Moving Out - for the Numb3rs dot Org 15 Minute Challenge
Title: Moving Out
Prompt: 15 Minute Challenge - Truce, even if I never use the word in the story.
Word Count: 670
Time: 40 Minutes. I felt this story warranted going over the time limit.
Mornings were cold.
Alan woke up in the pre-dawn darkness, heart racing and ready to jump up and check on his wife. Then memory would kick in and despair would follow.
Margaret was gone.
Her funeral had been two weeks ago. There was no reason to bolt out of bed anymore.
However, he couldn't fall back asleep. So he made his way downstairs and thought about breakfast.
He wasn't hungry. A clattering noise outside made him look out the window to see if there was a raccoon in the trash or something. He didn't see anything moving, so he guessed that the sound had come from down the street.
Then he saw a light on in the garage and immediately forgot the noise. Charlie was working on that damn P vs. NP problem again. Well, it was high time for Charlie to get out of the garage… and out of this house.
Alan charged out of the door, determined to confront his younger son and give him a piece of his mind.
Three steps out, he pulled himself up and took a deep breath. Margaret wouldn't want him to just toss the kid out on his ear.
[I]"This is hard on him, Alan."
"It's hard on all of us."
"I know, but Charlie and I have been through a lot together. Don't forget that he was the one who helped me when I first became ill."
"That's not fair. It's not the same thing. I was still working full time," Alan had protested.
Margaret held up her hand. "I know, you did your best. Please.. he's doing his best. Please don't be angry at him for not being able to deal with this. He'll blame himself enough later."[/I]
Alan took a deep breath. He'd been told not to make any drastic decisions, such as selling his house, for a year. That's what he'd tell Charlie. That he was planning to sell the house and Charlie needed to move.
Of course, he wouldn't throw him out on the street. Margaret wouldn't have wanted that. He'd help Charlie find a place during the next school break and help him move.
He nodded to himself. He would stay calm and reasonable, but firm, no matter what Charlie said.
Alan wasn't prepared for the site of Charlie sprawled on the floor surrounded by books. Belatedly, he realized that the clatter had come from the garage and not beyond it.
"Charlie, are you all right?"
Charlie looked up from his undignified position. "Um, oh, yeah." He pushed himself to a sitting position. "Um, I didn't wake you, did I?"
Alan checked to see if his son was bleeding, but didn't see any signs of injuries. Instead, he saw signs of insomnia, distress and grief.
He dropped his eyes. "No, I was just going to start breakfast… What happened?"
Charlie turned away. "I forgot that I'd stored my math journals in that suitcase," he said in a hoarse voice. "It broke open." He sighed. "Guess I'll need a new one."
Alan looked around at mess. "What are you doing?"
Charlie hunched his shoulders. "Um, packing, I guess." He shuffled his hand through the scattered papers. "I figure that you'd want me out… Larry's got a spare room… I wasn't much help…" His face clenched as he so obviously tried to block tears. "I should have been there for her."
The anger Alan had been using as a shield against grief faded. He walked over and laid a hand on Charlie's shoulders. "There's no hurry, Charlie."
Charlie looked at him anxiously. "You really don't mind me living here?"
Alan shook his head. "We get along well enough," he said. "Besides, they advise waiting a year before making any drastic moves."
Charlie blinked up at him. "Um, how do they define 'drastic move'" He blinked again. "And who are 'they', anyhow?"
Alan sighed. "No clue," he admitted. He gave Charlie a hand up. "Come on, we have a year to track 'em down and get 'em to explain."
Prompt: 15 Minute Challenge - Truce, even if I never use the word in the story.
Word Count: 670
Time: 40 Minutes. I felt this story warranted going over the time limit.
Mornings were cold.
Alan woke up in the pre-dawn darkness, heart racing and ready to jump up and check on his wife. Then memory would kick in and despair would follow.
Margaret was gone.
Her funeral had been two weeks ago. There was no reason to bolt out of bed anymore.
However, he couldn't fall back asleep. So he made his way downstairs and thought about breakfast.
He wasn't hungry. A clattering noise outside made him look out the window to see if there was a raccoon in the trash or something. He didn't see anything moving, so he guessed that the sound had come from down the street.
Then he saw a light on in the garage and immediately forgot the noise. Charlie was working on that damn P vs. NP problem again. Well, it was high time for Charlie to get out of the garage… and out of this house.
Alan charged out of the door, determined to confront his younger son and give him a piece of his mind.
Three steps out, he pulled himself up and took a deep breath. Margaret wouldn't want him to just toss the kid out on his ear.
[I]"This is hard on him, Alan."
"It's hard on all of us."
"I know, but Charlie and I have been through a lot together. Don't forget that he was the one who helped me when I first became ill."
"That's not fair. It's not the same thing. I was still working full time," Alan had protested.
Margaret held up her hand. "I know, you did your best. Please.. he's doing his best. Please don't be angry at him for not being able to deal with this. He'll blame himself enough later."[/I]
Alan took a deep breath. He'd been told not to make any drastic decisions, such as selling his house, for a year. That's what he'd tell Charlie. That he was planning to sell the house and Charlie needed to move.
Of course, he wouldn't throw him out on the street. Margaret wouldn't have wanted that. He'd help Charlie find a place during the next school break and help him move.
He nodded to himself. He would stay calm and reasonable, but firm, no matter what Charlie said.
Alan wasn't prepared for the site of Charlie sprawled on the floor surrounded by books. Belatedly, he realized that the clatter had come from the garage and not beyond it.
"Charlie, are you all right?"
Charlie looked up from his undignified position. "Um, oh, yeah." He pushed himself to a sitting position. "Um, I didn't wake you, did I?"
Alan checked to see if his son was bleeding, but didn't see any signs of injuries. Instead, he saw signs of insomnia, distress and grief.
He dropped his eyes. "No, I was just going to start breakfast… What happened?"
Charlie turned away. "I forgot that I'd stored my math journals in that suitcase," he said in a hoarse voice. "It broke open." He sighed. "Guess I'll need a new one."
Alan looked around at mess. "What are you doing?"
Charlie hunched his shoulders. "Um, packing, I guess." He shuffled his hand through the scattered papers. "I figure that you'd want me out… Larry's got a spare room… I wasn't much help…" His face clenched as he so obviously tried to block tears. "I should have been there for her."
The anger Alan had been using as a shield against grief faded. He walked over and laid a hand on Charlie's shoulders. "There's no hurry, Charlie."
Charlie looked at him anxiously. "You really don't mind me living here?"
Alan shook his head. "We get along well enough," he said. "Besides, they advise waiting a year before making any drastic moves."
Charlie blinked up at him. "Um, how do they define 'drastic move'" He blinked again. "And who are 'they', anyhow?"
Alan sighed. "No clue," he admitted. He gave Charlie a hand up. "Come on, we have a year to track 'em down and get 'em to explain."