A/N: Thanks for all of the great reviews encouraging me to continue this story. : )

Chapter Two: Holding Back the Years

March 26, 1988
Shermer, Illinois

"Brian?"

"Yes?"

Claire took a deep breath. "It's Claire."

There was a pause on Brian's end of the line and Claire panicked, hoping he wasn't about to hang up. "I know we haven't talked in a long time, but I just thought…" She stopped, not sure what she was supposed to say next.

"Um, it's okay. How… how are you?" he asked.

Claire swallowed, the tears clogging the back of her throat. It was funny that she didn't even realize how much she needed someone to ask her that until they did. "Fine," she said quietly.

Brian was silent for a moment, probably wondering, like her, why the hell she'd called him if she was just going to sit there like an idiot and not say anything. "So, uh, how's school?" he asked.

Claire sighed and wiped a stray tear from the corner of her eye. "It's fine. Good. I'm graduating in May."

"Wow, that's great. Are you still a French major?"

"No, Business." She hadn't been a French major since her freshman year, which only went to show how long it had been since she'd spoken with Brian… or any of the other members of the Breakfast Club. She felt her face grow warm with embarrassment. "What about you? How is school?"

"Oh, it's, uh, it's good."

"So, you're at Harvard."

"Um, yeah. Yeah, I am."

"English?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?"

"I talked to your mom."

Brian paused. "Oh."

Claire swallowed. "I'm sorry. It's just that I didn't have your number and I thought I could-"

"No, no, it's okay."

Claire let out a deep breath. "I guess you're probably wondering why I'm calling."

"No, it's… I mean, you can call whenever, you know? It doesn't matter."

Claire nodded, though, of course, he couldn't see her. "Well, I guess I was just calling to…" She took another deep breath. "My mother died."

Brian was silent for a moment before speaking. "I'm sorry."

There was something so simple and genuine about his words that tears immediately sprang to her eyes. She opened her mouth so say something else, to give him the details, but found that her vocal cords weren't working. She pulled her knees closer to her chest and leaned back against the top of the sofa chair, letting the tears fall. She'd cried when she'd heard, of course, when her father had called her earlier that day from the hospital. She'd cried when she called her brother Daniel and again when she'd talked to her mother's sister, Irene. She'd cried a lot that day, but there was something very different about it this time. Like she could finally let the tears fall and not have to worry about making them stop.

Brian didn't say anything for a long time. After a moment, Claire brushed the tears from her cheeks and swallowed. "It happened this morning."

"What happened?"

Claire took another deep breath; they seemed to be helping. "She had a heart attack."

"Are you at home?"

"Yeah. I drove back this afternoon, right after I heard."

"Is your family there?"

Claire looked around her room, at the pictures of friends and relatives and people she hadn't seen in years. "My dad is. My brother's flying in tomorrow."

There was some shuffling on Brian's end. "When is the funeral?"

"Wednesday." She paused, wondering if she could get the words out. "Actually, I was wondering if you could come." She took another deep breath. "If all of you could come."

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Claire talked to Brian for about twenty more minutes before hanging up the phone and settling back into her chair.

She hadn't been expecting the call. Not in the least. Sure, her mother's doctor was always warning her about stress and, sure, high blood pressure was nothing to joke around about. But death? That only happened to other people; it wasn't supposed to happen to someone she cared about, and certainly not so quickly. Death, if it came at all, was supposed to announce itself properly, to call ahead and let everyone know it was coming. At the very least, it was supposed to give you enough time to say goodbye.

Claire brushed another tear from her cheek and leaned back in her chair. When her father called her that morning, she was running late for a lunch date with Jacqueline, one of her sorority sisters. She was trying to find the match to the brown boot she was holding in her hand when the phone rang. She almost let the machine get it, but changed her mind when she realized that it might be Jacqueline wondering where she was. But of course it wasn't Jacqueline; it was her father calling from the hospital to tell her that her mother had passed away and that she needed to come home.

She never did find that other boot.

Three hours later, she was sitting in her living room next to one of her mother's DAR friends, fielding calls from concerned friends and relatives wanting details about the funeral and the circumstances of her mother's death. All of them were sympathetic to Claire and her family, and all of them told Claire that she shouldn't hesitate to call if she needed anything. Claire fought the urge to tell them that what she really needed was to be left alone so that she could curl up in her bed and cry and fall asleep and not have to worry about what she was supposed to say to Aunt Florence from New Jersey who once called her mother a "shameless tart" and never said sorry, or to Gladys, her mother's best friend from high school who hadn't spoken to Catherine Standish in almost eight years and wanted to know every single detail about Claire's life at college. By the end of the day, Claire was ready to rip the phone out of the wall and throw it into the garbage can.

She'd settled for a cookie and a warm shower. All of the neighbors had ordered their maids to cook up something fresh and delicious, therefore saving her own maid from having to do it. The kitchen counter boasted a plate of cookies and an apple pie, and the refrigerator had three or four casserole dishes crammed onto the bottom shelf. Claire hoped that they wouldn't receive anymore food, but was pretty sure that they would. Luckily her brother Daniel was flying in tomorrow, and he was a heavy eater.

Claire stood up from her chair and walked over to her dresser, which was covered with old pictures of people she hadn't seen or talked to in years. Girls from the Prep Club and Student Council, old boyfriends that, at the time, she was so sure that she would end up marrying. She picked up a picture of herself and her best friend Janice that had been taken in the school parking lot right after Prom. Janice was wearing a little tiara and a goofy expression, and Claire's hair was poking out every which way, but it was a snapshot from one of the best nights of her life, and every time she looked at it she could almost hear the music playing in the background as she danced. She hadn't seen or spoken to Janice in over two years, but just looking at that picture brought it all back in one giant wave.

Claire pushed the prom picture aside and reached for the frame beside it. It was of the Breakfast Club and it had been taken at the end of the summer, the week before she'd left for college. In the middle was Brian, who was trying not to laugh at John, who was sitting next to him, verbalizing his doubts about Andy's heterosexuality. On Brian's left was Andy, who was glaring at John and holding hands with Allison, who was the only one not making a goofy face for once. Claire was sitting to John's right, hand on his knee, rolling her eyes at the conversation going on around her. There had been another picture, one where everyone was looking at the camera and smiling (or, in John's case, smirking), but for some reason, Claire had preferred this one.

There were a million people she could have called, a million people she could have asked for comfort. She had only considered calling four of them and had settled on one. Why them, why him? She hadn't spoken to any of them in years. They didn't even know one another anymore.

Someone knocked very quietly on her door. Claire stepped away from her dresser and pulled her robe closer to her chest. "Come in."

The door opened very slowly and her father poked his head into the room. "Sweetie? Are you alright?"

Claire nodded. "I was just about to go to bed."

Her father gave her a warm smile. "I appreciate you coming home so quickly, Princess. You've been such a big help."

Claire returned the smile, wondering all the while what her father was really thinking. On the phone that morning, he'd sounded very calm. Serious, but calm. Even when she arrived home crying, he'd comforted her as though she were the only one grieving. Maybe that's what dads were supposed to do when a family member dies, comfort their kids and forsake their own grief, but she still wished that he would give her some clue as to how he was feeling. She knew her parents didn't have a great relationship when she was growing up, but part of her hoped that it had grown stronger after she left, when it was just the two of them all alone in that big house with no one there to fight over or get in the way. Judging by her father's ability to cover up his feelings, she'd probably never know.

"Well, get some sleep. We'll need to be at the funeral home early tomorrow to go over the details."

Claire swallowed deeply. "Okay."

Calvin Standish stepped forward and enveloped his daughter in a large hug. "It's good to have you home."

Claire felt the tears pricking the back of her eyes. "Thanks," she croaked.

Her father stepped back and gave her another smile. "Good night, sweetheart."

"Night, Daddy."

Mr. Standish walked back out into the hall and closed the door behind him. Claire stood there for a moment, dazed and tired, then went back over to her dresser and picked up the photo of the Breakfast Club once more. She stared at it for a long moment, memorizing the faces she hadn't seen in so long. There was a reason she'd thought to call them first, but she couldn't quite put her finger on it, couldn't quite form the words. She also wasn't sure how they'd react to her news or to her request. Brian was different, which was why she'd called him first, but what about Andy? What about Allison? What about…

Claire swallowed and ran her thumb over the glass just over the place where her hand rested on John's leg. It had been such a strange relationship, hers and John's, so unexpected and bumpy and short. They could never have been friends, that much was obvious. Right from the start, it was all or nothing with them. During the rest of the school year and the summer it was, in turns, a little bit of both, but in the end it was nothing. They'd parted ways on September 3rd, 1984, and hadn't said a word to one another since.

Claire put the photo back onto her dresser, then changed her mind and picked it up again. She walked over to her bed and placed the frame on her nightstand facing her bed. Then she crawled under the sheets and pulled the covers over her shoulders to fight off the cold. For a long time, she just stared at the picture of the five of them together, wondering if they could ever reclaim that as adults. After a while, she gave up and turned off the light.