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There’s a police car in the driveway.
Darry’s first thought is that Dally’s gotten into some sort of trouble again. And while Mom and Dad aren’t Dally’s parents, they have helped him through some sticky spots. Especially Mom. But couldn’t Dally have waited to do something stupid for a day that wasn’t Darry’s birthday?
He knows it’s a selfish thought as soon as he thinks it, but he can’t help it. He’s been looking forward to this evening all day at the grocery store as he’s been bagging, all the way home as he shivered in the January cold. He’s looking forward to the smell of warm chocolate cake baking. He’s looking forward to a fun evening with his family and friends. He’s looking forward to a stress-free day, and clearly, that birthday wish has gone out the window.
It only hits him once he reaches the door that the family car isn’t in the driveway, only the secondhand pickup Dad recently bought. He briefly wonders who’s out.
Darry’s stomach drops when he sees not the police with Mom and Dally inside, but the police with Sodapop and Ponyboy.
Two officers stand in the living room, looking uncomfortable and out of place. Darry’s brothers sit together on the couch, practically crumpled over each other, Ponyboy clutched in Soda’s arms as they both shudder with sobs.
The sounds tear at Darry’s heart, sending it to the floor as he rushes over, checking them for injuries, bandages, anything that could have warranted something like this. He doesn’t understand. Nothing adds up. “What’s wrong?” he asks, panic rushing through him like a sudden downpour.
Soda looks up first, making a choked sound that nearly sends Darry spiraling. Soda’s face is streaked with tears, making his whole face splotchy. He collapses into ugly, whole-body sobs, so that there’s nothing Darry can do but draw both of them into his arms, desperate to make whatever awful thing it is better. But Soda doesn’t calm down. Ponyboy doesn’t either. Something is very, very wrong.
Darry looks to the policemen, realizing their hats are in their hands. It looks—Well, it looks like somebody died, if anyone had to ask him.
The passing thought comes to him just before the slamming, sickening realization does. “No,” he stammers, shaking his head. “What—”
“Are you Mr. Curtis?” one of them asks him gently. Too gently. Why is he speaking this way? Like Darry might break if spoken to too loudly?
“No. No, I’m just Darry.”
The cop nods. “Darry. I’m so sorry. But—”
“No!” Sodapop suddenly cries, startling everyone in the room. He fixes the cops with a fierce, devastated, bloodshot stare. “Leave us alone. Get out. You don’t get to tell him, too.”
“Tell me what? Soda, what’s going on?” It’s bad. Whatever it is, it’s awful. He’s terrified out of his mind when the cops leave to wait on the porch.
Sodapop looks at Pony, who cries all the harder when it’s just the three of them in the room. Darry can hardly breathe through the sounds Pony’s making. He’s never heard his brother sound like this before.
Oh, Lord, not Johnny?
That is the news Darry is so certain to hear as Sodapop motions for Darry to sit, and he kneels in front of the couch. Sodapop reaches out for his hands, and Darry takes them. His heart sinks further with every moment that passes.
The Cades have finally gone too far. They’ve killed him, and it’s only now that the police care.
“Mom and Dad are dead.”
Darry’s mind feels like it’s undergone a hard reset. “Wh—What?”
Soda’s eyes fill, his hands tightening around Darry’s. “There was ice on the road. No one’s fault. But their car hit another vehicle. The other people survived, but—” Soda’s face crumples into an expression of pure anguish “—Darry, Mom and Dad didn’t.”
Ponyboy makes a high keening sound. Darry feels like he’s outside of his own body. Dead? No. No, because he just saw them this morning. They wished him a happy birthday. Mom kissed his cheek. Dad squeezed his shoulder. “How?” he barks suddenly, knowing there must be some mistake. “How do they know it was them?”
Sodapop’s head dips, and tears drip down his cheeks. He takes a sobbing breath before being able to go on. “IDs were found on their bodies. In a Chevy Corvair.”
A strangled noise comes out of Darry before he can even think to stop it. “No. No. No. No. No.” Sodapop sobs loudly, falling into Darry’s shoulder. Darry climbs onto the couch in a daze, pulling both of them into his arms.
This is real. This is very, very real.
Darry stares at the wall, clutching the boys. This makes no sense. How is this fair? What are they supposed to do?
He rubs Pony’s back as the kid weeps, cradled against Darry’s chest. He holds Sodapop to his side, pressing his cheek to Soda’s hair, trying to ground himself.
Ponyboy’s fist twists in Darry’s coat. “They’re dead,” he whispers in a shattered voice.
It’s the first thing Ponyboy has said since Darry came inside. All Darry can do is nod as tears slip down his cheeks.
He realizes he’ll never be able to hug Mom again. Never be able to ask Dad for advice. Never be able to go to them when he needs help or comfort or just someone familiar. The thing he needs now is his Dad—his closest person in the world—and he’s the one thing Darry can’t go to. The man who always loved him, even when Darry messed up, even when he wasn’t the easiest kid to get along with, even when his ego got too big for the rest of himself. Dad was always the one to reel him back, to make everything feel right again.
That’s what truly guts him. He looks at a photograph of his parents on the wall, realizing he’ll never see their faces again, only memories of them.
Darry swallows, his throat burning. “I know, kiddo,” he whispers. His chest aches so badly, he hardly knows how he’s still breathing.
“Darry,” Sodapop suddenly says, his voice high and strangled. “I—I stayed after school for a while. Some guys were playin’ pick-up soccer.”
Darry feels like Soda’s flipped his mind around again. “What?” How could this possibly matter when their parents are dead? Something can’t be connecting in his brain. Or Soda’s.
“Ponyboy was alone,” Soda squeaks out. “When the cops came.”
Darry suddenly understands, and it is an awful realization. “Oh. Oh, God, no. Oh, Pony.”
His littlest brother looks up for the first time, and he has never looked younger. His stormy green eyes are so glassy that his vision must be terrible in this moment. He looks gutted and dead at the same time, his eyes both empty and full of far too much.
Darry imagines him answering the door, stiffening to find two cops on the doorstep.
He imagines them asking if anyone else is home. Pony shaking his head. Asking if he can help them.
He pictures them asking Pony to sit. Giving him their condolences before they even tell him what they’re apologizing for.
The moment they tell him. The way his face slackens, then crumples. The way he shakes his head, looks around, as if there’s someone in the house to come to his rescue, to tell him that this is just a big misunderstanding, or a nightmare. The way his breathing quickens, the way he shouts for his parents, like they must be in the other room. The way he gets no response. How the tears start, then the harsh wails, the cops looking at each other, at a loss. How they try to reach out for his arm, but he lurches back and screams. How Sodapop rushes in right then at the sound, switchblade held out in front of him, ready to attack but finding nothing tangible that’s hurting his brother.
Darry gently takes Pony by the back of the neck, pulling him in to hold. Pony shakes against him, crying like his entire childhood has been stolen from him. Soda wraps around Pony from behind, shuddering and sobbing.
The officers come back in after another minute, their faces tight with something like regret. “Mr. C—Darry?”
Darry wants to shout at them. To tell them they’re wrong. To tell them to leave him and his family the hell alone. He doesn’t want to hear another word from them today. He wants to grieve, to give Sodapop and Ponyboy space from this, to just get all three of them through the rest of the worst day of their lives.
“What?” he snaps, his voice hoarse.
“I’m sorry that we have to talk about this now, but it is urgent,” one of the cops says. “There are two minors in the home without a legal guardian. They can’t be left unattended.”
“I’m right here,” Darry chokes out, holding them tighter, like he can shield them from the world. “They ain’t unattended.”
The cop nods. “And arrangements can be made, if that’s what you choose. But meanwhile, they need care.”
What they’re saying suddenly strikes Darry. He looks at them, aghast. “You’re takin’ them?”
“No!” Ponyboy wails, suddenly frantic. He pushes back, looking at Darry with bloodshot, terrified eyes, shaking his head. “No, no, no, don’t let them. Don’t let them!”
Soda lifts his head and latches onto Darry’s arm, clutching Pony with his other hand, like the cops will have to pry Pony out of his hands before they ever take him out of this house. “No,” he says, his voice low, as if he’s pleading with Darry. “We can talk about this, we can talk about this.” The words tumble over one another, as if Darry would seriously consider letting them out of his sight after news like this.
“This is only temporary,” one of the officers says. “Just until family or child services—”
“No.” Darry looks at the cops, fixing them with a dangerous stare. “Absolutely not.” He turns slightly, as if he can protect the boys from their sight. “They stay with me,” he says, his voice breaking.
“I’m sorry,” the officer says. “I know this is hard.”
Hard?
Hard?
Darry looks down at his brothers—his only family left, his responsibility, his whole world—and something fierce and terrified twists in his chest.
“Please,” Darry says, the word tearing out of him. “They just lost their parents.” So did I. “Don’t take them away from me, too.”
Slowly, one of the officers nods. “Let’s talk for a moment, son.”
I ain’t your son. I ain’t nobody’s son no more. But Darry stays quiet and stands.
The moment he moves, Pony lets out a strangled sound, panic flooding his gaze.
Sodapop chokes out, “Don’t,” looking like the world’s about to slip from his fingers.
Darry looks at both of them, his words holding a promise. “I’m just goin’ to the kitchen with them. I ain’t leavin’. I ain’t goin’ nowhere. I swear.” His voice wobbles, but he takes a deep breath to steel himself. He’s making these cops understand that these boys are not leaving the house with them tonight. No, they’re not leaving the house with them ever.
Darry sits at the table with the cops, trying to push the fact that his parents are dead. Because if he thinks about it, he’s going to bawl in front of these cops, and that is not the picture he needs to be right now. He needs to show them that he’s stable, capable, strong, and not going to budge on this. “Sodapop and Ponyboy stay with me,” he repeated.
“Darry, do you realize what you’re saying?” one of the men asked carefully. “That means you’d have to apply to be their legal guardian.”
“I know,” Darry says before thinking. No, he hadn’t really thought that over. But if that’s what it takes, he will do it. He will do anything. He can’t be alone now. He can’t.
“You’ve just experienced a major shock,” the other reasons. “Don’t be too hasty. It’s okay to take some time to think about this decision. Being a guardian means getting stable, full-time work. Keeping a safe household. Being a parent. It means giving some things up. And children are a serious commitment.”
“I know,” Darry says again, more sharply. Fine. If that’s what it takes. He keeps his grocery job and takes on his father’s roofing job. He takes Soda and Pony to medical appointments. He checks their homework. He does the housework. He makes them go to sleep and get up in the morning. He makes sure they’re safe, he makes sure he knows where they are at all times, he makes sure they eat, he makes sure they know they’re loved for every second of their lives, he makes sure they’re healthy, they’re content, they’re comfortable, they’re taken care of in every which way children need to be cared for—
That’s a lot. Oh, Lord. That’s a lot.
He takes a shuddering breath.
He sees Pony at six, trailing after him with a book tucked under his arm. Soda at ten, laughing so hard he can’t breathe.
Life without them flashes through his mind—empty rooms, silence, a house that doesn’t matter because nobody’s in it.
Unfathomable.
“I understand,” Darry says again, steadier. “Whatever it takes. Tell me what I have to do.”
The officers exchange a look, but they nod.
“We’ll need to contact child services,” one of them says. “There may be a temporary placement while things are reviewed.”
Darry’s jaw tightens. “No.” His voice is calm, but there’s steel underneath it. “I’m sorry, but not after today. They aren’t leaving this house.”
There’s a long pause. Finally, the officer nods. “We’ll do what we can.”
Darry lets out a breath. His hands shake. He curls them into fists and forces himself to sit straight. “Okay. So what happens from here?”
“Someone from social services will be over tomorrow. They’ll have paperwork you can sign to grant you temporary emergency guardianship until more permanent means are established.”
They talk a little longer, telling him more logistics of how the crash happened when Darry asks. He can only hear so much before knowing he can’t stomach hearing any more.
“Okay. Can I go back in there?” he asks.
The officer nods. “Yeah. You can.”
Darry walks back into the living room and drops to his knees in front of the couch. His brothers look at him like they’re waiting for a sentence.
“They ain’t takin’ you,” Darry says softly. “You’re stayin’ with me.”
Soda’s face crumples in relief. Pony slumps against Sodapop, breathing shallowly.
Darry wraps his arms around them, holding tight. His whole life just narrowed down to this. These two people.
He feels sick. Not with the decision, because he knows for sure now: He’s doing anything to keep these two with him. Anything. But with the responsibility. With the fact that he’s doing it alone. With the horrible reality that his parents are really, truly gone, and he has so many things to ask them. With the fact that he both turned twenty today and gained two children.
The officers are talking low in the kitchen. Darry feels like they’ve hollowed him out, organ by organ. His stomach churning, he wonders if they’ll ask him to officially identify the bodies.
The thought hits Darry like a punch. Someone’s gotta identify them.
His stomach flips so hard his vision spots. Heat rushes up his throat before he can stop it, and a sharp, sudden gag tears out of him. He turns his head fast, swallowing hard, jaw locked, willing it down.
Get it together, Darry.
But he’s already felt it—the way Pony stiffens against him. Darry knows that reaction. He’s seen it before, when Pony was little and one kid getting sick set Pony off, too.
And surely the nauseating grief right now isn’t helping either.
Pony gasps before also gagging harshly.
Darry barely has time to register the sound before Pony lurches forward and vomits onto the floor, retching hard. The sound of it twists Darry’s gut again, makes him gag a second time, worse, but he forces himself still.
“I’m sorry,” Pony cries immediately, voice breaking. “I’m sorry, Darry, I didn’t—”
“No, no, no. It's okay, you’re okay.” Soda says, moving at the same time Darry is. Soda’s got Pony’s shoulders, pulling his hair back, murmuring low and steady. Darry’s already running for dishrags, grateful—thank God—for something to do with his hands that isn’t shaking. He feels guilty for the thought right after, but he’s finally doing something, and it feels right.
He almost forgets the cops are in the kitchen until he’s practically in the room again. They’re already standing, looking sheepish. If it weren’t for the current situation, Darry might’ve even found that funny. “Can you come back tomorrow?” he asks tightly.
They agree, and finally, finally, the three of them are alone again.
Alone. Actually, Darry’s starting to not like the sound of that word at all.
“It’s my fault,” Darry says, voice rough as he comes back to the living room with some towels and floor cleaner. He kneels and starts scrubbing, breathing through his mouth, eyes fixed on the floor. His stomach heaves again, and he has to pause, gagging quietly, knuckles white around the towels.
He hears Pony crying behind him, apologizing over and over, and it twists something vicious in Darry’s chest. I did this, he thinks. I’m making everything worse.
Soda’s voice stays calm. “You couldn’t help it, Pony. It’s okay.”
Darry finishes cleaning and staggers to the sink, rinsing his hands, gripping the edge until the wave of nausea passes. He stares at the drain, jaw trembling, fighting his own bile back down.
When he turns around, Pony won’t look at him.
Darry sits and pulls him close without asking, holding him firm. Pony collapses against his chest, shaking.
“Listen to me,” Darry says quietly. “That wasn’t just you. I gagged first. Your body just followed mine. That happens. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
Pony nods weakly, face buried in Darry’s shirt.
I gotta learn to control myself, he thinks grimly. They need me, and I’m only making everything worse.
He looks up at a shaky, hitching breath. He meets Sodapop’s eyes. His middle brother looks like a deer in the headlights, completely at a loss for what happens next. It’s a random Tuesday in January, and their lives have just changed forever.
Darry extends his hand, and Sodapop takes it, squeezing. I love you, Darry mouths, like breaking the silence will break everything else.
Soda nods, closing his eyes. More tears slip. Darry takes a deep breath, trying desperately to hold it together. They need him. And just as much as that, Darry knows he needs them, too.
Darry isn’t sure how Two-Bit and Dally found out, but he’s glad they did. He doesn’t know if he would be able to take it if they’d walked in grinning, ready for a party.
Darry’s on the floor against the wall when they come in, knees drawn up to his chest, hands tangled in his hair.
They walk in quietly, even remembering to not let the screen door slam. Two-Bit looks around, finding only Darry. “Where are the kids?” he asks softly.
“Back porch,” Darry says. “Takin’ a smoke.”
“I’m gettin’ Johnny and Steve,” Dally says immediately and leaves as quickly as he came. Darry is grateful. Those are the two people Pony and Soda need most right now, and he just doesn’t have the strength to call anyone right now and reiterate what happened.
Two-Bit comes over to where Darry is, sitting beside him and pulling him into an embrace. He doesn’t say anything, but it’s all Darry needs to fall apart.
He grabs Two-Bit’s jacket and sobs—big, gulping sobs that tear from his chest and have nowhere to go but out. “I don’t know how to do this,” Darry chokes. “I don’t know how to raise ‘em. I’m gonna mess it up. I’m gonna fail ‘em—”
Two-Bit holds him tighter. “No, you ain’t,” he says firmly. “And don’t think about that right now. You don’t gotta do that. That’s somethin’ to think about later. You’re grieving. Just grieve.” Two-Bit’s voice breaks.
“I can’t,” Darry all but wails. “They would’ve taken the boys today if I hadn’t said somethin’, Two!”
“Okay. Okay,” Two-Bit soothes. “Easy. We’re gonna figure this out. You ain’t alone.”
Darry shakes his head. “I need my dad.”
“I know,” Two-Bit says, voice rough now too. “I know.”
“I need Mom!” Darry cries, a deep sob wracking his chest.
“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, Dar.” Two-Bit rubs his back, and Darry thinks Two-Bit is crying, too.
“There’s so much I have to do,” Darry says, his voice wrecked. “I—I gotta call the school, the kids can’t go tomorrow. I go—gotta call Dad’s work, I’ll need his job, too. Gotta call the grocery store, can’t be there tomorrow, gotta be here for whenever the social worker gets here. Or—Or the cops, I—” He takes a shuddering breath. “I haveta identify the bodies, I think? Don’t somebody gotta do that officially? And—” He sobs at another realization. “A funeral. I gotta plan a funeral. This weekend? Oh, Lord, how much is this all gonna cost?”
“Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” Two-Bit says, looking more and more horrified. “That ain’t all on you. Let me handle some of it. Or I’ll get the other boys to help, but I’ll do it. I’ll call the grocery store, I’ll call the school, I’ll call the police to set a time up for you. I’ll even—I’ll figure out all that needs to be done for a funeral. Mom and I will.”
“But the money—”
“Shh. We’ll figure it out. All the costs, I’ll tell you before we decide on anything about that, okay? All I’m doin’ right now is figurin’ it out. That okay with you?”
Darry took a teary breath, shaking his head. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to. I will. You’re my best friend, so you ain’t doin’ this alone. No way in hell. That’s final. Listen to me. Listen right now. Tonight, you don’t have to do nothin’ but take care of yourself. Johnny and Steve will be here for your brothers.” Two-Bit blew out a breath, his gaze disturbed. “And on your damn birthday. God, why?”
“I feel like I’m gonna die,” Darry whispers.
“No. No,” Two-Bit says. He squeezes Darry’s shoulder. “I’m gonna make some food, and we’re gonna get some sustenance in all three of yas. And you sure ain’t gonna feel good in the mornin’ or next week or even next month, but it ain’t always gonna feel like you’re gonna die, okay? You’re gonna hang on, and we’re gonna be here for every day of it until you knock us out on our asses because you’re so annoyed with us.”
Darry swallows hard, nodding. “Thank you.”
“Look at me.”
Darry does, holding Two-Bit’s gray, tear-filled eyes. “You’re gonna make it through this. You are capable. You love your brothers, and that’s gonna pull all of you through this. I swear, Darry, that’s enough, no matter what decisions you make in these next couple of months.”
“They’re stayin’ with me,” Darry tells him decisively. “I ain’t changin’ my mind.”
Two-Bit nods. “Okay. What I’m tellin’ ya still stands then. You’re enough. Tell me you understand.”
Weakly, Darry nods.
“With words, Darry.”
“I understand,” Darry whispers, wiping his face as more tears fall.
Satisfied, Two-Bit stands, helping Darry to his feet, too. “Good. Sit at the table. I’m makin’ coffee and grilled cheese.”
Darry wrinkles his nose.
For the first time since walking in, Two-Bit grins. “I swear it’ll be better than it sounds. You know what? I’m bakin’ a cake, too. I’m gonna need a little guidance though if we want your house still standing by the end of it.”
Darry rolls his eyes, sniffling. “I’m glad you’re here, Two.”
Two-Bit cocks an eyebrow, and even though his expression is more genuine than joking, for just a moment, things feel normal. “I wouldn’t be anywhere else.”