A/N: Enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Twenty: Sibling Rivalry

When Brian walked into the living room, he found his little sisters sitting in front of the television, watching old episodes of I Love Lucy. Elizabeth was sitting on the couch, her bare feet tucked up under her, while Gracie sat on the floor below, braiding her own long, dark blonde hair. Neither of them noticed Brian until he walked in and sat down next to Elizabeth on the couch.

"Brian!" Elizabeth launched herself on top of him, throwing her arms around his neck. He laughed and wrapped his arms around her, trying to keep her from falling off of the couch. A few seconds later, he felt another pair of arms on his shoulders, and the couch sank a little lower.

"Are you staying for a long time?"

"I bought you something for your birthday. I spent my own money and everything."

"Uh…" Brian laughed and tried to sit up straight on the couch. "I'll be here for a couple of days," he told Elizabeth.

"Why aren't you staying here?" she asked plaintively.

"Because I'm staying with a friend," he explained. Her face fell a little, and for the first time since he'd returned, he thought that maybe he was being a bit selfish by not spending more time at his parents' house.

"Brian," Gracie said urgently, tugging on his sleeve. "You have to see what I bought you."

"You didn't have to buy me anything," he told her.

"It's your birthday," she said, pushing him playfully. "Why didn't you come home to have a party?"

"Because I was at school."

"Yeah, duh," said Elizabeth, who made a big show of rolling her eyes. Elizabeth was the older of the two, even though she was only two years older than Gracie, who was ten. Brian thought that Elizabeth had grown bossier and more serious since he'd left for college, though he wasn't entirely sure why. Gracie, on the other hand, still acted like the baby.

"Come on," said Gracie, tugging on his arm to lift him from the couch. "I want you to open my present."

"He's not going to open it right now," Elizabeth told her. "We're about to eat dinner."

Gracie looked to Brian for confirmation, and he offered her an apologetic smile. "Right after dinner," he promised.

Gracie sighed and climbed into his lap, leaning her head against his shoulder. Her blonde hair tickled his neck, and her foot dug roughly into his knee. She was heavier than he remembered.

"What's going on in here?"

Brian looked up to see his father standing a few feet away, hands on his hips. "Are these girls bothering you?" he asked his son seriously.

Brian tried to keep a straight face. "Yeah, they're being really annoying," he said.

"Well, in that case…" Mr. Johnson rushed forward, grabbing Elizabeth by the waist and hauling her into the air. She shrieked and hit him on the shoulder.

"Daddy! Put me down!"

Mr. Johnson ignored her and looked over at Gracie, who pressed her face against Brian's chest and let out a high-pitched giggle. "No!" she screamed.

Her father tossed Elizabeth over his shoulder. "You must be punished!" he roared. Elizabeth screamed and flailed around as he started tickling her.

Brian looked over at Gracie to see that she was watching him expectantly, half excited, half afraid. He made a face at her and started tickling her under her knee, where he knew she was the most vulnerable. She exploded into giggles and tried to push him away.

"Brian, stop!" she cried. "Mommy, tell him to stop!"

Brian glanced up to see his mother standing in the doorway, smiling slightly as she watched her children, her expression more tender than Brian had remembered it ever being. When she realized that Brian was watching her, the smile disappeared, and she straightened up, squaring her shoulders.

"Dinner's ready."

Andy pulled into the driveway at his parents' house and cut the engine. He didn't get out of the vehicle right away, just sat there and stared at the house for a couple minutes, fogging up the window with his warm, steady breaths. He remembered sitting in the parking lot at the train station when he went to pick up Brian, trying to gather enough energy to get out and face the world. This felt similar, but not quite. Given the choice, he would much rather be back at the train station with Brian instead of at his parents' house. Because when Brian started asking too many questions, all he had to do was threaten to beat him up. He couldn't do the same with his father, even if he was sometimes tempted.

Finally, Andy pushed open the door to the Bronco and climbed out. He slipped his keys into his pocket and crossed the front lawn. Just as he stepped onto the porch, the front door swung open.

"Hi." His mother stepped forward and pulled him into a hug, which was easy since they were the same height. "It's good to see you."

Andy nodded. He could smell the cigarette smoke in her hair and on her clothes. Virginia Slims, two packs a day for more than twenty years. His father hated it.

Finally, Mrs. Clark released him from her grip and stepped back to look at him. "You need a hair cut," she told him, reaching up to brush a lock of hair away from his forehead. Andy bristled at the touch, but forced himself not to pull away.

"I haven't had time," he told her.

She let her hands fall to his shoulders and continued her evaluation. "And you've lost weight. Are you eating right?"

Once again, Andy had to fight the urge to step away from her. "Yes."

Mrs. Clark sighed and released him from her grip. "Well, you look too thin." Before he could respond, she turned and walked back into the house, opening the door wider so that he could walk in. "Come in. It's cold outside."

Andy stepped into the house, and his mother closed the door behind him. "Your father ran down to the grocery store to pick up a few things. He'll be back in a few minutes."

Andy nodded and followed her into the kitchen, where he could smell something burning. This didn't come as a total shock. His mother was, despite appearances, the anti-housewife. She hated cleaning and gardening, and everything she touched in the kitchen ended up either burnt, soggy, melted, or lumpy. In a house full of heavy eaters, this didn't go over very well, which was why every member of the Clark family had the phone number to Pizza Hut memorized.

"So, tell me about this friend of yours again. What's her name?"

Andy leaned back against the counter and unbuttoned his letter jacket. "Claire."

"That's right." Mrs. Clark went over to the stove to check the chicken, which was probably what was burning. "So, her mother died?"

Andy nodded. "Yeah."

His mother made a sympathetic sound and picked up her spatula. "That's such a shame. Was she young?"

Andy shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know."

Mrs. Clark let out another cluck of sympathy and started poking at the chicken breasts. "That's such a shame," she said again.

Andy paused. "Yeah."

Mrs. Clark prodded the chicken again, then sighed and put the spatula back on the counter. She reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Within seconds, the kitchen was filled with the smell of nicotine and burnt chicken.

"How is school going?"

Immediately, Andy's stomach tightened up. He'd known the questions were coming, but he didn't know they'd come so quickly. "Fine," he answered.

His mother took a drag on the cigarette and released a puff of smoke into the air. "Are you enjoying them?"

Andy shrugged, hoping he appeared nonchalant. "Sure," he lied.

"Tell me again what classes you're taking."

Andy sighed. His mother was terribly forgetful, and he was constantly having to remind her of what classes he was taking, when he worked and when he had meets, and sometimes even what his friends' names were. "Mostly business classes," he told her.

Mrs. Clark nodded. "That's right. So, they're going well?"

Andy nodded. "Yep," he answered, trying to keep his voice light. He wasn't sure if it worked or not.

"Good." His mother reached over to flick the ash from her cigarette into the cigarette tray sitting on the counter, then took another drag. She was smoking quickly, he could tell, so that she could finish before his dad came home.

Suddenly, a burst of noise came in from the living room, and someone yelled, "Goddamn it!"

Andy froze, but Mrs. Clark just sighed. "He's watching the baseball game," she explained.

Andy nodded, but didn't say anything. His mother pulled the cigarette tray closer and tapped her cigarette against the side. "You can go watch it with him. Dinner won't be ready for a few more minutes."

Andy nodded stiffly. "Yeah, okay." He stuffed his hands into his pockets and stepped away from the counter. His mother picked up the spatula again and started stabbing at the chicken again. Andy watched her for a few seconds, then walked out into the living room.

His older brother Shawn was sitting on the couch in front of the television, can of Coke in one hand. His eyes were glued to the screen in front of him. "Come on, Dawson," he muttered. "Earn your fucking paycheck."

Andy stood behind the couch in silence, watching the screen. The batter for the Cubs, Andre Dawson, had the count tied up at 2-2. He fouled it off of the tip of his bat once, then sent another one into the bleachers for another foul. Finally, he ripped one out into right field, where the right fielder caught it easily for another out.

"Goddamn it," Shawn muttered loudly. "Two million dollars for a fucking pop up." Then, without looking behind him, he said, "You gonna stand there all day with your thumb up your ass, or are you gonna to sit down?"

Andy rolled his eyes and walked around the edge of the sofa. He sat down next to his brother, who still hadn't peeled his eyes away from the screen. "Hello to you, too," he said sarcastically.

Shawn ignored the comment and kept his eyes on the screen. "Come on, Sandburg. Somebody's gotta get a hit."

On the first hit, the batter, Ryne Sandburg, hit a slow-rolling grounder straight to the first baseman, ending the inning.

"Overpaid fuckers," Shawn muttered. He glanced over at his younger brother, giving him the once over. "God, you look like shit."

Andy rolled his eyes. "Gee, thanks."

"You have a few too many last night? You look hungover."

Andy frowned. "I'm not hungover, you asshole."

Shawn lifted an eyebrow doubtfully. "You should be. Isn't the season over?"

Andy nodded. "Yeah."

Shawn took another sip of his Coke and wiped his arm with the sleeve of his shirt, a blue polo with a Wal-Mart logo on the right chest pocket.

"How's work?" Andy asked hesitantly.

Shawn let out a bitter laugh. "Fan-fucking-tastic. How's school?"

Andy clenched his jaw and glanced back at the screen. Neither of them tried to restart the conversation.

Almost halfway into the next inning, the front door opened. Andy couldn't see into the foyer, but he could only assume that his father was home. His stomach tightened up, and he took a deep breath to relax himself. Mr. Clark walked into the kitchen, and Andy could hear him set the grocery bags on the counter.

"Do I smell cigarette smoke?" he asked his wife.

"Fuck!" Shawn exclaimed, drowning out their mother's response. "Why the hell are we even paying these guys? I could pitch better than this."

Andy nodded distractedly, still listening for his parents' voices. He could hear them talking in the kitchen, but he couldn't tell what the conversation was about. Something about the store being out of vanilla ice cream. A few minutes later, he heard his father's work boots echoing on the kitchen floor, growing louder as he approached the living room.

"Hey, Sport. You just get in?"

Andy looked up to see his father walk into the living room. "Uh, yeah. Just a few minutes ago."

Mr. Clark nodded and looked up at the screen. "Are we down already? What inning is it?"

Andy waited for Shawn to answer for him, but Shawn was still staring at the television screen and wasn't paying any attention to their conversation. "Third," Andy told his father.

Mr. Clark frowned. "Moyer needs to start pulling his weight. Sutcliffe can't pitch every night."

Andy nodded, and the three of them lapsed into silence. The Cubs managed not to give up anymore runs, and the first half of the inning passed relatively uneventfully. Just as the Cubs came up to bat again at the bottom of the third inning, Mrs. Clark appeared in the doorway.

"Dinner's ready," she told them.

Mr. Clark sighed and stepped back from the couch. "Yeah, I'm coming." He followed his wife back into the kitchen.

Andy stood from the couch and looked over at his brother, who was still watching the game. "You coming?"

Shawn nodded and set his Coke can on the coffee table. He scooted forward so that he was sitting on the very edge of the couch, then reached for his wheelchair and pulled it closer. Andy watched him grip the arms of the chair tightly and lift himself off of the couch, twisting his body around in a move that he had perfected over the last two years. When he was settled, he reached forward and readjusted his legs, tugging roughly at his khaki pants.

Andy didn't offer to help him, knowing that it would be pointless. Instead, he waited until Shawn started wheeling himself into the kitchen, then followed him into the room.

His father was already sitting down, but his mother was standing at the stove, turning the knobs. Andy sat down next to his father, and Shawn took the spot at the end of the table, where there was no chair. A few seconds later, Mrs. Clark set a plate of burnt chicken in the center of the table.

"Hope everyone's hungry," she said brightly.

"So, how is your friend?"

Brian looked up from his mashed potatoes. "Claire?" His father nodded. "Oh, she's…" He shrugged. "I don't know. She's holding up okay, I think."

Mr. Johnson offered his son a sad smile. "Losing a parent is tough. I'm sure she's glad you're there."

Brian nodded, though he couldn't really confirm his father's assumption. Since he'd arrived, he hadn't talked to Claire much about her mother, and he didn't know if it was his fault or if she was just really busy with funeral plans. Part of him still wondered why she'd asked them to be there in the first place, but it was only a small part. In his heart, he knew. He knew and he understood.

"Who is Claire?" Mrs. Johnson asked. "I don't remember her."

"Oh, uh…" Brian paused, trying to think of some way to describe his relationship with her. With all of them. "She was just a friend from high school."

"You must have been close if she asked you to come all the way out here during your Spring Break," his mother observed.

Her tone was light and conversational, but Brian knew that it was a trap. After years of living under her roof, he had learned a few of the warning signs. "Yeah, we were," he responded, unwilling to give her anything to hang him with. He didn't really want to talk about the Breakfast Club anyway, not with her. She wouldn't understand.

Mrs. Johnson murmured noncommittally, but didn't try and dig any deeper. Brian let out silent sigh of relief. Across the table, Elizabeth was watching him as she took sips from her glass of milk. He shot her a brief smile, and she smiled back.

"How are your classes going?" his mother asked.

Brian looked up. "Oh, uh…fine. I'm really liking my American Lit class. The professor, he really knows his stuff. He's assigned some interesting books."

Mrs. Johnson nodded thoughtfully. "I'm glad to hear that." He couldn't really tell what she meant by that, but it didn't seem too ominous, so he didn't dwell on it.

"What about Russian Literature?" his father asked. "Do they offer a class like that? Because I remember when I was back in school, they offered a class on Russian-American novels. A seminar, I think. But we read this book about a guy in the mob…what was that called, honey?" he asked, glancing over at his wife. "I think it's still in the bookcase in the office. Something about dark streets or dirty streets or…" He trailed off thoughtfully, then stood up. "I'm going to see if I can find it." He started walking toward the office, but his wife grabbed him by the sleeve.

"Harold, sit down," she said tiredly. "We're right in the middle of dinner."

"I know right where it is. Second shelf down, right next to the--"

"Harold."

There was something in her tone that told him not to argue. He nodded and returned to his seat. "I'll find it for you later," he promised his son. "It's a great book."

Brian nodded. "Thanks, dad."

Mr. Johnson nodded happily and took a bite of mashed potatoes.

"How is Rebecca?"

Brian looked back over at his mother, who was watching him from across the table. "Oh, she's fine."

"Is she still working at the diner?"

Brian nodded. "Yeah."

"How long have the two of you been dating now?" asked Mr. Johnson, wiping his mouth with a paper napkin. There was still a smudge of mashed potato on his left cheek.

"Uh, about a year," said Brian.

"She's a sweet girl, isn't she?" his father asked, smiling fondly.

Brian nodded, feeling slightly embarrassed. Then he remembered the last time he'd seen Rebecca, when he'd gone over to her apartment just before he'd left for Shermer. How they'd done it in her bed, with her door unlocked and her roommate in the next room. He felt his face heating up, and he busied himself with his corn.

"Are you going to marry her?" Gracie asked.

Brian looked up, face still burning. "Um, I don't--"

"Gracie, don't be rude," said Mrs. Johnson. "That's none of your business."

"Yes, it is," Gracie responded. "She'll be in our family. He can't marry someone we don't like."

"Gracie, that's so rude," said Elizabeth. "Rebecca is nice."

"I didn't say she wasn't!" Gracie exclaimed, narrowing her eyes in Elizabeth's direction.

"You made it sound like you don't think she's nice," Elizabeth explained calmly. Her eyes flickered briefly over in Brian's direction, then back at her sister.

Gracie's eyes were wide with indignation. "No, I didn't! I didn't say I didn't like her!"

"Yes, you did," said Elizabeth. "You said he can't marry someone we didn't like."

"I wasn't talking about her." Gracie glanced over at Brian. "I wasn't talking about her," she repeated, shaking her head.

Brian opened his mouth to assure her that he understood, but Elizabeth beat him to the punch. "Then why would you say that if you thought he was going to marry her?" she asked Gracie. Her tone was smug, like she already knew she'd won.

"Because I--" Gracie let out a sharp, frustrated breath. "I just meant that he should ask us first, just in case."

"Alright, girls," Mr. Johnson cut in, holding his hands up. "Let's just take a deep breath and--"

"Just in case?" Elizabeth echoed, ignoring her father. "In case what, he makes a mistake?"

"I didn't mean that!" Gracie shouted, glancing back and forth between Brian and Elizabeth. She looked so trapped. "I didn't--" And then she burst into tears.

Brian watched her for a minute, uncertain about what was happening. "It's okay, Gracie. I know you didn't--"

"You're so mean!" Gracie shouted at Elizabeth. "I hate you!"

Elizabeth just stared back at Gracie, her expression impassive. There was something so cold about the look on her face that Brian was instantly reminded of their mother, and he turned away.

"Gracie, I know you don't mean that," their father said patiently, reaching over to touch his daughter on the arm. "You don't hate her."

"Yes, I do!" She wiped the furious tears from her bright pink cheeks with the back of her hand. "She treats me like I'm a baby."

"That's because you are one," Elizabeth retorted.

"No, I'm not!" A fresh wave of angry tears flooded Gracie's cheeks.

"Yes, you--"

"Elizabeth, that's enough."

Elizabeth glanced over at their mother, surprised. "She's acting like a--"

"I said, that's enough."

Elizabeth stared at their mother for a long moment, then looked over at her brother. Brian saw the hurt and the anger in her eyes, and he knew she wanted him to say something, anything, but he didn't know what. Elizabeth watched him for a long moment, waiting, but he didn't speak. Then, without another word, she pushed her chair back, stood from the table, and ran from the room.

Brian watched her leave, knowing he'd done something wrong. He turned back to look at Gracie, who was still crying quietly, caught up in the moment. Mr. Johnson was rubbing her arm, frowning confusedly, as if he couldn't quite figure out what had happened. "You're just tired," he said soothingly, reaching up to brush the blonde strands from her moist, blotchy face. "It's been a long day."

Gracie didn't say anything, just hiccupped and leaned over so that her father could rub her head.

Brian looked back at his mother, who was watching her husband and daughter, frowning thoughtfully as if her mind was elsewhere. She looked a little bit envious…a little bit sad. But all of that disappeared when she realized that Brian was watching her.

"She'll be fine," she said firmly, answering his silent question.

Brian nodded, though he didn't know which girl she was talking about, and he didn't believe her anyway.

A/N: Please review, and be honest. Thank you!