The first time Peter and Flossie came face to face since the teat tugging was an interesting spectacle. Peter entered the barn reluctantly and warily. He gradually edged closer to Flossie who must have suspected that something was about to happen. She shifted from foot to foot and mooed mournfully. Her eyes opened very wide and had a frenzied look to them.

"Approach her from the side," Steve said gently.

"She's going to kill me," Peter whispered.

"I won't let that happen," Steve promised.

"She hates me."

"She doesn't hate you. She's afraid because you hurt her."

"I hurt her?" Peter asked with a frown.

"Yes. You yanked her teat very hard and that had to hurt."

"I didn't think it would hurt."

"If I grabbed your nipple and yanked down on it, how would you feel?"

Peter cringed visibly. "But you wouldn't do that, would you?" The boy looked ashen.

"Has somebody hurt you like that?" Steve asked.

"No, not exactly, but my mother always threatens to skin me alive or rip my balls off."

"But she doesn't hurt you?"

Peter stared at Steve. "Not like that," he said slowly.

"But she hurts you other ways?"

"She calls me stupid and says I should never have been born. She threatens to make my father take me away, but we don't even know where he is anymore."

"So you hurt her back by being disobedient and defiant and saying horrible things to her."

"I guess so," Peter said looking at the straw on the floor of the barn.

"And that makes it easy to hurt your brother and your uncle and Flossie."

"I didn't mean to hurt Flossie. She just wouldn't give any milk. I was trying to make her."

"Have you ever heard the expression that you catch more flies with honey than vinegar?" Steve asked.

Peter shook his head. "What does it mean?"

"Let's say that Flossie is ready to be milked like she is now." Peter looked at the full udder wondering if he would ever be able to get Flossie to give her milk. "If you grab her teat and yank and it hurts her, is she likely to give milk willingly?" Peter thought about that for a moment. He shook his head. "When your mother yells at you and calls you stupid, does that make you want to do whatever she is asking?" Again Peter shook his head. "What do you think might convince Flossie to cooperate?"

Peter studied the cow. "If I patted her and told her she was a good cow, she might like that."

"Try it."

Peter slid his hand along Flossie's side. The cow turned her head at the gentle touch and some of the wildness went out of her eyes as Peter continued to rub her side and back.

"See, she likes that just fine," Steve encouraged him.

Peter smiled slightly and rubbed Flossie's nose. The cow raised her head against his hand encouraging him to continue and scratch harder. "She likes that," Peter grinned.

"She likes you," Steve said. "Grab the stool and sit down. Let's see just how cooperative she's prepared to be."

Peter took one teat in his hand and squeezed gently. A ribbon of milk covered his shoe. He giggled at the triumph of finally getting some milk.

"Here's the pail. Don't waste Flossie's bountiful harvest."

Peter looked up at Steve and smiled. Half the time he didn't know what the man was talking about, but he liked the soft, calm way Steve talked. Everything seemed to work out when Steve was around. Peter squeezed the teat gently and was rewarded with more milk that cascaded into the pail. "I can do it," he said triumphantly and Steve smiled. Number one in Steve's bag of life lessons was the value of kindness. Maybe he had just got that across to his young charge.

John and Peter had a peaceful few days. Following their narrow escape from the silo they were much more subdued and cooperative. They did their chores and didn't argue all the time. Occasionally they would revert to their old ways, but a meaningful look from Steve would bring them back into line. They knew they would be leaving the farm before too much longer, and they knew their mother was coming to see them. That caused some trepidation all round. Nobody knew how that was going to unfold.

Big John picked up Claire at her home in Pittsburgh on Wednesday afternoon. He had met with his client earlier and was heading back to the farm. Claire had never met John and didn't know what to expect. When he rang her doorbell, Claire was surprised to say the least.

"I'm John Anderson," the tall man said carefully.

"You're my half-brother," Claire said. Brian had told her about Jack's girlfriend before he came to Pittsburgh. John nodded. "You look a lot like Brian."

"So I'm told. Don't see it myself," John joked. He knew he and Brian could and had been easily taken for brothers, if not twins. "Are you ready to go?"

Claire pulled her overnight case out onto the porch and John took it to place in the back of the Navigator. Claire climbed into the passenger seat and they were off.

By the time they had left Pittsburgh behind the silence inside the vehicle was becoming oppressive. John wasn't sure what to say to the mother of the two holy terrors he had been dealing with for the last couple of weeks. He knew Brian and Claire had a strained relationship at best. How did he talk to this woman?

Claire solved that problem for him. She took a deep breath and asked the question that Brian had skirted with her. "What is your mother like?"

John thought about that for a minute. "You always start with the tough questions first?" he asked with a grin. Claire gave him a pinched smile. "Didn't Brian tell you?"

"Brian tells me no more than he absolutely has to. He'd rather never have to talk to me. I'm surprised he told me who you are."

"You must have a lot of questions then."

"I do. Are you going to answer the one I just asked?"

John smiled to himself. He remembered the first time he had met Brian. He understood how his brother liked to keep things to himself, and yet was so bold at other times. He could imagine Brian blowing Claire's socks off by saying they had a brother and then refusing to tell her anymore about where this brother had come from. That would be just like his little bro'.

"My mother's name is Claire too," John said simply.

"What? Claire? Like mine?"

John nodded. "Your father really loved my mother at one time. I don't know what happened exactly, but neither of them was really happy after that."

"Is your mother bitter and sad?"

"No, why do you ask that?" John frowned.

"You said she wasn't really happy."

"I just meant that she never found anyone to replace Jack. She's always been alone, only the two of us, and Jack's parents for quite a few years."

"And she wasn't bitter?" Claire repeated.

"No, I can't say she was. She's a great mother and a lovely lady."

Claire half snorted before she could stop herself. "I guess all the bitterness and resentment came to Pittsburgh with my father."

John looked over at her but didn't say anything. He thought about bitterness and resentment and how Claire had transferred those feelings to her own boys. They were all fucked up.

Claire rode the rest of the way in silence except for a few non-important, non-committal comments. She was thinking about this other Claire that she was about to meet. She was sure she would hate the perfect mother and lovely lady that John had described. She would be everything that Claire had never had in a mother. She would be everything that Claire had intended to be in a mother and had never achieved. Yes, she would definitely hate this new Claire.

John pulled the SUV up to his spot by the house. He watched Claire look around suspiciously and then take a deep breath as she opened the door of the vehicle and stepped out.

"Is this where my sons are staying?" she asked looking at the house. She thought it was a little grand for a camp. "Where are they?"

"This is my home, not the camp. Mother and I thought you would be more comfortable staying with us than at the farm where your boys are."

"Oh," Claire said feeling funny. She wasn't sure when the last time anyone had actually taken her feelings into consideration was.

"John," the older Claire called from the screen porch, "did you bring your precious cargo?" Claire came out the door of the porch wiping her hands on a towel.

"I brought Claire with me," John replied.

Brian's sister assessed the older woman as she walked towards her. She wasn't at all what she expected. Somehow she thought the woman would show visible signs of being a floozy, a mother of an illegitimate child, an old hag. She should be drunk like Joan or just plain bitter. But John had said she wasn't bitter, and she seemed glad to see Claire. Claire was baffled and she hated the woman more.

The elder Claire held out her hand and said, "Hi, Claire, I'm Claire too, Claire Anderson."

Young Claire extended her hand without thinking. This woman had her name. Finally she licked her dry lips and said, "Hello. You have my name," she added.

"Actually you have mine," Claire smiled. I've had mine quite a bit longer," she laughed.

"Oh, I guess that's true. Did my father name me after you?"

"I don't know, dear, but that is a possibility."

"I … I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything. Come inside and we'll get you settled in your room. Dinner will be ready in about a half hour."

When Claire came down the stairs some time later, she stood just back of the doorway to the kitchen and watched the elder Claire preparing dinner. She didn't think Claire was pretty, but for a woman her age she was … attractive. The younger woman wondered what her father had seen in this female, what had made him attracted to her, why her father would have named his daughter after another woman, why she was finding it increasingly difficult to keep her hate level up.

Ms. Anderson, as Claire decided to call her, worked efficiently in the kitchen. She seemed to know exactly what she was doing and was happy doing it. Each task was accomplished effortlessly. Claire thought about her own cooking skills. She hated cooking and only did it when she had to. The boys never seemed to like what she made and that gave her even less incentive to cook. Joan had never taught her anything in the kitchen. Claire had never wanted her to. Everything in her mother's kitchen had been so rigid and unpleasant. Claire always seemed to be in the way. It had been less than a pleasant experience.

"What are you making?" Claire asked stepping into the kitchen.

"My specialty, pot roast."

"It smells good," Claire admitted reluctantly.

"It is good. I usually make it on the weekend because it takes a long time to get the meat really tender."

"I like things that are fast and easy."

The elder Claire raised an eyebrow. "And that don't taste so great."

Claire flinched. How did she know? "Everything I make seems to be tasteless," Claire said for some unknown reason.

"Great taste takes time and care. Actually," the older woman chuckled, "pot roast is one of the easiest things in the world to make."

"It is?"

"You brown the meat and then let it simmer in the pan for hours. You throw in vegetables at the end and everyone thinks you're a genius."

"That's it?"

Claire Anderson smiled. "I add a few secret spices, but I'd be happy to share with you."

"You would? Why?"

"You're family … sort of."

Claire stared at this woman. Like family would make any fucking difference in helping her! "Nobody in my family ever helps me," Claire said with a frown.

"Is that what you think?"

"It's what I know."

"What about Brian bringing the boys here?"

Claire snorted. "I had to practically have a nervous breakdown before he'd help me."

"Did you ever think to ask him before it got to that point?"

"He never helps. He has money which he never shares and a great loft and … he's a fag. Why would he help me?"

"Maybe if you thought more of him, he'd do more for you."

Claire snorted again. "I doubt it."

"Thinking the worst of people often brings out the worst."

"Like you'd know in your perfect house and kitchen with your perfect son."

"You think I've had an easy time of it?" the elder Claire asked in disbelief.

"It's pretty obvious you have."

"Let me set a few things straight, young lady. I was an unwed mother forty years ago. I was a social outcast without two nickels to rub together. I worked hard to support myself and my son. John knows what we had to go through and that made him work hard to be a success … for both of us."

"My kids wouldn't give me the time of day if they didn't have to," Claire said bitterly.

"And do you ever give them 'the time of day' willingly?"

Claire thought about that for a minute. She rarely did anything for the boys willingly. She saw them as a burden on her time and own desires, and certainly as a financial burden, even with the support her worthless ex-husband was forced to pay. But she did love them, she did, as much as she could or as much as they would let her. "Not often," she admitted weakly.

"Claire, this trip is supposed to be a new beginning for you and the boys. They have made progress. Maybe it's time you did too. And … I'd be happy to help with some of my favorite recipes. And in any other way that I can."

"Why are you being so nice to me?"

"Because you are a guest in my home and you're Brian's sister and … you're Jack's daughter."

Claire studied this strange woman who was calm and peaceful and kind. She thought of how Joan would have reacted in a situation like this and shuddered. A little of her hate for Claire slipped away.

John and Steve arrived for dinner. Steve explained how the farm worked and what the boys had been up to. He was truthful about what the boys had done and how they had acted. He described the silo incident and how Brian had saved the boys. Claire started to get angry when she realized no one had informed her of the real danger. Steve calmly explained why and told her about the boys' reaction to his suggestion about calling her. He bluntly told her that the boys feared her and resented the way she treated them.

At one point Claire stormed out of the kitchen onto the screen porch and had a little cry. She wanted to go home where nobody would make her face these truths about herself, but she knew she couldn't do that. After a bit she returned to the kitchen and Steve continued with his slow, easy explanation of how he was handling the boys.

"But I don't know if I can be like that," Claire said with a sigh.

"You and Brian were raised in the same house," the elder Claire said. "He's come to terms with things. I think if he can do it, so can you."

Claire had to smile just a bit. That might be the first time in her adult life that anyone had said she could be as good as Brian. He was always the smart one, the rich one, the successful one. She was the one who had fucked up her life. Strange that this vote of confidence should come from the woman she had come here to hate.

"I'll try," Claire said slowly. "But I'll screw it up."

"No, you won't," John said. "We'll be here to help you."

Claire shook her head at these people. She felt her head swim, and asked to be excused to go lie down. She had a lot to think about before she saw the boys.