Chapter 8: Monday Mornings Suck

"Jim? Jim? Goodness! What on earth –"

Jim strode past Wendy and into the kitchen. Grimly, he slumped onto the nearest chair.

"Bad night." He said dryly.

The kettle started to scream. Jim massaged his temples. His jacket sleeves still smelled thickly of smoke. "Really bad night. God. Monday mornings suck."

"What ever happened?" Wendy asked, sliding aside the kettle and reaching for the coffee grounds. The dry, rich aroma revitalized Jim as she popped open the lid.

"Fire." Jim answered, faced masked, "There was a fire."

"Jim! In the Benbow?"

"Yeah."

"Last night?"

"Uh-huh."

"Jim, how—how horrid! How—but your mother! Is she all right?" Wendy's hand crossed over his shoulders as she pulled up beside him. Her eyes were wide with worry. Jim folded his hands, waiting for the inevitable waterfall of words.

"Where is she now? Oh tell me she's all right! The Benbow – is it, well I mean…is it…burnt? How did it happen? Why didn't you come here last night? Where did you sleep? Were you hurt? Are you all right? My goodness but your exhausted, of course you are!"

"Wen –"

"You're in no condition for school!" Wendy announced. She stood up briskly, taking Jim by the hand. "I think you should go to bed. You can stay here. Father will sleep all day, he won't take notice—"

"Wen—"

"Come on, upstairs. I'll bring back your homework—"

"Wen." Pulling away his hand, Jim backed toward the doorway. In two minutes, Wendy had documented every thought and every emotion festering inside him. It was kathartic in a way, saving Jim the trouble of processing the information himself, but at this moment there wasn't enough space in his head for sympathetic, practical chatter. He needed…well…right now he needed coffee.

"Mom is ok. Friend of the family took us in last night." Jim leaned on the counter. Wendy frowned. Concern still laced her every feature, but she nodded invitingly at the coffee. Turning, Jim reached for a chipped mug, snatching a teabag for Wendy on the way down.

"We don't know what happened." Jim sat. Closing his eyes, he let the coffee steam roll across his throbbing forehead. "It was late….dark…who the Hell knows…"

Wendy steeped her tea, agitatedly fingering the string. "The…the Benbow?"

Jim stared into his coffee. "Gone."

Wendy exhaled quietly. "Gone?"

"Gone." His reflection in the black coffee was dark and glaring. Jim looked away.

Wendy opened her mouth. She closed it again, before venturing a small, "Jim…I'm…I'm so sorry. Truly sorry. I—"

Wendy paused. A storm of wet coughs erupted in the living room. It sounded like someone was choking. An instant later, two pairs of footsteps stampeded down the stairs.

"Oh dear…"Wendy murmured. Deftly, she stood and poured a second mug of coffee.

"The boys are coming down," she said, stooping under the sink and producing a bottle of Tabasco. Jim grimaced, remembering Tiana's monologue from last night. He watched as Wendy stirred hot sauce into the cup. Hurriedly, she headed for the living room.

"I'll be right back," Wendy said, offering a weak smile, "Don't worry. We'll talk later. Everything is going to work out. But, would you get Michael his breakfast?"

Jim nodded, tilting to see over Wendy's shoulder. Noticing, Wendy ducked into the room, but not before Jim caught site of Mr. Darling hanging over his armchair and hacking up enough alcohol for a cocktail party. Jim sighed. Well…at least he made it back. At least.

Two little arms suddenly wrapped around Jim's knees.

"Jim!"

"Hey, Chief." Smiling, Jim accepted the high-five Wendy's youngest brother threw at him.

Michael Darling: he was one of those kids that you always hear about but never find. Like Wendy, his caramel-colored hair and sky blue eyes afforded him a sort of cherubim charm that was amplified by unconditional adoration. The kid was an angel. Michael worshiped Jim and greeted him in kind.

"I brought you this for your first day of school!" the little boy announced. Wiggling like a puppy, Michael presented a box of crayons.

"There are eight colors," Michael informed him. Jim couldn't help but grin. Michael was only five years old, but his tonation was identical to Wendy's. "And I can name them all."

"Yeah?" Jim opened the thin box. He fished out the first crayon and held it up to Michael.

"Black."

"Pretty good…this one?"

"Blue."

"One more?"

"Green!"

"Too good for me, Chief. Now…" Jim pushed back from the table, "How about some break—"

Jim stopped. Standing at the counter, a box of cereal in his hands, was John Darling. The boy surveyed Jim over wide, circular glasses. Jim shifted. He felt like an insect under a magnifying glass. John was a little too scrutinizing for his taste – just like Mr. Darling (when he was sober).

The tension must have strained John's comfort as well. With thin politeness the boy seated himself. "Morning."

Jim waited for John to set his bowl at the table before responding. "Hey."

John's eyes were balanced carefully on the rim of his bowl. "Fine day," he said crisply, giving the cereal box a shake.

Jim looked away. "…sure."

It was suffocating. Jim wished Wendy would hurry up with her father. He and John had never meshed and for indefinite reasons. Their interactions had always been ridged but without conflict. Jim never tried to be overly friendly, John didn't seem to mind, and the two co-existed briefly and effectively through avoidance.

Still, tension existed. Leaning against the wall, Jim watched the two brothers. John emptied the cereal box into Michael's bowl as the two discussed plans to make swords out of toilet paper rolls.

Shamelessly, Jim lingered on the scene. It wasn't that he disliked John. Truthfully, the kid was pretty cool – very bright for his age, a quick thinker, and quicker extrapolator. But for whatever reason, Jim made him uncomfortable. And Jim wasn't about to push that boundary.

A guttural noise from the living room made the boys jump. Inadvertently Jim touched his throat. It sounded painful.

"What was that?" Michael piped as John twisted in his chair. John looked mildly concerned. Michael turned to Jim, "Was that Daddy?"

Jim opened his mouth without an answer just as Wendy slipped through the doorway.

"What was that?" John asked, staring accusingly at Wendy.

Fluidly, Wendy smiled. "That was Father," she replied in a rehearsed sort of way, "He's perfectly fine and – oh Michael don't go in there! We don't want to wake him. Father had a terribly late night at McDuck Bank. Apparently Mr. McDuck kept the financial advisors after hours to update client bases and review tax revenues. Poor Father didn't go to bed until very…"

Wendy spoke casually as her brothers lost interest and accepted the detailed explanation. Jim had to admit that it was a good strategy. Still, he noticed John turning his spoon pensively over his soggy cereal.

Abruptly, John looked up. He spoke directly at Jim. "You smell."

"John!" Wendy rushed to Jim's side, frowning at John. "That is a terrible—"

"Well he does!" John said defensively, wrinkling his nose, "He smells like..like…"

"Burned flesh?"

John snapped his mouth shut, surprised by Jim's comment. Michael's eyes were wide as saucers. Wendy looked faintly disgusted as well, but remained silent as Jim pushed off the wall. "Don't worry it's just smoke."

"John," Wendy said softly, "the Benbow caught fire last night."

John's stiffened. "The what?"

"The Benbow."

"My house."

"You mean that saloon?" John spat, fingers clenched around the back of his chair.

Jim frowned slightly as John glared at him. "Sports bar…" he corrected mutely, "And yeah. It's gone."

Michael stood in his chair as Wendy joined John. John's face contorted as she whispered in his ear. "Why should I?" he hissed, pulling away, "I didn't do anything!"

"Where were the firemen?" Michael asked, "Didn't the dragons come to eat up the fire? We learned about them in school."

Jim snuffed wryly as John stalked by. Wendy looked exasperated. "Firemen don't live in my part of town, Chief."

Michael sat. "So you don't have a house?"

"..nope."

"Does that mean you can't go to school?"

Before Jim could confirm, the doorbell range.

It rang three times.

"Strange…" Wendy said, as the Darling children looked at each other. Their closest neighbor, Ms. De Vil, was not the most affable of types and had made clear that she detested children. Bemused, Wendy went to the door. "Who could that be? Michael, John get your backpacks ready so we can leave after I see who's…Professor Doppler?"

Jim turned away from the canine astrologer beaming in the doorway "…oh son of a mother—"

"Good morning, Ms. Darling!" Dr. Doppler smiled brightly, balancing on the small doorstep. He seemed cheerfully apologetic at Wendy's startled face, "I do apologize, Ms. Darling. I don't mean to intrude but Sarah Hawkins sent me you see. She said that Jim might be here?"

Wendy's face brightened. "Oh Sarah, yes of course! Is she all right? Jim told us about the fire."

Dr. Doppler looked relieved. "Yes…yes. She's all right. A bit worn, poor thing. But um…Jim wouldn't happen to be here…would he?"

Wendy glanced to the side. Jim glared back.

"You see…" Dr. Doppler continued, raising his voice and leaning slightly to follow Wendy's gaze, "...Sarah...well she wishes Jim would go to school today, and there seemed to be a little…spat over the matter before Jim left…And – ah! Well, speak of the devil!"

Rounding the corner, Jim stood beside Wendy. Michael appeared at his hip, eyes wide as Jim blocked the doorway. "Not going, Doc."

Dr. Doppler puffed out his cheeks. "Jim…" he said carefully, "Jim. Jim you're putting me in a very compromising situation. Your mother…"

"She ok?"

"Cried her eyes out after your left and fell asleep on the canapé," Dr. Doppler wrung his hands, glancing apologetically at Wendy. "Jim…I know last night was trying and it's not my place to force you—"

"So don't."

"—But," Dr. Doppler continued, "But I think a distraction may be just what the doctor ordered. Oh…" Dr. Doppler winked at Wendy, "Pardon the pun."

Jim shook his head, "Forget it."

"Jim…" Dr. Doppler rubbed his glasses, "Jim you can ride to FSFTMS with me! All of your little friends can! Look Delilah is right over there with the carriage! Say hello Delilah! Good girl. See?"

Michael and John grinned. Jim raised an eyebrow. Dr. Doppler tried again.

"And don't forget, I will be in the school if you need me. Think of the bonding time, Jim. You'll be in my afternoon class!"

"Real comforting."

"Your mother will kill me if you don't go!"

"I'll take my chances."

"There's ice cream for lunch," Michael offered.

"It doesn't get better than that!" boomed Dr. Doppler.

Jim scowled.

"And," pressed Dr. Doppler, clearly fishing for a persuasive argument, "Ms. Darling will be in many of your classes I'm sure. She can introduce you to your new classmates…show you the ropes. Navigate you through all the high school melodrama…"

Jim didn't respond. Since the fire, he'd forgotten about that kid…Pan. The hot itch of anger returned as Jim inadvertently looked at Wendy. Recognizing the steely gaze, Wendy shook her head, horrified.

"Perhaps," she said, watching Jim, "perhaps tomorrow is a better day for Jim to start school. After all, Monday mornings s– "

"No. The Doc's right, Wen. I'm going." Resolutely, Jim looked ahead. Beyond the town and up the hill, a school bell was ringing. Jim clenched his fists. "I'm even looking forward to it."