Interludes:
Grace
By
Jackee C.
Grace:
Mercy; clemency. 2. disposition to or
an act or instance of kindness,
courtesy, or clemency; the quality or state of being considerate or
thoughtful.
Paul Blaisdell forced back a muffled cry of pain as he
settled a bit too heavily
into the passenger seat of the Stealth. He hoped the sound would pass
for a sigh. No such
luck. Peter caught it and went into fret overload.
"Oh, Jeez!
Paul, I'm sorry. I don't know what I was
thinking to try to bring you home from the hospital in this car. I
should've known. . .
."
Paul waved a hand, hoping to forestall the apologetic
flood. "I'm fine, Peter.
Really. Just sat down too quickly."
He offered a smile to back up the words. Never mind 'not minding the
pain', it was a hard
front to keep up, but he did.
Apparently mollified to some degree, Peter dropped the
apologies and moved on to
fussing with the seatbelt and the position of the chair and was he warm
enough? Was he
okay?
Paul made the appropriate replies, even though they were
lost in the rapid-fire
flow of Peter's words. Paul bore it. He was sure that at some point
Peter had to run out
of questions; he just didn't know if he'd be alive to see it.
Some days, Paul
thought, it's an.
. . interesting
experience to be a father.
Finally satisfied with the seatbelt adjustments, Peter
hustled around the car
toward the driver's side. Paul held back a sigh as he watched. His
son's mouth was in
motion the entire time. The monologue continuing as he slid behind the
driver's seat. A
babbling Peter was an upset Peter. Paul didn't need any guesses to
figure out that the
source of the trouble was the man who'd just returned after a six month
absence.
Might
as well take the
bull by the horns.
"Has
Caine said anything about his plans?" he asked quickly when Peter took
a breath.
There was really no gentle way to lead into the conversation. Judging
from Peter's
reaction -- an almost imperceptible tightening of his features -- the
only gentle way was
not to raise the issue at all. Paul was now certain that any question
about his father was
what his foster son had been carefully avoiding.
"He said he'd stick around." Peter shrugged with studied
indifference and
turned the key in the ignition before pulling away from the curb. He
immediately launched
into another line of conversation.
"You know, this is the first time you've ridden in this
car. Smooth huh?"
Paul figured that now was not the time to let on to his
often overly-sensitive son
that his newest excuse for an automobile was still too low to the
ground for his tastes. A
body his age, especially a wounded one, preferred to step out of a car
rather than roll
out of one. But it didn't matter. He wasn't allowed a word edgewise,
anyway. He'd wait.
Sooner or later, he'd find out what was bothering Peter.
"Are you sure you're warm enough? I could turn up the
heat. I know it's cold
out. Can you believe it's only October? You know we
probably should crank up the heat. The heater in the 'vette
wasn't as good as this one. I think winter's. . . "
Paul tuned out the words as he considered the young man.
So much nervous energy --
it was no wonder he never gained any weight. But beneath all that
frantic motion was a
focused thinker and a skilled investigator. Sometimes it amazed Paul
that Peter was such a
good detective when his every emotion was there for the world to see. Like
now. Even upset, it was obvious that he very much loved
driving.
Paul forced back a smile as he thought back to the days
when the words Peter and
driving put together in a sentence was a frightening proposition.
Peter's enthusiasm for
being behind the wheel had led to more than a few scares. But Paul was
forced to admit
that these days Peter was a much more careful driver. He surfaced back
into the
conversation to find that Peter was still talking about the weather and
the car.
"It handles like a dream. Even on wet terrain. It's pure
driving excitement. .
. "
Terrain?
Pure driving excitement?
"You
really ought to borrow this car sometime, Paul. Take Annie for a ride."
"No, son, I'll leave that to you." Paul managed to cut in.
Peter's rambling slowed, and he nodded, a small smile
lighting his features.
It was the endearment. Paul knew Peter liked it, probably
nearly as much as he
liked saying it. During the past months while Caine was away, he,
Annie, and the girls had
circled the wagons around Peter, reinforcing their family unit. Once
they had gotten the
bugs out, namely, not letting Peter know they were circling the wagons,
he'd soaked up the
affection like a sponge. During that time they'd reinstated the old
practice of the entire
family getting together for dinner once a week. Speaking of dinner. . .
Paul cut in on a monologue about winter outerwear. "Oh,
Peter. Annie would
like for you to invite Caine to dinner this Sunday."
Peter stopped cold. His smile was gone, and the agitation
that had somewhat faded
returned full force. "You sure you're going to be up to that?" he asked
nervously.
"I'll be all right. All I have to do is sit down and eat.
It's just dinner,
Peter."
The high performance engine revved slightly higher as
Peter pressed more heavily on
the gas. Paul wondered if he was going to have to revise his earlier
thoughts about
Peter's driving.
"I--I don't know if he's free." Peter hedged.
Paul had a sinking feeling that he'd inadvertently
stumbled on a clue to the
problem as he watched Peter make a great show of moving from one lane
to the next. He
didn't think he needed to say that it was an unnecessary move
considering their exit was
coming up. The lane change had been mostly legal, and they'd have time
to get back over.
Peter's speed though was edging into warning territory.
"I'm sure it doesn't have to be this week. I know he's
just gotten back in
town." Paul spoke soothingly. "I know you really haven't had a chance
to spend
much time with him, and you probably want him all to yourself for a
little while. We can
understand that." He hoped the words were the right ones to say, that
they'd calm
Peter.
Suddenly, Peter backed off on the gas, and the vehicle
slowed. "I'm sorry,
Paul. It's not that. It's. . . I didn't mean to put you off like that."
"No apologies necessary. You've been through a lot of
stress these past few
days."
Peter snorted. "I wasn't the one who was attacked by some
Shadow Assassin
whose only reason for hurting you was to hurt me so that he could flush
out my father. He
certainly did a fine job of doing what I couldn't do."
"Your father came back, Peter." It was all Paul could
think to say. He
and Caine were very different in a lot ways, but there were
similarities, too. He knew
what it was like to be at a point in one's life where you needed to get
away, to just
clear the decks and learn to breathe again.
"Yeah."
Petered muttered the word with a soft
bite of sarcasm. "And I should probably just count my blessings,
right?"
"Maybe you should," Paul replied. "Didn't you just tell me
he was
back to stay?" He wondered that he often ended up defending Caine. He
didn't doubt
that Caine would step up to the plate and defend him if the need ever
arose. He hoped that
it wouldn't, but he'd lived long enough to know things were rarely
smooth sailing.
Peter nodded in response to his question, then
half-mumbled, "He said he wanted to get to know his son." The words
weren't
spoken with the warmth Paul expected to hear, but with an edge of
bitterness.
"Listen, Peter. I know you and your father have a lot to
work out and talk
through. Getting to know one another again sounds
like a very
good place to start."
Peter shifted in his seat and was silent for several
moments. Paul knew that there
was something more coming, and whatever it was, it was bad. He waited.
It seemed the more
important a thing was with Peter, the longer it took for it to come
out.
Eventually Peter spoke very softly, his face reddened with
embarrassment.
"That's going to be pretty hard to do if I don't even know where he
lives."
Paul was confused. "You mean he hasn't found a place yet?"
Peter frowned slightly and shook his head. "I hadn't
thought of that. But the
thing is, he told me that
I would be able to find him since I
was a cop. Well I've been looking for two days, and I don't know where
the hell he
is."
Paul had to admit that if this was Caine's idea of
bonding, it was very unusual,
especially considering the changes he and Peter had just experienced.
"Where have you
looked so far?" he asked.
Peter rattled off a long list of places,
some that Paul
didn't even know existed in
Paul frowned. Caine usually wasn't difficult to find.
"What about The Ancient?
Did you ask him?"
"I would have, but he's been avoiding me, too. Usually,
whenever I need him,
he's right there."
Paul nodded as Peter turned onto the-tree lined street
that led into the
neighborhood where the Blaisdell home was located. He knew that The
Ancient had done his
own version of circling the wagons around Peter during Caine's absence.
He couldn't image
what reason the two men could have for pushing Peter away.
He thought again. Where could Caine be? Normally all one
had to do was. . . The
answer was suddenly very clear. Ignoring the small ache that went
through his body at the
motion, Paul chuckled.
Peter turned a stunned gaze on him.
"I think you've only got one option, kid."
"What is it?" Peter waited wide-eyed for the response.
Paul didn't make him wait long. "Go to
". . . he
will help you." Peter finished with
him, chuckling, too. "God.
Only Pop. And only you could
help me see that."
Paul smiled,
glad to see the worry lift from his son's
features. He briefly rested a gentle hand against his shoulder for good
measure.
Some days, he thought, it's wonderful to be a father.
