Unfounded Fears

Part 21

"Did Peter go to sleep?" Paul asked Kwai Chang Caine as he entered the warm cabin, an armload of firewood in hand.

"Yes. I believe he was very tired," Caine said, rising from the floor. He helped the captain unload the wood and put it in the firewood box.

Paul looked around the room. "Where's Lo Si?"

"He, too, went to bed. He said his body was not used to all of this fresh air."

Paul smiled, threw a log onto the fire and then settled into the overstuffed chair near the fireplace. Caine went to the small kitchen and returned with two steaming cups of tea in hand.

Paul started to frown at the concoction, having heard stories from Peter about the taste of some of Caine's teas. Caine must have caught the look, because he smiled at his companion. "Do not worry. Lo Si prepared this for us. He said that it was an ancient family secret recipe. Peter said it packed quite a. . . punch."

Paul grinned, sniffed at the liquid and recognized the smell of alcohol. What type of alcohol he was unsure of, but it didn't matter. To have a light drink before going to bed was just what the doctor ordered.

Caine folded his body back to the floor, crossing his legs in front of him. Paul started to offer the man a chair, but then realized that it was in this position that Caine was most comfortable.

The two men sat in silence for a long time, both staring into the crackling flames of the fire, each lost in his own thoughts.

Caine broke the silence first. "Were Peter and Ms. Wells close?"

The question startled Paul. "Claudia?" He thought back to the summer of 1982. "Yes, they were close." Paul smiled at the memory and then was conscious of the fact that Caine was staring at him, prompting him for more of an answer.

Paul shifted in his chair and took a drink from the tea, cringing slightly as it burned his throat. "Peter's right. It does have a kick." Caine smiled and nodded. He still awaited more information.

"Please, tell me about that time," Caine encouraged.

Paul chuckled. "Peter would kill me. I promised him I would never tell. I don't think Annie even knows."

Caine frowned, slightly worried at what information would be so protected by Peter. "Claudia was his first." Paul smiled.

Caine suddenly understood. "Ah." He nodded and smiled. "I knew he had been with her, but I did not realize she was his first."

Paul nodded. "We were staying at the cabin at the same time as the Wells family. Our families decided to have a picnic together. Peter and Claudia disappeared from the party. It became very late and we started to worry about what had happened to the kids. Claudia's father and I went looking for them. Fortunately, I found them first. They were, shall we say, occupied."

Caine smiled at the memory he would never be able to call his own. Paul continued. "Peter and Claudia begged me not to tell anyone. I didn't. Peter and I did have a refresher discussion about the birds and bees and such. But I never saw a reason to betray his confidence. And I'm pretty sure that the two saw each other a lot more over that summer and those that followed, until Claudia went off to college."

Caine tried to keep the smile on his face, but inside regret was building. That talk, that time, should have been something for him to have with his son. He was grateful that Paul Blaisdell was there to pick up the pieces, but the pain of the loss was still there.

Paul Blaisdell looked into the Shaolin's eyes and saw the pain and anger. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to upset you."

Caine shook his head. "You have not upset me." Caine took a drink of the liquor-laced tea and allowed the effects to course through his body. "What is upsetting is that because of one man's actions, I do not have that memory. That is no fault of yours."

Paul nodded. He wished he could believe that Caine's anger was so specifically directed at just the one evil man. "You know, we've never really talked before, about Peter I mean."

"No. I appreciate you doing so now." Caine's voice was sincere.

Paul smiled. "You have a good son. The memories are a pleasure to remember."

"Yes, he is. And it is because of the care he received from your family." Caine's gaze shifted back to the fire. "Tell me more. . .about that time," the Shaolin pleaded.

Paul could not deny the man's request. It was a simple way of giving the father something that circumstance had taken away. He drank from the cup again and settled back in the chair.

The scent of baking bread drifted through Peter's room, rousing him from his sleep. He opened one eye, and looked out the nearby, open window. He could hear the sound of birds chirping and could see the first rays of sunrise approaching. It was early. . .too early to be getting up, especially if you weren't allowed to fish. He turned over onto his good side and pulled the heavy blankets over his head.

His growling stomach, however, gave him no peace. It, apparently, had decided it liked the fresh mountain air. It would not give up its demand for food. Rolling out of bed, biting his lip at the ache in his side and the stiffness in his muscles, Peter pushed himself to his feet. Stretching, he gingerly lifted the left arm up in the air and attempted to loosen the shoulder joint. He immediately regretted the motion. A sharp knife of pain sliced through his collarbone and back. He dropped the arm back down, defeated.

He slipped a sweatshirt over his head and retied the loose strings of his sweatpants. Padding barefoot across the room, he opened the door and felt a blast of warmth from the living room. A fire was roaring in the fireplace. Lo Si was working diligently in the kitchen, preparing breakfast.

He looked up at the young man. "Good morning, Peter. Did you sleep well?"

Peter nodded. "Like a rock." He glanced around the room. "Where is everyone?"

"I believe that your father is meditating on the dock and Captain Blaisdell is having his morning coffee on the front porch."

"They left you with breakfast?" Peter asked.

Lo Si smiled. "I do not mind. It allows me to practice. I never get to use what I learned in my cooking lessons."

"You took cooking lessons?" Peter's eyes were wide in amazement.

"Ah, yes. I have found that it is a wonderful way to meet women."

Peter chuckled and shook his head at the response. "I should have known."

Lo Si handed the young man a steaming cup of coffee. "You should join your foster father," he ordered.

Peter tilted his head. "You sure you don't need help."

"No, Peter, I believe everything is under control," Lo Si assured.

Peter took a sip from the cup, impressed at the robust flavor. "What's in this?" he asked as he made his way to the front door.

"Ancient family secret recipe," Lo Si whispered.

"Your family has a secret recipe for coffee, too?" Peter responded, doubtfully.

Lo Si's eyes sparkled. "I come from a very large family."

Peter pulled his socks over his feet and ambled out to the front porch. As Lo Si had said, Paul was sitting on the front swing, staring out over the lake. "Good morning," Peter said to his foster father.

"Morning. How do you feel?" Paul asked as he moved over on the swing, making room for the younger man.

"Stiff, but better," Peter answered. Then he paused and grinned. "My stomach muscles hurt from laughing so hard."

"Yeah, you thought that was real funny, didn't you?" Paul tried to act offended, but he couldn't maintain the look. He, too, was grinning at the memory. "Damn tree," he muttered.

Peter looked out to the dock. It was empty. "Where's Pop?"

Paul pointed to a spot further down the shoreline. "I think he's meditating."

Peter nodded. Paul was silent for a moment. Then quiet words could be heard. "Do you?" he asked the youngest Caine.

"Do I what?" Peter frowned, confused at the question.

"Meditate," Paul clarified. "I don't remember you ever doing it as a child."

Peter shook his head. "In the orphanage, I tried. But it hurt. I couldn't maintain the peace."

"Hurt?"

"Yeah." Peter paused, then continued. "Every time I tried, all I could think about was the temple. . .and the explosion. . .and my father's death. So I stopped."

Paul nodded his understanding. "And now?"

Peter smiled slightly. "I'm trying. It's hard. I guess I'm out of practice." Paul nodded again. Peter tilted his head at the older man. "Why?"

Paul shrugged his shoulders. "No reason. . .just curious."

Peter let out a small chuckle. "Yeah, right."

Paul shifted on the swing. "Your father and I talked last night." His words were so quiet that Peter was barely able to hear them.

"About me?" Paul nodded, but did not answer. Peter felt a flutter in his chest, whether it was excitement or fear, he was not sure. "Comparing notes?" There was still no answer. "Guess that's what happens when you don't have cable, huh?"

Paul couldn't help laughing at the line. Then he became serious. "Your father is in a great deal of pain."

Peter's face showed immediate concern. "What?"

"Not physical. Emotional," Paul clarified.

Peter sighed, relieved, but the relief was short-lived. "What's up?"

"I think he misses the child that he lost."

Peter said nothing for a long time. "The child lost in the temple?" he finally queried.

Paul nodded. "Yes. He wants the son back that was taken from him. The son that would have followed in the Shaolin tradition."

Peter whispered, "That son is gone, I think."

Paul shook his head. "I'm not so sure. Every day you do something which makes me realize that the person you were never went away, it was just buried down deep." Peter didn't respond. Paul stood suddenly. "I need to get a refill."

Peter, startled by the sudden move, stood to follow him. Paul's large hand held him down on the bench. "I'm going to go get dressed. We have fish to catch." The captain retreated from the porch, leaving a very confused foster son behind.

End Part 21

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