A/N: Thanks for reading and reviewing. : )

Chapter Seven: Making Arrangements

Andy was woken up at 8:30 on Sunday morning by Paul, who told him that he had yet another phone call from Brian. This time, it was to ask if Andy would be able to pick him up from the train station in Chicago on Monday morning.

"I would ask one of my parents, but they have to work and I didn't want to bug Claire, so…"

Andy sighed and rubbed the sleep out of one eye. "Yeah, okay. What time?"

"It pulls in at 8:40."

Andy hesitated. "In the morning?"

"Uh, yeah."

It was a six hour drive from Columbus to Chicago, which meant that he'd need to leave at about 2 A.M. Andy shook his head. "Okay."

"Hey, thanks. I really appreciate it."

"Yeah, no problem," Andy muttered sleepily. "I'll see you then."

"Okay. See you tomorrow."

"Okay, bye." Andy hung up the phone and groaned out loud. He hadn't planned on leaving until Monday afternoon, which would have put him in Illinois sometime that night. Now, he would not only have to be in Shermer longer than he wanted to, but he would also have to get up in the middle of the night to drive for six hours in the dark.

At that moment, he hated Brian more than he'd ever hated anyone in his life.

Andy went back to bed and woke up at about 11:00. He took a shower and got dressed and walked into the kitchen at about 11:30 to find Paul standing at the counter making himself a couple of ham and cheese sandwiches. When he saw Andy, he grinned. "Hey, I went shopping."

Andy looked around the kitchen to see paper bags scattered all over the floor, some of them full and others empty. "Yeah, I can tell."

"I got a bunch of sandwich meat and some chips and cookies and stuff and then I got some hamburger meat because I thought maybe we could make hamburgers out on the grill sometime and-"

"We don't have a grill."

Paul nodded. "I know, but I'm sure we can find someone who has one. The guy a couple doors down is always cooking something outside. He'll probably let us borrow it."

Andy frowned. "What, you're just going to go ask for it and expect him to say yes?"

Paul shrugged. "Sure, why not? I mean, I'm not gonna send you down there to do it. One look at your sour face and he'd say no right away. I, on the other hand, happen to be very charming." Andy scowled at him, but before he could say anything, Paul went on. "Plus, I got…" He reached down into a sack by his foot and pulled out a bottle of barbeque sauce. "Barbeque sauce! So, we can make ribs."

"Did you get ribs?"

Paul nodded. "And chicken. We'll have a barbeque. Tomorrow night maybe."

Andy sighed. "I can't tomorrow night."

"Why? Hot date?"

Andy shook his head. "I'm going back to Shermer."

Paul stopped making his sandwich and looked up at him. "Really? When'd you decide that?"

"Last night. This girl I knew in high school, a friend…her mother died and she wants me to come back for the funeral."

Paul nodded. "Were y'all close?"

Andy shrugged. "There were a few of us that hung out together during that last semester. She invited all of us, apparently. Like it's some fucking reunion or something." Andy knew that he sounded insensitive, but he didn't care.

Paul didn't say anything for a minute. Finally, he held got a plate down from the counter above him and looked over at Andy. "Want a sandwich?"

Andy nodded. "Yeah, okay."

Paul took out a couple of pieces of bread and started preparing the sandwich. "How long will you be there?"

"I don't know. I leave tonight. Or, this morning. Probably about 2 A.M."

Paul whistled. "Take some coffee with you."

"Yeah, no kidding."

"You gonna stay with your parents?"

"I don't know," Andy answered truthfully. He hadn't actually talked to his parents yet, and he dreaded telling them that he was going back, only because he knew that his mother would want to see him as soon as he got in and his father, now that the wrestling season was over, would want to ask how his grades were and what his plans were for after graduation. Andy could practically feel the walls moving in on him before he even arrived. Maybe he wouldn't have to tell them just yet. Maybe he could wait until Tuesday and then just show up on their doorstep like it was a surprise or something. At least it would give him an extra day.

Paul handed him the plate and wiped his hand off on a napkin. "Well, the barbeque can always wait until you get back."

"Why can't we just do it tonight?"

Paul picked up his sandwich again. "I'm going out with some guys for Jacob's birthday." He looked over at Andy. "You should come. It'll be fun."

Andy felt his stomach turn over at the idea of hanging out with guys he'd hadn't seen since wrestling season ended. "Uh, that's okay. I need to pack and make plans and stuff, so I probably won't have time."

Paul nodded. "Okay, but if you change your mind, we're going to the Black Dog. We'll probably get there at about 9:00."

Andy nodded, though he knew he wouldn't make it. "Yeah, thanks. I'll keep that in mind."

Claire sat at a small circular table, staring down at pictures of flower arrangements. She had been sitting in the exact same spot for the past two and a half hours, signing papers, writing out lists, making decisions. She'd never been so tired in her whole life.

"There are more samples on the other side…yes, there you are."

Claire looked up at Mr. Peterson, the funeral home director. "What do you suggest?" she asked, not wanting to shuffle through eighteen more pages of bouquets.

Mr. Peterson reached out and pointed at a picture of pink roses and white lilies flowing over a honey-toned casket. "This one is nice, especially if you wanted to go with a spring look."

It sounded like he was talking about a piece of clothing. Claire nodded. "Alright."

"There's also this one over here…" He flipped the page and pointed at a dark wooden casket topped with red roses. "It's simple, but very elegant. It all depends on what you would like for your mother."

Claire thought about her mother's closet, filled with expensive dresses and tailored dress suits. She remembered watching her get dressed for her father's company's annual Christmas party when Claire was only eight. Her mother was a beautiful woman anyway, but when she slipped on that dark green evening gown, Claire thought she had to be the most beautiful person in the entire world.

Claire swallowed and pointed at the picture of the red roses. "That one," she said firmly.

Mr. Peterson nodded. "Excellent choice. Those will look lovely with the walnut casket you chose earlier."

Claire nodded again, but didn't say anything. She glanced at her watch. 10:42. Her brother's flight would land any minute, and her father had left a couple of hours earlier to pick him up. She wished that he could have sent someone else to do it so that he could be there with her to make all of these decisions, but at the same time, she didn't want her brother to be greeted by a total stranger when he arrived in Chicago for their mother's funeral.

"Okay, now we can move on to the service itself."

Claire sighed. "Alright."

Mr. Peterson pulled out his lined yellow notepad and started making a list. "Do you have a minister that you would like to use?"

Claire shook her head. "We didn't really go to church."

Mr. Peterson nodded. "That's fine. I can arrange that for you. I can also take care of the organist, if you'd prefer."

Claire nodded. "Yes, thank you."

Mr. Peterson jotted down a few more notes, then looked up again. "Now, did your mother have any favorite hymns that you would like to have played during the service?"

Claire paused, trying to remember if her mother had ever mentioned something like that before. "I…I don't know."

Mr. Peterson nodded. "That's alright. What about Bible verses, or poems? Something that reminds you of your mother, something she liked?"

Again, Claire was at a loss. "I don't know that either." She looked unnecessarily at the seat next to her. "My father might know, but he's not here. He had to pick up my brother, but maybe I can call him or…" Suddenly, Claire felt incredibly alone. She didn't want to be planning her mother's funeral in the first place, but she especially didn't want to do it by herself without anyone sitting beside her.

Without warning, tears pricked the back of her eyes and started spilling over onto her cheeks. She wanted her dad to be there with her, to tell her the stories she didn't remember, to be in charge and make the decisions she didn't want to make. Most of all, she just didn't want her mother to be gone. There were so many things she didn't know about her, and now she wouldn't even be able to ask.

"You don't have to know all of these things."

Claire looked up at Mr. Peterson, who was sitting calmly on the other side of the table, holding out a box of Kleenex. "Why don't we stop here for today? I'll call the minister and the organist, and you can speak with you father, and we'll meet back here in the morning."

Claire managed a brief nod and stood up from her chair. "Thank you."

The older man nodded. "You're welcome."

Allison arrived back at her apartment at about 11:00 to find Cecilia curled up on the couch with a blanket wrapped around her shoulders and a box of tissues sitting on the cushion beside her. When Allison stepped into the apartment, Cecilia looked up, her eyes red from crying. Allison frowned. "What happened?"

Cecilia shook her head in disbelief. "He died."

Allison narrowed her eyes in confusion and Cecilia pointed at the television screen, which Allison hadn't even noticed was on. "Richard. He…he died of a broken heart."

Allison walked over to the couch, where she had a clear view of the television screen. It was one of those sappy, tragic love stories with slow fade-outs and swelling orchestras. A handsome man with dark hair was walking towards a beautiful woman in a Victorian dress, and they met on a cloud as the closing music started playing. "What is this?"

"Somewhere In Time," said Cecilia, wiping a smudge of mascara from under one eye. "This guy falls in love with a woman from another century and he goes back in time to be with her, but-"

"How does someone fall in love with a person from another century?"

"He sees her picture. She's really, really beautiful," said Cecilia, as if this explained everything. "So, anyway, he goes back in time to be with her and they fall in love and, but then he ends up back in his own time again and he can't go back and he stops eating and dies of a broken heart."

Allison just stood there, staring at the screen. She couldn't for the life of her understand the appeal of movies like that. Wasn't the world sad enough as it was?

"So, what did you do today?"

Allison looked away from the television screen and over at her roommate. "Went on a walk."

"Oh, that sounds like fun."

Allison didn't confirm her assumption. It hadn't been all that fun, to be honest. In high school, she stole things because it made her feel good, as though the item she was taking held the key to her eventual freedom. When she moved to New York and stealing meant the difference between sleeping in a train station or a locked apartment, the thrill disappeared rather quickly.

Allison moved past Cecilia and sat down on the armchair next to the couch. "I'm leaving tonight to go back home."

Cecilia looked over at her. "Really? Why?"

Allison hesitated. "To see some friends."

Cecilia watched her for a moment. "It's a guy, isn't it?"

Allison blinked, but didn't say anything, and Cecilia grinned. "It's a guy!" She started laughing. "An ex-boyfriend, isn't it? I'm right, aren't I? Tell me I'm right."

Allison just stared back, keeping her face blank.

"You need a battle plan if you're going to win him back, Allison. Some low-cut tops and some sexy perfume. I know you don't like wearing that kind of stuff, but, trust me, it works. I'll let you borrow some of mine." She grinned slyly. "You'll have him back in bed in no time."

Allison didn't respond to that. She ran her hand over one of the many bulges in her jacket and looked back up at the television, where a gigantic jar of pasta sauce was dancing with a bowl of spaghetti and singing a cheesy theme song with an Italian accent. "I have money for rent. I'll leave it on the kitchen counter."

Cecilia nodded distractedly as the pasta commercial ended and previews for the next movie started playing. "Oh, Love Story. Isn't that the one where the girl dies at the end? It's so sad. Stay and watch it with me."

Allison didn't answer, just stood from her chair and walked back to her bedroom to get packed.

Claire arrived home from the funeral home at about 11:30, hungry and tired. She knew that it was a bit early for lunch, but she wondered if she could sneak a few of those chocolate chip cookies she'd sampled the night before. She walked into the kitchen and threw her purse and coat onto the kitchen table, then walked over to the counter, where the glass platter was sitting, empty except for a few crumbs. She sighed angrily. There was half a plate left when she'd walked in that morning for breakfast! Did Sandra put them somewhere else?

"If you're looking for the cookies, don't bother."

Claire whirled around to see her brother Daniel standing in the doorway, smiling sadly. "Airline food tastes like shit. I couldn't help myself."

Claire didn't say anything, just ran over to him and threw her arms around his neck. He caught her easily, and she clung to him for a long time, burying her face in his shoulder and crying all over his dark red sweater. When she finally let go, Daniel just stood there as she wiped away her tears.

"I got your sweater wet," she said finally.

"That's okay. It's just cashmere."

Claire let out a little laugh as a fresh wave of tears poured out. She wiped them away hastily and smiled up at him. "Hi," she said tearfully.

"Hi."

"When did you get here?"

"A few minutes ago. Dad's around here somewhere."

"How was your flight?"

"Long. How are you?"

Claire shrugged. "Oh, you know…"

"Because you look like shit."

Claire scoffed. "Gee, thanks."

"You're welcome."

Claire rolled her eyes. "Is this why you came back? To make fun of me?"

Daniel shrugged. "Maybe."

Claire laughed once more, wiping her cheeks. "Good."

A/N: Just to clear things up, Brian doesn't necessarily choose to stay up at night. Insomniacs can't help but stay awake, even if they're really tired (which, they are). I had a friend that would only get one hour of sleep per week, even though the one thing he wanted more than anything was a full night's rest. So Brian's only fault here really is that he sees it as an advantage and isn't seeking treatment, not that he started doing it on purpose in the first place, because he didn't. In Brian's case, his insomnia is caused by stress and anxiety, which he probably doesn't realize.

And yes, the saying about Alphabet City in the last chapter was real, though it doesn't necessarily apply to Alphabet City today since a lot of artistic, yuppie types live in the area now. Back in the 1980's, it was a crummy neighborhood, full of prostitutes and drug addicts and whatnot.