This story is practically writing itself :)

Chapter 3

Hosting Larry Fleinhart proved to be quite the experience. Initially, Charlie had been more than happy to let Larry stay with him and Amita, but his willingness changed after the first couple of nights. Little Larry was woken around 2 a.m. the first night, thanks to Big Larry's loud gargling of salt water and vinegar.

Then the second night, Charlie and Amita's sleep was disturbed by a strobe light coming from beneath Larry's door, which emitted a low-pitched vibration with every pulse. Larry explained it was essential for "good sleep hygiene," whatever that meant. Amita nearly threw a fit, but Charlie promised her that he'd resolve things in the morning.

"Don, hey," Charlie called his brother as soon as the sun rose. "Do you have a minute?"

"What's this about? I'm helping Robin get the kids ready for preschool," Don said, half distracted.

"It's about Larry. You guys have a spare bedroom, right?"

"Yeah, but it's the new baby's nursery," said Don. "There's just a crib and rocker in there, no regular bed. Wait, hold on… why are you trying to pass Larry off to me?"

"Oh no, it's not like that, it's just… Amita's been having trouble sleeping lately, and Larry's snoring isn't helping, so I was just wondering if –"

"What, you think Robin isn't tossing and turning all night too?" Don scoffed. "Nice try, but I'm not risking my pregnant wife's wrath."

"I don't want mine's wrath either!" pleaded Charlie.

"Look, why don't we just split the cost for a hotel room?" Don suggested. "And while we're on the subject, what sort of plan does Larry have, anyway? Freeload the rest of his life?"

"I – I haven't really asked him yet," Charlie confessed. "I didn't want to press him too much for answers, since he seems to… be struggling to re-acclimate."

"Hey, Charlie?" Larry's voice carried from the other room. "Do you have any adult-sized diapers, or just the infant ones?"

"Nice chatting with you, Charlie, but I've got my hands full," Don said quickly. "And it sounds like you do too! Bye!"

"No, wait –"

Charlie's plea fell on deaf ears. Sighing in defeat, he turned around to find Larry suddenly two feet in front of his face, holding up a canned food item.

"CHARLIE!" he nearly screamed at the math professor. "Is this what I think it is?!"

"A can of artichokes?"

"AAAGGH! You BARBARIAN!" Larry tossed the can at random, crashing over a vintage Tiffany lamp. "How can you even LIVE with yourself?!" he demanded as he stormed off.

Charlie looked at the colored glass shards, blinked several times, then calmly dialed another number on his phone.

"Hello, Holiday Inn? I'd like to book a room under the name Larry Fleinhart."

To his credit, Charlie tried admirably to adapt Larry into his old surroundings. On day 3, they took a casual stroll around Cal Sci's campus, admiring the statuary and dining hall cuisine. Larry's lunch plate featured a striking assortment of light-colored foods, without a single fruit or vegetable to be seen. Each item was arranged in precise geometric shapes, mostly diamonds and acute triangles.

"Little Larry went through a beige food phase too," Charlie commented. "Though he never shaped it half so nicely."

"Little Larry…" Big Larry absent-mindedly sculpted his pile of mashed potatoes. "What's he up to today?"

"Let's see, it's Wednesday, so Amita's taking him to his weekly Planetarium visit."

"She takes him each time?"

"Yes…" Charlie found the question strange.

"Pff," jeered Larry. "A child his age? Still chaperoned everywhere?"

"He's three."

"My point exactly," Larry shook his head dubiously, savoring a bite of mozzarella quiche. "So Amita… is she teaching any classes?"

"Not anymore, no," replied Charlie. "She quit when little Larry started showing signs of mathematical genius that I did as a toddler. We both agreed he needs someone devoted full-time to his advanced development."

With Larry's mouth currently full of tapioca pudding, Charlie decided to seize the moment.

"Since you brought up teaching classes, when do you plan on returning to the lecture hall?" he inquired innocently.

"Hmm, I'm not sure these brick-and-mortar halls are where I belong anymore," Larry sounded rather doubtful.

"Why not? You know Millie will throw you the party of the century when you come back."

"Millie… Millie… why do I associate that name with fear and dread?" Larry rubbed his chin, trying to remember.

Charlie lowered his eyes suddenly. "Speaking of fear and dread…"

"Good afternoon, Chuck!" an annoying voice greeted from behind them. "Haven't seen you eat here in ages. Always too good for us, eating home-cooked meals prepared by your barefoot, pregnant wife."

"Yes, it's been a while, hasn't it Marshall?" he gave a thin-lipped smile to his math colleague. "About as long since your last date, if I recall correctly."

Larry was content to simply watch the two rivals exchange barbs, but eventually, Marshall Penfield took notice of the amiable face sitting across from Charlie.

"You look so familiar…" Marshall tilted his head at Larry. "Why is that?"

"Five bucks if you can guess," snorted Charlie.

"Now that's a bet I can't refuse!" Marshall beamed. "Challenge accepted. Let's see, you're not that scrawny assistant Charlie kept around a couple years back… and I don't think you're any of those obnoxious FBI agents either…"

"Ten seconds to guess, or the bet's off," Charlie put the pressure on.

"Oh, oh… it's on the tip of my tongue… aah, I know this!" groaned Marshall, slapping a hand against the side of his head.

"Five… four… three…"

"I've got it – Richard Simmons!"

"…two… one! Oh, I'm sorry Marshall, but your time's up. While I, too, have always secretly thought of this man as a fuller-bodied Richard Simmons, he is, in fact, Larry Fleinhart. Nice try though!" Charlie clapped his hands.

Marshall's face went pale. "Larry Fleinhart? The physics professor who... died in that shuttle accident?"

"Shh, I don't think he got the memo about being dead," Charlie feigned a conspiratorial tone.

Larry straightened in his chair, looking pleased. "You've always compared me to Richard Simmons? A greater compliment I cannot imagine, Charlie. Thank you."

"So, if you're not dead, are you back here at Cal Sci?" Marshall asked with intense interest. "Why haven't I heard about any of this? Shouldn't it be all over the news?"

"We're keeping it low-key for now," advised Charlie. "Besides you and my immediate family, no one else knows yet. And I'm hoping you have the integrity to keep it that way."

Marshall smugly crossed his arms. "For the right price, I might."

Charlie moaned. "I'm afraid to even ask."

"Oh, it's just a small favor. Tiny, miniscule really. I've been dabbling in poetry of late," Marshall told them. "I composed a little something to hang on your office door. It goes: Roses are red, violets are blue, Mrs. Charlie Eppes is pregnant again, next year she may be too!"

A fierce shade of red crept up Charlie's neck and into his cheeks. Marshall's new favorite pastime, it seemed, was mocking Amita for her "demeaning" homemaker status.

"No deal, Penfield," Charlie said through clenched teeth.

"Tough luck, Fleinhart," shrugged Marshall as he started walking away. "Can't say I didn't try to spare you from the media."

Something occurred to Larry just then, and he leaned across to whisper it to Charlie before Marshall disappeared. A clever grin spread across Charlie's face.

"Wait, Marshall!" Charlie called out. "You've got a deal. That poem will be on my office door by tomorrow."

Not one to take anyone at their word, Marshall Penfield walked straight to Charlie Eppes' office door first thing the next morning. At first he saw no sign of the promised poem. Just as he was about to call Charlie and reprimand him for delinquency, a business-card-sized paper taped just below the door handle caught his eye.

Marshall peered closer to inspect it. He could distinguish a few words printed on it, but the font was so miniscule, he'd need a magnifying glass to read it without his eyes crossing.

"Well played, Chuck. Well played," he said under his breath, realizing he never specified what size to print the poem. He had, after all, described the favor as "tiny" and "miniscule."

Three more chapters to come!