 | ShatterStorm Productions
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| ShatterStorm Productions
|
Primary Character(s): Janet Fraiser
Special Notes: We realize that David Farazell hasn't been fully introduced yet. This is due to the issues surrounding the publication of Book 6: Rainbows. Suffice it to say, if you know Darya's past history with her father, this should make sense. And rest assured, Rainbows is still coming.
Disclaimers: See Index page for full disclaimer info
++ Janet ++
"You know, the least you could do is be civil to him, Janet."
I turn around to see my dear friend standing in the doorway of the kitchen. Funny how often I end up in the kitchen when I need to do some major thinking. I offer her a rueful smile and pour each of us a cup of tea. Bringing the cups to the table, I sit across from her. "I don't know that I can be any more civil than I already am, Dare. I'm letting him stay here, aren't I?"
"Why can't you see that he's trying?" She asks, an exasperated desperation in her tone. "They've come to visit us three or four times now, not including this week. Papa's trying, Janet. Why can't you?"
I take a sip of my tea and avoid her gaze for a moment or two while I gather my thoughts. When I know I can't hold off her curiosity any longer, I reach over and squeeze her hand. "You are perhaps my dearest, oldest friend, not including your sister or X. You and I have been through so much over the past twenty-one years, Darya: high school, college, ROTC, med school. And I haven't even mentioned the serious things, including the ugliness between us over my marriage to X, and the issues with Em's death. But the one thing I remember that we've been through together was when your newly-sainted father disowned you for admitting to him who and what you are."
I can see the briefest glimmer of tears shining in her eyes at my words, but I can also see the steely determination that is so indicative of my dear friend's resolve. "And aren't you the person who's been pushing me the most to deal with this and move on? But you're not really doing that, are you, Janet? And you're not really letting me do it either."
"Darya, you're not being fair," I protest.
"I'm not being fair? I’m still trying to accept the fact that I could have lost my father earlier this year and never had reconciled with him. I'm not saying that you should call him Dad or anything like that, Janet. I'm asking you to treat him with at least a modicum of respect for my sake, and for Emily's sake."
"And what about me, Dare?" I ask, finally annoyed with her speech. "Have you forgotten the hell I had to help you dig your way out of when he disowned you? Have you forgotten how often I went without sleep to watch over you so you wouldn't try something stupid? I was only seventeen years old myself, and I suddenly found myself on a nearly constant suicide watch. I can't forget that as easily as you can, Darya, and I can't forgive him for causing that to happen."
The gentle clearing of a throat from the doorway brings a flush of realization to my face. What are the odds of this happening? Is the entirety of the Farazell family this damned psychic? Do they all know when they're being talked about?
"I'm sorry, I was just coming to get a bottle warmed up for Cory," says the subject of our conversation. "Art sent me in while she finishes feeding Elana. I didn't mean to interrupt."
I shake my head and get up to grab for a bottle. "It's fine, Mr. Farazell. I'll get the bottle started for you."
Darya suddenly gets up as well, pressing a kiss to her father's cheek. "Don't bother, Jan. I'll go feed Cory. I'm feeling a little full and was planning on using the pump anyway. Might as well just let him have it straight from the cow." And before I can say another word, she's out the door with her cup of tea. Damn her.
"Janet…"
"Can I get you some tea, sir?" I ask politely, internally seething at Darya's trickery.
"If it's no trouble," he replies. "I wouldn't want to be a burden."
I shake my head, putting the bottle back in the fridge, and turn to refill the kettle. "No trouble at all, sir."
"Please, call me David." It sounds almost too tentative for my comfort, too apologetic and genial.
"I'm not really comfortable with that, and I'm not sure that I'll ever be comfortable with it, to be completely honest."
"That's fair enough." He pauses for a moment, and I can hear him sitting down at the table. "Janet, I know I'm not exactly high on your list of favorite people to be around. And I fully deserve that distinction. I did some horrible things to Darya when she was younger, and to you by extension. For that, I'm truly sorry, and I'm sure I'll never fully be able to repent for all of it. But I'm doing my best, and I would hope that we can at least have a few less animosities between us."
"For their sakes, right? Darya and her children?"
"Yes, and for you and your children, as well. Janet, in the past five months, I've learned things about my family that I'd never known. And that includes the things you were just outlining to Darya. I did overhear you, completely by accident initially, but I can't fault you on any of the points you made."
The whistle of the kettle turns my attention away for a moment and I make up another cup of chamomile, which I then set in front of him. When he takes a sip, I settle myself in my chair again and take a sip of my own tea.
"I understand you wanting to reconcile with Darya," I finally say. "Cancer can be a very scary thing. And despite whatever I may feel toward you, sir, I don't wish cancer or any terminal illness on another living being. But if I may, I'd like to ask you a question, and I would prefer an honest answer." When he nods, I take another sip of tea before continuing. "If you hadn't had the cancer scare, would you have worked toward a reconciliation with your daughter?"
He nods again, as if he expected my question. And I'm sure he did expect it. It's a pretty straightforward question. "I'd like to say that I would have, Janet. But you wanted honesty, and if I'm completely honest, I don't know that I would have reconciled with her without the cancer scare." He runs his hand through his hair. "I was a stubborn, stupid man, and I know I deserve to have no contact with my daughter or her children. But when I was lying in that hospital bed, waiting to find out the results of my biopsy, I was terrified that I'd die without seeing my daughter again, or meeting my grandchildren. I didn't want that to happen. And I'm willing to do whatever it takes to change. I want to do right by Darya, by the children, by Karen, and by you and the rest of her family."
"And you seem to be quite a hit with the children, even my own," I reply a bit resentfully, actually moved by his words, and angry with myself for it. "You have to understand something. You hurt Darya so deeply when you disowned her. You have no idea how bad it was. She was devastated. I wasn't lying when I said I lost sleep keeping an eye on her. We all did it, but I watched over her the most."
"Until your own falling out with her," he interjects softly. "Who watched over her then? According to Davie, that was quite traumatic, as well. And yet, eventually Darya forgave you and welcomed you back into her life with open, forgiving arms."
"That was Emma's influence," I reply roughly, the memories of that dark period in our lives all too fresh all of a sudden.
"So I've been told," he continues. "And aren't you glad she interfered and got you two back together? Would you have reconciled with Darya if it weren't for Emma?"
I’m at a loss for words, staring at my cup of tea. Memories of the years when we weren’t speaking flood over me, culminating in that phone call from Emma, the call X forced me to take. I'd been terrified she wouldn't forgive me, that she would hate me forever and I'd never have her back in my life. But I'd also been too damned stubborn and scared to approach… Oh. Damn.
Could I really put the children, all of our children, through the uncertainty of how to feel around a member of their extended family just because I was being a stupid, stubborn ass. Physician, heal thyself. Or perhaps, the monikers of 'pot' and 'kettle' are far more apropos to the situation.
The sensation of his hand covering mine brings me back to the here and now, and I glance up to meet his tentative gaze. "I've been an ass."
"You were being protective of your family, your loved ones. I do understand, and I know this won't be easy to get past the mutual animosities we've had over the years. But I'm willing to give it a shot, for them, if you are."
Am I? As I deliberate my choices, my daughter manages to make my decision for me. She wanders into the kitchen with a sleepy scowl and walks up to the man sitting across from me. Tugging at his pantleg, she waits for him to pick her up. When he does, she curls into his chest. "Sleepy, pahpoos," she mumbles. "Finish the story please?"
Seeing her trust of this man makes me realize that perhaps he's not solely the ogre I've always pictured all these years. And I smile warmly at this man for the first time in over twenty years.
"I think I'd like to give it a shot, David."
