GOOD TO READ, FATHER SAID SO

by JoAnn Baca

The haphazardly piled books were already teetering. Then the rumble of a faraway subway train set off an infinitesimal earthquake among the tomes, and the stack began to shift. Disaster seemed imminent, endangering the elderly gentleman sitting in the strike zone, absorbed in his reading. He finally looked up from his book – but too late for him to prevent the impending collapse.

A feminine hand descended, steadying the pile, keeping it from toppling until the man could recover from his surprise. He stood to remove a few of the topmost volumes, only slightly reducing the gravitational pull on the remaining books.

Sheepish, Jacob mumbled, “Thank you, my dear. I had no idea they were about to fall.” He smiled distractedly as he sat back down, and his gaze and attention returned immediately to the pages before him.

“Onto you,” Catherine mentioned gently, but the patriarch of the Tunnels wasn’t listening.

She noted Father’s absorption in his reading material; he was already deep into his book again. Smiling, she took it upon herself to adjust the remaining piles until the volumes were lined up in short stacks with little chance of avalanching down upon the old man anytime soon.

As Father seemed immersed in his studying, Catherine decided not to bother him further. She really had no reason to have entered his library other than an impulse to be polite and say hello while she waited for Vincent to finish his last work assignment of the day. Father never was exactly happy to see her, she knew, so his ignoring her now didn’t upset her – she was long past expecting more from him.

Catherine gazed longingly at the trove of volumes surrounding her. When had she last had enough time to just sit and read for a long stretch? So she took advantage of the opportunity presented, selected a book from the nearest now-orderly stack, and settled in quite happily with it.

At some point, much later, Jacob became aware with a start that he was not alone. Chagrinned, he interrupted Catherine’s reading by clearing his throat. When he had her attention, he said, “My apologies, Catherine.”

She smiled to show him she wasn’t concerned. “There’s no need. I’m the one who disturbed your studies, after all.”

He blushed. “Well…um…I would love to claim that I am, in fact, studying, but the truth is….” He held up the book he’d been reading. When Catherine saw the title, she began to laugh. “The children seem enamored of these Pern books, and I must keep up with their interests,” he said, somewhat defensively. Then his face softened as he admitted, “But I confess, I’ve become engrossed far more than I ever expected.”

Catherine reached over to pat the old man’s arm, looked around to make sure they weren’t being overheard, and, as if revealing a state secret, said, “That one is on my nightstand, too, Father.”

Relieved, he smiled. “Well, confession is good for the soul!” He turned to the table behind him, where a well-worn cozy covered his teapot. “It should still be warm. Shall we have some tea?”

Catherine rolled her eyes when Father wasn’t looking, thinking to herself, They celebrate with tea, they comfort with tea, they take tea breaks throughout the day and half the night…how do they function, as awash in tea as they always are?! Aloud she said, “That would be very nice, thank you.”

* * *

When Vincent came upon them an hour later, as he was returning far later than expected from sentry duty, he found his father and the woman he loved – never ones for cozy conversation with each other – companionably chatting, and even laughing as they talked. He stood in the entryway, flatly amazed. What had wrought this wonder?

Perhaps it’s the new tea Dr. Wong sent down, he mused. He called it a tension tamer.

Not wishing to disturb the newly deepened friendship between the two, he stepped quietly out of the doorway before they noticed him, and headed in the direction of the bathing chambers.

* * *

That night, long after everyone else Below was usually abed, Vincent returned from walking his Catherine to her threshold. He saw candlelight glowing from Father’s study, and entered the chamber to find the old man nodding over a book. Not at all surprised, Vincent gently shook him out of his doze and said, “Continue your reading in the morning, Father. Come to bed now.”

Father grunted his assent and allowed his son to assist him to his sleeping alcove. Along the way, he murmured drowsily, “That’s quite some young lady you have there, Vincent. I hope you know that.”

For a brief moment, Vincent wondered if he were the one sleepwalking. After the shock of hearing Father compliment Catherine wore off a bit, he replied, “I do.”

“I do…” Father mumbled. “That’s a good idea…”

Vincent stopped in his tracks at that comment. Would the older man remember any of this conversation tomorrow? He suspected Father would deny it vociferously. But to hear him say these things tonight…it was an intriguing insight into Father’s deepest, most unguarded feelings about Catherine, and he resolved to take heart from having heard his words.

As he tucked his father in for the night, Vincent kissed his wrinkled brow. “Sweet dreams, Father.” Impishly, he added, “Why not dream about what you will say at that wedding you suggested?”

Vincent blew out the candle and quietly left the chamber.

Father turned in his bed and sighed. Vincent had already gained the passageway to his own chamber by the time Father murmured his final words of the evening, and so Vincent missed hearing them: “Lovely girl…lovely girl….”