#8 – Silence

Steve walked into the house through the garage door, twirling his keys around his finger. "Jean? Jake, Tom!" he called, but he didn't expect an answer. Jean's car was gone and Jake and Tom were rarely home. He dropped the keys on the counter and moved to the phone.

There were a couple of notes in front of the answering machine. The first one was from his wife, and it read:

Steve,

I know you pay attention to me like your life depends on it. However, in case you had a bout of amnesia, I'm in Chicago for the next two days for the publisher's workshop. Feed the boys (and make sure they eat something green!) Remind Jake to feed Homer, make sure their homework is done, and for the love of God, make sure they get up for school on time. I love you – make sure everyone behaves. That includes you, mister.

Jean

Steve smiled and moved on to the second note. It was shorter and written in the sloppy handwriting he knew to be his younger son's.

Dad,

I fed Homer already. I'm going to Marco's. I'll snag a burger on my way home.

Jake

"A burger, huh?" Steve said to himself. "Sounds good." He walked through the living room to the foot of the stairs, loosening his tie as he went. When he reached the stairway, he yelled up, "Hey, Tom! Want burgers?" No answer, but he never really expected one. "That kid needs to take a page out of his little brother's book and learn to leave a note," he grumbled.

Well, he had the house to himself. Might as well take advantage, he thought. He grabbed a beer from the back of the refrigerator, wondered briefly how old it was, then shrugged and cracked it open. Tasted okay. He kicked off his shoes and left them in the middle of the living room, plopped on the couch, and started surfing channels.

After he finished his beer, Steve noticed it was getting dark outside. He went through the house, flipping on lights, and realized that he felt strange. He recognized that he was lonely and barked a short, self-deprecating laugh. Just two years ago on an afternoon like this, the house would have been full of noise – Jean on the phone, hounding her publishing agent; Jake roughhousing with Homer; Tom yelling at them to shut up. He laughed at himself as he realized he actually missed the chaos.

He went back into the kitchen to check his stock. He opened the wine cooler, debated on a '96 Chardonnay…then decided against it. What the hell, he thought, and pulled a bottle of Johnny Walker out of the cabinet above the wine cooler. Black Label – the good stuff. Jean would have shot him a disapproving look…but Jean wasn't there. He filled a highball glass with ice and went to carry it and the bottle into the living room when he noticed the answering machine's light flashing.

Setting the tools of self-destruction down, he pressed the button on the machine. "This is Kay McCall, secretary of attendance at the high school. I'm sorry to bother you at home, Mr. and Mrs. Berenson, but I need to speak with you about Jake's attendance over the past two weeks. My records show two unexcused absences, and I wanted to verify with you that they were legitimate. Please call me at 555-7236; thank you for your time."

Steve felt confused for a moment, then brushed the feeling off. He'd talk to Jake about it, but it was a mistake. Had to be – Jake wasn't the sort to ditch class. He picked up the bottle and the glass after putting the portable phone in his pocket and went back into the living room. He poured a generous helping over ice before dialing Peter's number from memory.

"Hello?"

"How are you, Pete? It's Steve."

"Well howdy, stranger. What can I do you for?"

"I need to talk to my no-good son - he around?"

"Hold on." Steve heard him take the phone away from his mouth and call, "Marco! Hey, Marco! Jake?" His voice came back directly onto the receiver. "Sorry, pal, but your no-good son seems to have run off with my no-good son. What's the problem?"

"No problem…Jake just left a note saying he'd be at your place. Don't worry about it."

"Yeah. They're probably just out selling dope."

Steve couldn't help snorting a laugh and almost lost some whiskey through his nostrils. The idea of Jake and Marco selling drugs was pretty funny. "I'm sure that's it."

"Well, I guess I'll get back to the game."

"What game?"

"Cal verses Stanford – you're not watching? It just started."

"Didn't know it was on." He had a sudden burst of inspiration – why be alone just because his family was gone? "You feel like heading over here to watch it?"

A short pause, and then, "Yeah? Depends."

"On what?"

"You got beer in your fridge?"

Steve grinned. "I'm stocked. And the wife is out of town."

"I'm on the way. Let me leave the drug dealers a note. I'll tell them to head over, too."

Steve hung up, much happier than he'd been five minutes ago. He couldn't remember the last time he'd watched a game with Pete; seemed like he was finally getting over losing Eva. Steve was glad…he knew that had been a tough bit of business for Marco and Peter, but it was good that they seemed to be moving on. He thought there was a good chance the boys would all show up, too.

He sat down on the couch, found the Cal game, and settled in to wait for his guests. Homer came in and jumped on the couch, looking for attention; Steve scratched his ears.

"You're not supposed to be on the furniture," he told the dog, but made no effort to shove him off. "I won't tell, though." Homer got comfortable, as if he'd understood what Steve had said.

He took another sip of his drink and said to himself, "Glad Pete's coming over. Silence is golden…but this is ridiculous."

A/N: Hope you're enjoying. If you wouldn't mind, please remember to leave a short review letting me know what you think so far! Thank you =D