The Mouths of Babes 

Author: Linda Wilson, AKA ranapipens4ever (rana pipens=bullfrog--love frogs!)

e-mail: linda_31467@msn.com

Rated: PG-13 some strong language
 
Summary: Nick has made it past the ordeal with Mandy Gressler and Caldwell has
been booted out of F&A; Nick, still on probation, still works for LSoP. In this
story, Nick learns the truth about his mother and how Burton reacted.

Disclaimer:Nick and Burton Fallin, Lulu Archer, Barbara Ludzinski and Alvin
Masterson are taken directly from "The Guardian." Kurt Stinich, Nick's new
probation officer, and Freddy Laplaca are my own creation. Resemblance to any
person living or dead is purely coincidental; similarity of events, dates
characters or the portrayal of events is unintentional.
 
Author's Note: This is my first foray into NIckFic. Don't laugh too much, 
please. It is dedicated to Janet Dillon, who gave me the courage and the kick in the pants I
needed to try this form of self-expression.

--+--

"Hey, Nick," Alvin Masterson stuck his head around Nick's door at LSoP. "End of
the day, pal. You goin' home or are you gonna stay here all night?"

Nick looked up from the file he was going through. "Yeah, Alvin. My father's
picking me up in about 20 minutes."

"Oh. You're not driving?"

"Not because I don't want to. Car's supposed to be serviced every six months, I
have a standing appointment, and the biggest BMW dealership in Pittsburgh
doesn't have a loaner. If it's not one thing, it's another."

"Friday night, too," Alvin Masterson said.

"Well, I've been toning down my social life a little. Pace just got too
frantic."

"Uh-huh. Well, see ya Monday."

Alvin left and Nick returned to the file. There wasn't much left to do on this
particular case except file a motion and that could wait. He put the file in a
drawer, picked up his briefcase and slung his jacket over his shoulder. "Another
day, another dime, another way to kill some time," he said to himself and closed
the door behind him.

He paused to look in the conference room and found Lulu Archer and Barbara
Ludzinski bending over an infant seat. "Ladies," he said by way of greeting and
farewell. 
 
"Oh, hi, Nick," Barbara said. Lulu nodded in his direction and began
to dial the cell phone she held. "Who's this?" Nick asked.

Lulu looked up and pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes. "This is Freddie
Laplaca. He's the eight-month-old son of a 16-year-old girl who just got carted
off to juvenile detention. We're trying to find a placement for him."

Nick glanced at his watch. "Dad won't be here for another 15 minutes. Can I
help--call some more agencies, whatever?"

"Oh, that would be great," Barbara said. "Lu and I have been doing our best, but
we keep getting interrupted."

Nick picked up the list of child service agencies that someone at LSoP was
always leaving around and started dialing. Lulu paused between making her own
calls. "How're you doing these days, Nick? We don't get a chance to talk much."

For God's sake, Lulu, Nick thought, can't you see I want it that way? "Well,
I've been busy. How are you and Brian doing? "

"Oh, we're fine--just fine. I called your house a couple of times, but I always
get a recording. I was thinking maybe we can go out for a drink tonight on the
way home."

Nick looked at her, wondering briefly why Louisa Archer, Esq., the assistant
director of LSoP, was apparently unaware that he had been staying with his
father for the past six weeks--the change of address was, after all, in LSoP
personnel records. He knew he'd have to go back eventually, but at that moment,
he just didn't want to be in the same house where Mandy Gressler had almost died
and a new chapter in his ordeal had begun "Will Brian be along?"

"I don't think so. He has to work late at the hospital. He might join us later,
though."

"I see. Well, Lulu, I don't think so--not tonight anyway. My car's being
serviced and the dealership didn't have a loaner, so my father's picking me
up--he should be here any minute now, unless the parking's really horrendous."

"Well, then--"

The elevator bell sounded, the doors opened and Burton Fallin walked into the
room. "Nicholas, you ready? Good evening, ladies."

Nick had been trying to dial another agency. "Hi, Dad. Can you give me a couple
of minutes, or are you double-parked?"

"Nope, found a space without any trouble. Who's your friend here?"

"That's Freddie Laplaca. His mother got herself hauled off to juvenile detention
today for some reason--I don't really know; it wasn't my case. You know Barbara,
and I think you might remember meeting Louisa Archer? She's gotten married since
you saw her last, but she's still Ms. Archer around here. We're trying to find
someplace for Freddie. Shouldn't take too long."

"Sure, no rush. Dinner'll keep. Barbara, you look lovelier every time I see you,
and Ms. Archer, my very best wishes. Your husband is a lucky man."

"Thank you Mr. Fallin--or isn't it supposed to be Judge Fallin?"

"Well, we're working on that," Burton said. "Nicholas thinks I should accept the
appointment, but I'm not sure."

Meanwhile, Nick's end of the conversation with whatever agency he was talking to
was becoming increasingly acrimonious. "Excuse me, but I have an eight-month-old
infant here that has to spend the night somewhere. Uh-huh. Well, thank you." He
rang off. "Thank you, Miss Whoever-You-Are, for absolutely nothing."

"More nothing in addition to the nothing I've been getting all day," Barbara
said.

"This is unreal," Nick said. "Okay, let's try central Children's Protective
Services again." After a few moments--"Very well," Nick said into his cell
phone. "I appreciate your explaining the situation so concisely. I will now
explain our position. We have an eight-month-old male infant here, a diaper bag
with some bottles and formula and half a box of Pampers. You're telling me you
can't assume custody of him until 8 a.m. tomorrow at the earliest. Fine. This is
a law office. What are we supposed to do, bed him down in a file drawer?"

"I don't expect to be home any time soon," Lulu said.

"I don't have any way to take care of a baby," Barbara said.

Burton meanwhile had been silent, obviously thinking. Now he gestured to Nick:
give me the phone. Nick gave him a startled look that meant are you sure? A nod
and the gesture again.

"This is Burton Fallin; who am I talking to? Yes, I'm connected with Legal
Services." He put his hand over the phone briefly. "My son works here; that's a
connection, I suppose." Back to the phone: "Can you give me your assurance that
you can pick up this child no later than 9 a.m. tomorrow? Yes. All right, The
child will be at"--and he gave the Fallin address and number and ended the call.
He looked at Nick. "Well, no one can ever say you don't bring work home."

"Wait a minute," Nick said. "Do we--?"

"Yes, we do."

"Oh, that's wonderful," Barbara said. "Mr. Fallin, we really appreciate this."
"Well, then, I'm going to head on out," Lulu said. "Bye, Nick. Bye, Mr. Fallin.
If you need any help, let me know."

"Thanks, Lulu. Bye, Barbara," Nick said absently. As Lulu and Barbara left the
office, he turned to his father. "Since when do we have any kind of baby
equipment around?"

"We retired the crib when you were about three years old," Burton said. "We just
never got around to getting rid of it. It's still in the attic, along with the
other appurtenant paraphernalia. When your mother put something away, she did a
good job of it. All we have to do is put it together."

Nick caught the hint of a smile playing around the edges of his father's lips.
"You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Sure I am." Burton picked up the infant seat by the handle. "Come on, Freddy.
This is the night your Uncle Nick is going to learn how to change a diaper.
Should be very interesting."

The crib went in Nick's room. Since Freddy would be their houseguest for only
one night they could dispense with the changing table, Burton decided. "Just
slide that waterproof pad under him. Good. Now slide the diaper under him. Now__
watch it!"

"Watch what?--Jesus!" Nick ducked just in time as Freddy demonstrated a
remarkable talent for aim and range. "I didn't know boy babies did that!"

"That's the main problem when you're working with one," Burton noted.

"I really appreciate hearing that," Nick said wryly. A sudden thought popped
into his mind, unbidden and he turned to his father. "Did_".

Burton studied a spot on the wall intently. "Fallin men have always been
considered--accomplished--in this regard," he told it. Having gotten his face
under control he returned his attention to his son. "You nailed your mother a
couple of times, I think. By the time you came along I'd been sitting for enough
of my cousins to know when to duck Nicholas, may I suggest you get on with it?
The kid'll be ready for college by the time you get that diaper on."

Freddy's wriggling didn't help, but Nick peeled the tape from around his thumb
where it had coiled and fastened the diaper in place. He picked up Freddy
carefully under the arms as Burton had instructed. "OK, Freddy, now_" The diaper
slid off.

Burton wordlessly handed him another Pamper. Nick sighed. "Something tells me
this is going to be a very long night," he said.

Nick came awake slowly, at first only vaguely aware that his cell phone was
ringing. "All right, where did I put the damn thing?" he wondered. There was a
whimper from the crib. "Oh, no. Freddy, please be quiet for just a minute,
please." As he turned on his bedside lamp he saw that the glowing dial on his
bedside clock read 2:20 a.m.

Freddy's whimpers increased. "Okay, okay," Nick told him. He picked up Freddy,
who seemed not in the least inclined to quiet down while the telephone kept
beeping. Burton, wearing his dressing gown, walked into the room and took
Freddy. "Well, now you know what it feels like," he told his son. 
 
"Ah, God,"Nick said. He picked up the phone and said "Yes?!" into it in a tone 
meant to
convey a) that the caller couldn't have picked a worse time and b) was one link
on the food chain away from a microbe. Burton held Freddy, jiggling him gently
and pacing a little. "Oh, Lulu. What is it? Yes, well, I'm sorry you and Brian
had a fight, but what do you want me to do--uh-huh. Well, I can't--in case you
forgot, I have this baby to take care of. No, sorry, I can't. No. Bye." 
 
While he was speaking, Burton headed for the door. "This one needs a bottle," he 
told
Nick. "Put on your slippers and your bathrobe before you come down."

Nick went downstairs to find his robed and slippered father holding a bottle for
Freddy, who was in his infant seat. "Sorry, Dad," Nick said. 'I'll do that. You
go back to bed."

"It's not a problem," Burton said. After a few more minutes Freddy finished the
bottle and Burton sat him up and rubbed his back, eliciting a burp. 
 
"I thought you were supposed to put them over your shoulder to burp them," Nick 
said. 
 
"This always worked for you," his father told him. He put Freddy back in the 
infant
seat and the baby promptly went to sleep.

"Did you hear the phone?" Nick asked. "I didn't think I had it up that loud."

"You didn't. Old habits die hard--when there's a baby around you never really go
all the way under."

Nick sat down at the kitchen counter and Burton looked at his son keenly. "Old
relationships die hard, too, don't they?"

"How did you know? Yeah, they do."

"I'm your father, Nicholas," Burton said. "I notice things, especially where
you're concerned. I noticed the way she looked at you today and I noticed the
way you tried very hard not to look at her."

"Damn," Nick said. "I was hoping it didn't show."

"Don't worry. I'm probably the only person who picked up on it, besides--what
did you call her, Lulu?"

"Uh-huh. I though we had something going but now_"

"You said she was married, didn't you?" Burton pulled at his moustache.

"Yeah. She told me the day--the same day all that--stuff--happened. About a
month or so before that she told me she got engaged to Brian. She decided she
couldn't handle a big wedding, at least that's what she told me, and then she
and Brian went to Atlantic City. I don't think she knows what she wants or why
she got married or--anything. She said she was--confused. That makes two of us.
Dad, I just don't know where I stand with her."
 
Burton sighed, thinking damn this Lulu, whatever her last name is now. Doesn't
the boy have enough problems without some strumpet playing fast and loose with
his emotions? "She's a married woman, Nicholas. That means that where you're
standing is on the outside, looking in--at least, that's how I see it."

It was Nick's turn to cast a penetrating look. "If she's got a ring on her
finger she's off limits?"

"By my standards, yes."

"What if she wants to--pretend the ring isn't there?"

Burton looked down at his own hands. His right ring finger held the imprint of
his law school class ring, and he reflected how many years it had been since his
left hand had last felt the weight of his wedding band. "If she chooses to
disregard her marriage vows, that's up to her, but you're the one who has to
decide if she's going to disregard them with you or with someone else." He
looked across the counter at his son. "And there's another person to consider:
her husband."

Nick shifted in his chair. "What if he's a louse--or you have reason to think he
is?"

"Irrelevant and immaterial. He's still her husband."
 
Nick aimed a direct look at his father. "Okay, then, did you?"

"Did I what?"

"Consider the husband?" 
 
A look crossed his father's face that Nick suddenly remembered having seen him 
assume once before. 
 
"Oh, my God," Nick whispered.

Burton looked away again.

"I always thought you were the one--that's what Mom said. But you weren't, were
you?"

"Nicholas, I--."

"It was her, wasn't it? Wasn't it?"
 
Burton found his voice. "Quiet--you'll wake Freddy here."

"Yeah, Freddy," Nick lowered his voice. "I have to consider him, don't I?

Freddy's here because of me, isn't he? I screwed up and because I screwed up now
we have a baby to take care of. Was--this--because of me, too?"

"If I follow your pronouns correctly, what you're asking is: was what happened
between your mother and me somehow your fault?" Burton stood up and picked up
Freddy's infant seat by the handle. "I don't think we should discuss this in
front of a stranger--even an eight-month-old one. I'm putting him back to bed.
We can continue this upstairs." He headed out the door into the hall. Nick,
after a moment's hesitation, followed, turning out the kitchen lights as he left
the room.

Burton laid the still sleeping Freddy on his back in the crib and then left
Nick's room, leaving the door slightly ajar. He went into the master bedroom and
sat in an armchair that stood in one corner. Nick followed and perched uneasily
on the edge of the bed. "Well, was it?" he asked.

Burton shook his head. "God, but I never wanted to tell you this," he said.
"Why not? Don't you think I can handle it?"

A sigh. "Nicholas, the last thing in the world I want is to hurt you. Anywhere.
Any time. For any reason."

It was Nick's turn to look away. "I know," he said, remembering all the things
his father had done to protect and shield him, mostly from the consequences of
his own stupidity, he thought. Just the times he knew about added up to a pretty
long list, and that must be only the tip of the iceberg. "But_"

"I told your Aunt Liz once--your mother was your mother and you love her. How
can I take that away from you? And I don't want to lose you." Burton took a deep
breath. "And I'm afraid--no, I'm terrified--if I tell you the truth about this,
I will."

"Is it that bad?"

"That's a relative term. What's bad to one person can be inconsequential to
someone else--you know that, son. There aren't too many absolutes here."

"But one of them, at least for you, is that a married woman is out of the
picture. Dad--it wasn't you, was it? It was Mom who had an--an affair?"

Something in Burton Fallin that had been locked away and silent for years
suddenly broke loose. "Affairs, plural," he said. "The worst part was the look.
I'd stop off for a quick one on the way home and I'd walk up to guys I knew and
there'd be this sudden silence and I could see somebody nudging somebody else
and there was that--look. I started getting more and more of them and I knew.
Maybe I was the last one to know, but I knew." He got up, walked to the window
and stood, looking out at the dark and silent front yard and the street beyond,
then turned around. "I'd come home from a business trip and find--little
thing--a magazine we'd never subscribed to, a kind of toothpaste we never used
in the bathroom, an ashtray someplace I would never have left it, things like
that. There was always an excuse, and after a while I didn't bother to ask
because I knew I'd be hearing a lie."

He had been pacing from the window to the chair and back and as he did so he
fingered his moustache. "I was wrong. The worst part wasn't those knowing looks,
the worst part was knowing I was losing you. There again--I'd come home and
you'd mention that Uncle Don took you to Kennewood, or Uncle Phil bought you a
model plane or something and I'd smile and say that was nice and I'd look
at--your mother--over your head and she'd have this defiant look-that 'go on,
say something' look--and we both knew I wouldn't say or do anything because I
wouldn't hurt you--I couldn't hurt you. That's what really hurt. She took my
dignity, my self-respect--but God almighty, couldn't she leave me my son?"

"Am I?" Nick never knew where the inner resources to ask that question came
from, but ask it he did.

"Oh, yes," Burton said, coming back from the worst of his memories. "Yes,
Nicholas, that's one thing I'm certain of. You were conceived in and born of our
love for each other. It's hard to remember now, but once that was what we built
our lives on. Besides--you've got the Fallin stubbornness as well as a few other
things." He smiled a little, then turned serious again." I'm not sure just when
things started to go sour, but I know it was after you were born. Maybe after
you started school and she was home all day and bored."

"Jeremy said she took pills," Nick said. "Did that start about the same time?"

"Jeremy--that rotten little snot," Burton shook his head. "It might have been
about then, but I've never been sure. Anyway, once I caught on, I tried to
salvage the situation. I offered to go see somebody, a counselor, a therapist,
with her, but she said no. I asked her, 'didn't she want to try to work this
out?' She said I could do whatever I wanted, just don't bother her, she didn't
care." He sighed. "So, I decided I had no choice. If I was going to preserve any
sense of self-worth, I had to divorce your mother. When I told her I wanted a
divorce, she did a complete 180. She started begging me not to leave. She said,
over and over, 'You're killing me--you're killing me.'." He looked at Nick "I
don't know if you remember that."

"I remember," Nick said quietly.

"Well, I'd made up my mind by that point, son. I no longer thought it was
possible to salvage the marriage, and your mother's pleas didn't dissuade me.
I'd decided on a course of action and I was going to go through with it. So I
filed for divorce."

He had been pacing the room again and now Burton stopped in front of Nick, who
still sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the floor. "When we divorced I
tried to get custody of you. Those days, fathers were nothing in a divorce case.
It was almost impossible to score against motherhood. The only way I could have
had any chance was if I ripped her reputation apart and I couldn't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because I still loved her."

"After all that?"

"Yes, after all that. And then there was you--if I was getting leers in bars and
the locker room at the country club, what would you have had to go through on a
playground? You were just old enough to really feel that. I couldn't do that to
you."

He put his right hand on his son's left shoulder and to his infinite relief,
Nicholas did not flinch or pull away. "When your mother--got sick--I moved back
in, you know that." Nick nodded. "I didn't even have to ask myself--I just did
it. I knew it was the right thing for me to do and besides--I wanted to. She
seemed--glad I was there, even more--more loving. Maybe if she'd lived we might
have tried a second time and maybe it would have worked. I don't know. I never
will know."

He put his left hand on Nick's right shoulder and again Nick accepted his touch.
"I really dropped the ball when she died, didn't I? I would have spared you
that. At that stage, I just didn't know when she was going to--go. Nobody knew.
The day before she had rallied, so nobody had any idea. I would have been there
if I'd known and I've never forgiven myself for not being there--for making you
go through having to see it."

Burton looked down at the top of his son's bent head. "I dropped the ball again
when I sent you to prep school."

"You did the best you could," Nick said.

"No, I didn't, because I was thinking about it from my perspective, not yours. I
thought there had been--too much anger and too much death in this house. I
wanted to get you away from it--get you someplace where you didn't have to live
with all that."

Nick lifted his head and looked into his father's face. "I thought--I thought
you didn't want--me."

"Oh, God," Burton whispered. He moved his hands so that he was holding Nick to
him, his son's head against his chest. "Nicholas, I'm sorry. I'm sorry." Nick
clasped his hands behind his father's back and the two embraced for a long, long
moment. "I wanted you--God, how much I wanted you. I love you so much. I wanted
you then and I want you now."

A whimper from Freddy across the hall finally led father and son to release each
other. "I'll see to him." Burton said. He let one hand move to stroke Nick's
hair in a lingering caress and then left to check on the infant.

Emotionally exhausted, Nick stretched out on the edge of his father's bed. In
seconds he was asleep and so Burton found him when he returned from quickly
changing Freddy's diaper. What now? he asked himself. No, I don't want to wake
him. Oh, the hell with it--what does it matter? He drew Nick's slippers off and
pulled the covers up to his son's shoulders. He turned off the bedside light and
slid between the covers on the other side of the bed. Sleep soon claimed him as
well.

Nick woke to find morning sunshine coming in the windows. He glanced at the
slightly unfamiliar surroundings. I must have been really wiped out last night,
he thought. The other side of the bed was still slightly warm, he found when he
put out a hand in order to lever himself upright. Wow, he reflected, that must
have taken a lot out of Dad, too. The bedside clock said 8:20 and he remembered
he had an appointment with his probation officer. He headed for his bathroom.

The crib was empty and the infant seat missing, so, he gathered, Freddy and his
father must be downstairs. He quickly showered, shaved and dressed in a pair of
jeans and a polo shirt, his customary Saturday morning attire.

Burton, fully dressed, albeit in his customary Saturday knock-around khakis and
an open collar plaid shirt, was feeding Freddy a bottle when Nick entered the
kitchen. "This'll be the last one," Burton said. "The Child Protective Services
people called--they'll be here in a couple of minutes, at last that's what they
said."

"They should be," Nick said. "I think this is their first stop. They get backed
up as the day goes on."

"Makes sense," Burton said. "Unfortunately, from the look of things they're not
likely to run out of customers any time soon."

"No" Nick agreed. "Dad, I'm sorry. I forgot to ask you yesterday--can I borrow
the Cadillac? I have to go see Stinich in about half an hour."

"Sure," Burton said. "Do you have time for some breakfast before you go or
should I hold it until you get back?"

Nick looked at his watch. "I guess I'd better get started. Could I have some
juice, please?" Burton handed him a glass. "Thanks." 
 
As he drank the liquid, the doorbell rang. Burton went to answer it and found, 
as anticipated, two women,
both of whom when asked produced identification as Child Protective Services
social workers. Greetings were exchanged and the two began to gather Freddy's
possessions. 
 
"It's awfully good of you," one of the pair said. The other social
worker had been looking over Freddy. 
 
"Everything seems to be in order," she said.

"Yes, well, we do our best," Burton said, smiling. "It's like riding a
bicycle_you don't forget."

"And if you're lucky you learn fast," Nick said. "This was an interesting
experience--" to his father sotto voce "--and one I'm not anxious to repeat."

"I think I'm kinda glad to hear that," Burton said. The social workers' SUV
pulled out of the driveway and he handed Nick the keys to the Cadillac. "Call
when you're heading back and I'll get breakfast started." Nick carefully backed
the car out and waved as he went out of the drive.

Nick knocked at Kurt Stinich's door and was bidden to enter. His probation
officer had his feet on his desk and was reading the morning paper. "Hey,
Fallin. Go do your thing."

After leaving a specimen, Nick usually exchanged pleasantries with Stinich and
went on about the day. This morning, besides being a Saturday, things were
different. "Got a minute?"

Stinich put the paper aside. "Your name's in the appointment book. Sure. Take a
load off." For the first time he got a good look at Nick's face. "Whoo-ee,
sport! You look like you had yourself one hell of a night!"

"You're right, I did, but not for the reasons you're thinking," Nick said as he
sat down in the probation officer's "client's chair." "Ah--is there--do you have
anybody you'd recommend that I could--well, talk to about some things?"

"You mean a therapist?" Nick nodded.

Stinich went through his Rolodex and handed Nick a card. "I think a lot of this
outfit. They have about a hundred therapists on staff and they'll try real hard
to match you up with somebody you're comfortable with. If you think you might
like a grandmother type or a left-handed Nicaraguan ski jumper, they'll try to
find you one. And if you and the therapist aren't clicking after about three
sessions they'll try to find you someone else. They're a clinic, and I know you
could afford anybody in town, but they seem to get some good results."

"Thanks." Nick took the card and looked it over. "They do family therapy, too,
huh?"

"Yeah, all kinds." Stinich looked at Nick. "You mind if I ask what brought this
on? I know therapy isn't part of the terms of your probation, but I'll tell you
a little secret, Fallin--I like you. I really do, even though you're a hard guy
to like sometimes, and I really want you to make it. Some--hell, most--of the
people I get in here aren't worth the powder and shot to blow them to kingdom
come, as my mother used to say, but you've already got a career and you're
somebody who might just go out and make a real difference if you get your act
together. I've brought up the subject of you seeing somebody about ten times and
you blew me off on every one of them. You don't have to tell me what happened,
but since I'm supposed to keep up with what's going on with you, I'll listen to
whatever you want to tell me."

Nick looked directly at Stinich. "You know since that business with Mandy
Gresler I've been staying with my father?" Stinich nodded, recognizing the
question as an opener--as Nick Fallin's probation officer it was his job to know
where Nick was living and he knew Nick knew it, too. "Some 16-year-old left an
eight-month-old male infant at Legal Services yesterday. I don't know what
happened--it wasn't my case and I had enough stuff to keep myself occupied--but
we called every agency in town and we couldn't find a place for this kid to
spend the night. Everybody else had plans for the evening, so to make a long
story short, my father and I had a house guest last night."

Stinich chuckled. "Eight months, huh? My sister has three and one's about that
age. I sit for them sometimes. I can just imagine."

Nick laughed a little, surprising Stinich, who had sometimes wondered if Nick
Fallin knew how to smile at all. "Anyway, we were both up with this kid at 2
a.m., somehow, and all of a sudden we were talking about--things." He shook his
head.

Stinich tented his fingers. "Heavy stuff?"

"Yeah. By unspoken mutual consent this morning we've just kind of let it alone
after we talked about it, but I need to deal with how I've been feeling and how
I feel now, since I know something I didn't know before and where I--where
we--go from here. Anyway, I really want to keep this thing with my father
going--hell, I could be in a hotel somewhere, paying a lot more and enjoying it
less. Nobody makes western omelets like Dad--you gotta come over for breakfast
sometime."

"I just might take you up on that, as long as it doesn't come across like you're
trying to bribe me or something. You know how that is," Stinich grinned. "Well,
these folks at the clinic should be able to help. You think you'll have a
problem with keeping things together until you make an appointment? If you
really need a safety valve, call."

"Thanks, but right now, all I'm thinking about is I've gotta get back--my car's
being serviced and I'm using my father's."

"Okay, Fallin, get your ass out of here before the coach turns into a pumpkin.
It's all a learning experience."

Burton caught himself looking at his watch more than he wanted to. Where is that
kid, he wondered. Come on, Nicholas, call--this is a lot longer than you've ever
been gone for one of these appointments before. God, I hope I didn't alienate
him completely last night. I never meant to tell him about--about Anne. I just
couldn't seem to stop once I got started. Was it all because one infant
triggered so many memories? What can he be doing, anyway, looking for an
apartment? I hope not. Please, God, don't let him hate me.

His cell phone rang. "Dad?" Burton let out what he hoped was a silent sigh of
relief. "I was longer than I expected--had to ask Stinich something and make a
call. Want me to stop for anything?"

"Let me see," Burton said. "You want to stop at the bakery and get some of those
cinnamon buns we like?"

"Sure. Is six of them okay? See you soon."

Nick pulled into the garage twenty minutes later. "They were crowded, even for
Saturday morning," he announced as he came into the kitchen. "What're you
making, anyway?"

"Nothing all that special, just bacon and eggs," Burton said.

"Everything you make is special," Nick said, seating himself and opening the box
of pastries.

"Flattery will get you--breakfast," Burton said, putting a plate in front of his
son. The two occupied themselves with eating for the next few minutes. "I read
somewhere the only way to make perfect scrambled eggs is in a double boiler,"
Nick said. "It should take about forty minutes and you put in light cream and
make a sauce with vinegar and clarified butter, whatever that is."

"Yeah, right," Burton said. "The day I take forty minutes to make eggs is the
day I'll hang up my cooking apron for good. Anyway, I think the last time I saw
a double boiler was when your mother opened a wedding present--somebody gave us
one. I haven't seen it since. Right now I couldn't tell you where the damn thing
is, much less what to do with it." Nick laughed, then turned serious. "Dad," he
said, "About last night--"

"Yes?" Burton said, hoping his tone was more upbeat than he felt.

"I--well, that was a lot to think about."

"Uh-huh."

"Anyway, what I wanted to ask Kurt was who he thought would be good to talk to
about it--besides you, I mean. Kurt's not a bad guy for a probation
officer--he's almost human sometimes."

"I've noticed you seem to get along well with him," Burton said.

"He recommended this clinic, counseling center, whatever--said they have a lot
of people on staff so the chances of finding someone compatible are good.
Anyway, I made a call and I have a--what do they call it--intake interview next
Tuesday."

"That's good," Burton said.

"What I wanted to ask you was--well, they also do family counseling at this
place as well as individual and I though--oh, look, you probably don't--"

"I think we're a family, try as we sometimes may to deny it," Burton said. "And
I think some kind of therapy or counseling might not be--inappropriate"

"Then you think you want to do this? I wasn't sure how you'd feel about it."
Burton put down his coffee cup. "As if I didn't talk enough last night--" he
said. "Nicholas, you know that when I was in high school and later on in college
and law school I worked at Clayton Steel with your grandfather?" Nick nodded.
His father's experiences at that plant had left scars that were still raw, Nick
knew.

"I started when I was--God, I forget how old--I think I was sixteen, something
like that. Anyway, there was one fabricating station where this old man--old,
nothing, he was probably in his late fifties, but you know how it is when you're
a kid--everybody over twenty-one is ancient." Nick smiled. "Yeah."

"Anyway, this man worked with his two sons. I forgot exactly what they did--I
think it might have been forming some kind of rolled bar steel. It doesn't
matter. The thing was, there was always molten steel flying around at their
station--melt was coming off the line, someone was pitching a bucket of it
toward a mold, formed pieces were going down another line. You had to know what
was coming and what to do with it."

"Uh-huh."

"This man, as I said, worked with his two sons--I don't know how old they were,
but I think they had families of their own." He looked directly at Nick. "All I
know about this is what I was told at the time and it isn't exactly a
comprehensive account, but what I heard was, these three had some kind of a
family quarrel about twenty or so years before I ever saw them. Whatever it was
about I don't know, but here was a father and two sons who worked alongside each
other for almost a quarter of a century and never once talked to each other."

Nick had been tearing little pieces off the bun he had been holding. "But didn't
they have to let each other know there was--what did you call it, melt--coming
down or whatever?"

Burton shook his head. "They used hand signals. They had things so well worked
out that they almost always exceeded their quota and they never had an
accident--and there are lots of opportunities for accidents in a steel mill,
believe me--but they never spoke one word to each other. The temperature in that
rolling mill must have exceeded five hundred degrees at times, but their station
always felt like about sixty degrees below zero. I thought it was the saddest
thing I'd ever seen." Burton moved one hand to cover Nick's. "I don't want that
to happen to us, Nicholas--and I think we've been close to that point more than
once. Yes, let's talk to these people--life is too short."

Well, how about that, Nick thought. Here I've been thinking he'd fight this
thing tooth and nail and he wants to do it at much as much as I do. "Who makes
the call?" he asked. Burton dug into his change pocket and found a quarter. He
flipped it and caught it on the back of his hand. "Call it," he said. 
 
"Tails," Nick responded. 
 
Burton took his hand off the coin. "Heads. Do they have a card
or something?" 
 
Nick handed it to him and Burton reached for his cell phone.

"Nicholas, while I'm doing this, you might take the sheets and things off the
crib and put them in the washer. The sooner we get all this done the sooner we
can put everything away." 
 
"Okay," Nick said and rose to comply.

They finished disassembling the crib and took it back up to the attic where Nick
under Burton's direction propped the components against a wall and put a dust
sheet over them. The laundered crib sheets went in a chest of drawers which held
similar items. 
 
Burton looked around and shook his head. "Where in the world does
all this stuff come from, anyway?" he asked. "I thought all we had up here were
some old pictures and the Christmas ornaments."

"Got me," Nick answered. They headed downstairs.

Lunch was some substantial sandwiches and several glasses of iced tea. Nick
stirred his second glass idly. "Dad_"

"Yes, son?"

"Did you--was there ever anyone else besides Mom?"

"Still thinking about that? We have an appointment Thursday at 7:30 p.m., by the
way."

"Okay. No, I'm not necessarily thinking about it--I was just curious."

Burton smiled reminiscently. "Well," he said thoughtfully, "there was Darlene
McDermott."

"Who was she?"

"Ninth grade, Donora High School. I had a crush and a half on her."

"Oh."

"What do you mean, 'Oh.'? Darlene McDermott was something special. I'd still
think so if I could remember what she looked like." They both laughed.

Burton went on, "I used up fourteen feet of sheet brass in metal shop to make a
heart for her charm bracelet for Valentine's Day."

"We never did neat stuff like that in prep school," Nick said. "Wait a minute--a
heart? For a charm bracelet? Like that?" He held his thumb and forefinger about
an inch apart. Burton nodded. "Fourteen feet?!"

"I wanted to make sure I got it right." Burton had begun to put the lunch dishes
in the dishwasher and Nick joined in. "Metal shop teacher was ready to skin me
alive."

Nick was still smiling. "Did he?"

"Happily, the spirit of romance prevailed. Besides, there were laws about
teachers assaulting students even then, believe it or not."

"So what finally happened?"

Burton shook his head, still smiling himself. "Well, about three years later I
needed a recommendation for college. There weren't that many kids going on from
Donora High, class of 1948, and I asked this man--besides being the metal shop
teacher he was the assistant principal." He shook his head. "So there I was with
this little form that had to be filled out, and he said something like, 'Sure,
Fallin. You better go to college--on a shop floor you're so damned dumb you're
dangerous'."

Nick put the last dirty glass in the dishwasher. "Mind if I look him up and
break his arms?"

Burton laughed. "Oh, son, that was a long time ago. He'd be over a hundred if
he's alive at all. Thanks for the thought, though."

Nick shook his head. "Fourteen feet. Jeez."

Burton just smiled fondly at his son, thinking how much more alive the house
seemed with Nick as a part of it. Oh, please, he thought, let's keep it this
way, at least for a while. No Lulu Archer, no nothing--just you and me.
 

The End