unpacked, showered, changed into a comfortable old t-shirt and sweats, even laid down on his bed for a few minutes.

But then, he had closed his eyes.

Someone had replaced his eyelids with movie screens. Every time he closed them, some part of his life with Sam and Jenna replayed. If only he could figure out a way to sleep with his eyes open. He was getting tired.

He walked quietly by his sleeping family, into the kitchen.

He felt an enormous sense of relief as he opened the door to the garage. All of the chalkboards in sight were already filled with equations for Charlie's current research project, but he reached behind the old, battered, cast-away couch pushed up against one wall, and hauled out another one. He took one off an easel and propped it against the couch, placing the clean one in its place. He picked up the chalk.

G-d, how he loved the feel of it. Its smoothness. He loved the smell of it. He loved watching microscopic pieces of it float through the air, landing in his hair, and on everything else.

He stepped up to the board, and raised his hand.

"P"

He stepped back. It was too messy. He erased it, tried again.

"P"

That was better.

He sighed, let the peace flow through him…made the mistake of closing his eyes.

"I always wanted a brother," Sam said.

His eyes popped open. He, Charlie, he had a brother. Inside, sleeping on the couch. And he, Charlie, had made a promise to that brother. He had promised that he would never do this again. The peace left him, as quickly as it had come. What would he do, then? Where else would he find it? He put the chalk into the tray, wandered around the garage, trying to interest himself in the equations on the other boards. He ended up back where he had started. He wanted to do it. He needed to do it. He had promised not to do it.

He closed his eyes and thought of Sam, intentionally this time. He remembered the difficulties Sam and Don had when they first met, and how it all came down to brotherhood; Sam's needing one, Don's being afraid that Sam would take his. He opened his eyes again, stared at the "P". Don was afraid that this would take his brother, too.

He should be afraid.

Charlie sat on the cold cement floor, and stared up at the chalkboard.