I forgot to disclaim. Nothing associated with Numb3rs belongs to me, which is good because I really am terrible at numbers. ;)
Alan tightened the belt of his robe as he walked down the stairs. His back was sore and his knees a little tender, both reminders that he really was the age listed on his driver's license. He hadn't meant to play an 18-hole game, and he certainly hadn't meant to spend so much time at the 19th hole afterward. He'd conned himself into thinking it would be good for Charlie to fend for himself for dinner on one or two random occasions. Now, though, he wished he had been home and had made dinner as he usually did. Charlie hadn't even been home when he'd got here last night, so he didn't know why he was working himself up over it. His youngest brilliant child had probably headed straight to the community college after work. Lord knew how long he'd spent there – sometimes Charlie didn't get home until after midnight.
He smelled the coffee before he hit the threshold of the kitchen, and it had never been a more welcome aroma. Whomever it was who'd invented the automatic brew setting on coffee makers should be nominated for sainthood, regardless of what religion they practiced. He reached in the cupboard, snagged his favorite mug and poured himself a cup. Alan set his drink down on the table and shuffled to the front door to collect the paper. The damned delivery person never made it to the steps. He grumbled about his knees and his back as he retrieved the paper from the middle of the sidewalk. And then he grumbled some more when he discovered Charlie had left the front light on all night.
"Eh, he pays most of the bills now. Who am I to complain?" he muttered to himself.
Flipping the switch down as he walked by it, Alan then spotted the mess Charlie had left and rolled his eyes. Still, he didn't pick up the jacket and merely looked at the pile of mail, which looked to be more of those bills he didn't worry so much about anymore. His coffee was probably just perfect for consumption now, which seemed the most important thing at the moment. Charlie had probably come home so late he was dead on his feet; a little clutter wasn't such a bad thing. It reminded him that he wasn't alone, at least not entirely. He slapped the paper on the table and headed for the fridge. He normally drank his coffee black, but he kept creamer on hand for those moments where he had the sudden need to feel his wife in even the smallest of ways. She loved hazelnut.
"Knock, knock."
He turned slightly toward the front door, surprised to hear Don's voice at this hour. He sat down and poured a little of the hazelnut concoction into his coffee.
"In here, Donnie," he called. The morning news would have to wait, but that was okay. It'd been a while since Don had stopped by in the evening, which meant he was busier than usual. Alan had actually been a bit worried. "Good morning."
"Hey, Dad, how's it going?"
"So far, so good. It's barely eight."
In other words, he thought, why are you here at this hour?
"Yeah," Don said, tilting his head toward the coffee. Alan nodded. "I've been kind of busy. Haven't seen you guys in a while, but I figured tonight would be like most lately and I wouldn't make it."
His oldest looked, well, older than he was, which told Alan more than the admission just how overworked Don was. He didn't ask for details, for details weren't usually something that could be given. Technically, he wasn't sure he should even know when Charlie helped out.
"You look tired."
"Funny, I was just going to tell you that."
"Too much golf followed by too many beers."
Don laughed. Sort of. Alan wasn't entirely sure his son was capable of a true laugh anymore. It had been years since the action had included more than his mouth, and he wished to see sparkle in his son's eyes again. He pushed the chair next to him out with his foot, glad when Don actually took the invitation. He didn't expect the visit would last long.
"As long as you had fun at the time, Dad."
"Yeah." Alan smiled. He did have a good time yesterday. They hadn't exactly gotten much hashed out, business-wise, so the day had to be a one time thing. From now on, he and Stan had to buckle down. He glanced at the countertops free of clutter except a lone, almost full bottle of water. Charlie might be a genius with numbers, but he was a slob. He shook his head slightly and sipped at his coffee. "I did have fun. I don't think I can take too many days in a row like that, though."
"All play and no work."
"Oh, let's not go there or I'll have to remind you of the actual way that axiom goes."
"If we could somehow figure out how to make bad guys not be bad, I would have so much free time, Dad," Don said, gulping down his coffee like he expected it to replace the blood in his veins. "Where's Charlie?"
"Still sleeping. He had a later night than I did." Alan shook his head again. "Wednesday nights are Math for Dummies."
"Dummies like you and me."
"Exactly."
"Well, tell him I said hi when he finally drags himself out of bed." Don stood up and stretched a little, trying to cover a yawn that Alan saw anyway. "I should get going. It never looks good when I'm the last one in."
"Don't be a stranger," Alan said, and he hoped Don knew he meant that more than the way it sounded. "The door's always open."
"I know it is, Dad."
He watched Don rinse out his mug and put it in the dishwasher, then take the abandoned bottle and dump the remaining contents out. Though he'd had thirty odd years to get used to them, the difference between his sons sometimes still managed to amaze him. It wasn't so much that Don thought it important to clean up after himself, but that he didn't think about it at all. He just did it. To Charlie, sometimes nothing else warranted attention but numbers. Which was why he should get in the shower and then to the grocery store. If he didn't, someone around here would waste away to practically nothing.
"Try to remember that if it's not life or death, you should be able to make time for family," Alan said. Don cringed, and then so did he. He sounded like his mother. "Sorry."
"No, you're right."
"We actually do miss you when you don't come around. I swear Charlie gets twitchier than usual when he doesn't have a case of yours to work on. Just judging from his twitches, I think it's been over a month."
"All right, all right. I'll come around more."
Don gave him a wry look, put on his sunglasses and breezed out the door. And that, as they say, was that. Alan knew he shouldn't lecture, but despite his sons were obviously grown men, he was still their father. He could work on not treating them like kids over the next thirty odd years. He shut the door and then trudged back up the stairs for his shower. The morning jog was out. His knees had enough of a workout yesterday, or so he told himself. Today was strictly low-impact. A couple of laps around the market should do the trick, plus the calories he'd burn cooking up a great dinner.
The morning flew by. He spent too much time squeezing melons at the grocery store, but there was something about a good melon he couldn't resist. Now he was elbow deep in chopped carrots, onions, celery and potatoes. The beef cubes were browning nicely. Beef stew wasn't exactly gourmet, but sometimes it hit the spot – filling and comforting. And since he knew his youngest so well, he knew Charlie hadn't eaten properly yesterday. He could use a little stick-to-the-ribs cooking to make up for it. Alan took the beef off the heat and scraped it directly into the slow cooker, then added the vegetables, a few spices and a bit of broth. It smelled delicious already. His stomach growled.
Alan patted the rumbling reminder of the lunchtime hour, as if to appease a beast within, and went out to check the mail first. If he was lucky the carrier had stopped by early…on time…today. He was pleased to find luck was indeed on his side. Not only had the mail already been delivered, but several of his magazine subscriptions had arrived. When he walked back through the house, he noticed several of Charlie's things still scattered about.
"Kid, what am I going to do with you?" he said into the air. "Nearly thirty and I still have to pick up after you."
With a patient, fond smile for his absent and absentminded son, he picked up yesterday's bills and took them with him to the kitchen. No harm if he monitored the stuff; after all, Charlie might forget about them indefinitely. He laid them down and quickly cleaned up the mess he'd made in beef stew preparation before he rummaged through the fridge for sandwich makings. His stomach growled again and he found himself famished just by the proximity of food that was ready to eat. He remembered that he hadn't eaten breakfast. Guess he shouldn't talk about his son's distractions when he demonstrated that trait just fine himself. Alan had his mouth full of turkey, spinach and tomato on whole grain when the phone rang. He chewed hastily and swallowed before dashing for the phone.
"Eppes residence," he said without checking caller ID.
"Alan, it's Larry Fleinhardt."
Huh, he thought, odd of Larry to call in the middle of the day.
"Hi, Larry, what's up?"
"I wondered if Charles felt better."
"What…what do you mean, better?" The feeling in his gut that had been hunger turned into something else altogether. "Was he sick?"
"No, not sick, per se," Larry said. There was a long pause. "I just assumed…yesterday he said something about not feeling like himself, and when he didn't arrive for his first two classes today I thought perhaps he was ill."
Didn't show up. Didn't show up? Larry was right. Charlie might be prone to forgetting things like cleaning up after himself, but it wasn't like him to just not show up for work that he was damned passionate about. Alan paced a few steps and then a few steps more and ended up in the den. The jacket over the sofa's arm jumped out at him now, as did the stack of manila folders on the end table. His mind raced with all sorts of parental what-if scenarios. There could be a very logical explanation, like Charlie was in fact sick.
"To be honest, I haven't seen him today," Alan said. "I'll go check on him. Hold on a second?"
He let his phone hand drift to his side as he climbed the stairs and headed toward Charlie's room. The door was slightly ajar. Alan couldn't remember if it had been that way all day or not. He rapped lightly on it, pushing it open another inch or two. The room was empty. The bed was rumpled, but that didn't really mean much. Charlie often forgot to make the bed.
"Larry, he's not here."
"He's not there."
"No, he's not here."
Alan was tangentially aware that the conversation had turned into more of a mimic session than anything else, but he had that horrible feeling. The one he'd had when Don was eight and had fallen out of the tree in the park, the one he'd had when Charlie vanished into the garages in a ceaseless fit of problem solving and hadn't eaten for a week straight.
"You said he wasn't himself yesterday," Alan said, thinking, thinking. "Did something happen?"
"Not that I'm aware."
He was out the door before he realized instinct was taking him to the garage. Alan flung the door open. He was met by a chalkboard but no Charlie. A pang of disappointment shot through him, lessened only by a little relief that Charlie wasn't locked in some strange mathematical haze. That which we don't understand, he thought, we fear. And he didn't understand Charlie when he got like…that.
"He's not in the garage either."
"I can't help but be alarmed, Alan," Larry said. There was another long pause. "It's not like Charles to abandon his responsibilities without a good reason."
"We don't know he doesn't have a good reason."
Lies. Alan knew. The manila folders in the den had had the mail from yesterday on top of them, which meant Charlie hadn't touched them after dropping them there. If he had brought work home with him, he would have done that work.
"That's true."
"Larry, when was the last time you saw him?"
"I gave him a ride home at about 2:30. He had tests to grade and said he would be just as comfortable doing them at home."
"He didn't touch them," Alan said. He left the garage out the other door, and stood in sunshine that should have warmed him but left him inexplicably cold. "I didn't think anything of it when the lights weren't on when I got home, because I know Charlie had a class last night."
"Oh, I have a very bad feeling." Larry paused again. "I'm going to try to find Amita. Maybe she knows where he is."
"Call me when you have news."
"You do the same."
Alan nodded, forgetting he was on the phone until it clicked in his ear. He pulled it away from his ear and turned it off. Scrubbing his hand across his face as he walked, he stumbled slightly. The day suddenly didn't seem quite as low impact as he'd hoped for. As he went back into the house, he glanced at his watch. 1:45. For all he knew, something had happened to one of his boys, and it had happened almost 24 hours ago.
Dum-dum-dummmmm.