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5 Days Later…

"Dad, you down here?" Charlie paused in the doorway of the garage. "Hey, Larry, I thought you'd left."

Larry and Alan both looked up from a pile of boxes they appeared to be pouring over. Larry put a pile of folders on the floor and shrugged. "I was on my way out, but I saw your father working and thought I could be of assistance."

"I'm trying to sort out the garage."

Charlie shrugged. "Again?"

Alan pointed at him in that 'don't you start' sort of way. "You know, after we fixed the house up again, I got sort of on this spring-cleaning streak."

"Again," Charlie repeated, and this time Alan just smiled, conceding the point. Charlie glanced over at Larry, who had returned to sorting through the colorful folders. "Megan have other plans tonight?"

"Our plans just aren't until later." Larry's cheeks flushed rose. "Chez Plaisir isn't open for dinner till seven."

"Oh really," Alan interjected with an air of accentuated elegance. "Chez Plaisir, huh?" He glanced at Charlie who grinned back. "Grand piano, red flowers, coat and tie?"

"That's the one, yes."

"Need a loaner?"

Larry laughed. "Generous, Mr. Eppes, but I am a professor of significant matters, I do own a set of formal attire."

Charlie hid a smile. "I hope you have black shoes to match by now, after Professor Grayd's ten-minute lecture on your brown loafers, Larry."

"Well you try explaining the lack of true significance color and shade hold on the cosmological level to a professor of Quantum chromodynamics, you're bound to meet with controversy of some kind."

"Admittedly they did clash spectacularly with your otherwise completely black and white ensemble…"

"You know Charles, someone once said that 'in retrospect it become clear that hindsight is definitely overrated.'"

Charlie squinted at him. "Sounds familiar…?"

Alan glanced up at them. "Alfred E. Neuman."

"Oh," Charlie gave his father a surprised glance. "I guess I've never read his work."

"He's a cartoon. Mascot for MAD Magazine."

"Yes, well…" Larry laughed and Charlie attempted to process the ridiculous notion of Fleinhardt even holding an issue of MAD Magazine. Larry made for a hasty segue. "I was actually about to go and find you Charles."

Charlie got down on his knees with them, leaning over the box they were digging through. "What's up?"

Alan pushed the box towards him. "I'm trying to sort out some of Don's old stuff."

"You're still finding stuff of Don's down here?"

"This surprises you?" Alan said wryly, and Charlie just grinned. "Listen, could you maybe take this box upstairs, let me know if you see anything that's yours and give the rest to Don. Oh, and maybe take this stack of newspapers, throw them in the recycling bin in the kitchen?"

Charlie hefted the box off the floor. "Can I get you gentlemen anything while I'm up there? Lemonade, coffee, anything?"

Larry raised an arm. "I would personally love some lemonade."

"Yeah, that sounds good, thanks Charlie."

"No problem-" He pointed at Larry. "Sugar, ice?"

"Ice no sugar for me."

"All right, ice and splenda for you Dad?"

"That'd be fine."

Charlie went upstairs, set the box and newspapers on the table next to the door and was about to head to the kitchen when he noticed a piece of paper sitting near the top of the box. The phrase "Award of Excellent Reflexes" caught his eye. He pulled the page out. It appeared to have been typed up on a very old type-writer.

This is to certify that Don Eppes on this day,

October 14th 1985,

has proven himself a true expert and beat the seven-year-standing record on V.A. Kroger's Pac-Man. I, V.A. Kroger am proud to present "Diehard Don" with this

AWARD OF EXCELLENT REFLEXES

I would also like to put in my bid now that class of '88 yearbook state him as "Most Likely to Become James Bond". Signed, Viktor Kroger, Manager

A small smile crept from one corner of Charlie's mouth to the other. Judging by condition of the paper, Don had folded it roughly into eighths and stuffed it away in a box somewhere. Possibly he'd done it the night he'd come home to find his kid brother sitting on the kitchen counter with a black eye and busted tooth.

The sound of a car driving up broke Charlie from his thoughts and he hastily buried the certificate in the box and scrambled off to the kitchen. He busied himself with making the lemonade until he heard the front door open.

"Hey, Dad? Charlie?" The door shut with a gentle slam and soon the sound of Don rifling through the box reached Charlie's ears. After a moment of indecision, Charlie set down the pitcher of lemonade and walked into the living room, wiping his hands on the back of his jeans.

"Hey, Don." He said cheerfully, but Don didn't reply at first. He was frowning down at the certificate which he'd unfolded and held between both hands. Charlie couldn't quite read the expression on his face, but he was fairly certain it wasn't a 'fond memory' expression.

Don looked up suddenly, dropping the piece of old paper onto the stack of newspapers. "Oh hey, Charlie. Where's Dad?"

"Sorting out the basement."

"Again?"

Charlie shrugged, pointing to the box. "He asked me to take that up here, said some of it was yours." Don nodded, glancing briefly down at the certificate. Now Charlie knew exactly what was going through his head. Don opened his mouth to say something, but Charlie cut him off. "Oh, man. Did I leave those newspapers on the table? I did didn't I." He rolled his eyes and swiped the stack of newspapers up, taking the certificate with them. "I'll just toss these."

Don stood around in the living room, listening to the sound of Charlie forcing the pile of newspapers into the tiny recycling bin. Brow still furrowed, he asked, "Why'd Dad still have all those anyway?"

"Oh you know Dad," Charlie called from the kitchen, then came around the corner again, carrying two glasses of lemonade, a strange look of relief on his face. "He just doesn't get that sometimes life's better off when you just…let stuff go. You can't hold on to things forever, I mean- look at what that did to Adrian. Holding on to all that blame and- and guilt. It destroyed him, you know, I…" he blinked hard. "I don't want to be like that."

Don met Charlie's hesitant eyes with a smile. "Yeah. Yeah me neither."

They exchanged a look of silent agreement on the unspoken issue, and never brought it up again. "So-" Don jabbed a finger at the two glasses. "Lemonade, huh?"

"Yeah, sugarless and splenda."

"Larry's still here?"

"Helping Dad."

Don shrugged his coat off. "Well good, we can't feed leftover pasta to guests."

"Actually Larry's taking Megan to Chez Plaisir tonight." Don raised his eyebrows and Charlie nodded. "I know, coat and tie."

"Go Professor Fleinhardt," Don said, impressed.

"Unfortunately, that means the disgusting pasta is fair game."

Don glanced around and walked quickly past Charlie towards the kitchen, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Not if we order pizza first."

Charlie hurried after him. "But now I can't take the lemonade down."

"Why not?" Don demanded, phone already in hand.

"Cause Dad's going to see me with beverages and he's going to remember that, oh yeah, we haven't eaten yet this evening. It's image-association, the mind does it automatically."

"So? Just run in real fast, put the drinks down and run back up," Don said conspiratorially. "Go on, hurry up." Charlie was still hesitant and Don put the receiver to his shoulder. "This will be the third time it's been reheated, Charlie."

Charlie winced. "Fourth."

Don swung back around to the phone. "Yeah, name is Don Eppes. I'd like to order one large hand-tossed pizza, half peppers and onions, half-" He nodded at Charlie. "Pepperoni?"

Charlie shook his head in wonder. "Oh you are so dead when Dad finds out."

Don ignored him. "Pepperoni it is."

The End