I stand on the balcony, the fresh air cooling my pain-stricken frame. But I don't mind the pain, I can deal with it, I was taught well. I close my eyes and inhale. It's not an elixir but here in Chinatown, and on the roof garden, the pollution remains a distant ash-brown cloud hovering over the city downtown.

I'm at peace, I'm relaxed. For the first time in so long I feel… happy? Yeah, that must be it. I'm actually afraid to say it, lest something else horrible happens, and takes that tentative balance away from us.

'Won't you sit?'

I hear my father's deep voice coming from behind. He's casually nested on a chair by the wall, the black tea-table next to him, another chair on the other side waiting for me.

'I'm tired of sitting. Allow some blood back to my legs, please.'

He chuckles; I hear him sip tea. I turn my head a little and the corner of my eyes sees him leaning head on the wall, his eyes closed. The green silk shirt is glittering under the light. He gladly allows the sun beams send some nurturing warmth down his tired face.

My dear father… God knows he needs rest, too; he needs peace. If this has been hell for me… for us… what it must have been like for him? I don't want to know. But then again, as Dad likes to say, his hell-defining bar is lifted so high, that maybe this has been fairly bearable?

This is our first moment of enjoying silence together since… let's say I was this proud owner of a brand-new driving licence. I honestly never thought we'd share such moment again. I never thought he'd want to have anything to do with me at all. And now that it's over, now that our family is back together again, we can have some time to ourselves.

It will take some getting used to – going back to our home, sleeping in our rooms, hearing our parent's voices and laughter, watching Dad play with Danny, and then eventually sneak upon my sis and me and attack us… I may be a bit too old for this, but I really wouldn't mind another tickle fight. Or just cuddling… with our parents… our family… God, I missed them, I missed them so much it hurts.

Oh, don't get me wrong, it's not that we don't like sleeping in our beds back at Aunt and Uncle K.'s, quite the opposite, it was always fun, driving them mad over the occasional sleep-over. It's just that these last two years weren't exactly a sleep-over.

My eyes are welling and I wipe them quickly. Not that there's any need for that, whatever's happening in my heart Dad probably already knows it.

But I shouldn't complain, I don't have the right to. It wasn't all that bad. Other than not knowing if we'll ever see our parents again, and then the guilt that was gnawing my soul, killing me a little every day, it was all right.

Jeez, when I think what my father has had to endure in his life, and I don't even know all the details… I mean, now we, too, have some vague idea how it feels like, but it still doesn't come even close. Heh, ours was like some time off in a five-star hotel.

Well, along with the unpleasant discovery that Uncle K. is a sadist. Seriously, Dad's methods can be rough sometimes, but Uncle K. is just scary. No wonder Dave is so well-behaved.

I lean on my elbows and for a moment I stare at my feet.

'Son?'

'I'm fine, Dad.'

He pours more tea, but keeps looking at me. It's amazing; every time he looks at me I swear I can feel a wave of energy coming down my way. It feels great; I wish more people could feel this way when their fathers look at them.

'What can I do?'

I'm overcome with the urge to straighten up and then I stare at him amazed.

You see, my father never asks 'What's wrong?' and 'Is everything OK?', or 'What can I do?' He knows what is wrong; he knows what it is he must do… Goodness, he knows everything.

It's intimidating. I wonder what he really thinks of me. Am I ever going to be even half as great as he is? Will I ever know at least a quarter of what he knows? Guess I'm not the only one with such issues. Nah, it must be me and the son of Clark Kent…

'You're asking me what you could do?'

'Sometimes I count on my senses… Sometimes, especially when there's so much to be said, I prefer to leave the choice where to start from to others.'

He's right, there's a lot of healing to be done, and not only between us. We did make a start while in China, though. At least now I can look him in the eyes, and I know he's forgiven me though he says there's nothing to forgive.

'You know what the bad thing about being still is?'

'That it gives you too much time to think?'

'Yeah…'

'Just empty your head.'

Sure, I'll empty my head. To begin with, I stopped meditating when I stopped my training, after… Never mind, let's not go there. So, I'm quite out of practice with the empty-your-head thing. I'm ashamed of telling him that.

'It's a bit hard when you have so many questions.'

'If there are any of them you want me to answer...'

Yes, Dad, all of them.

'Do you think we can get back to our normal life?'

'I don't see why not. We're together; there's nothing we can't do when we're together.'

I smile. My eyes follow a group of people passing. From up here they look like the Chows, probably going for the morning service. I'm grateful, and I'm sure Dad, too, that Uncle Khan is taking over for a few more days. Chinatown can survive without their personal Superman for a little bit more. Even he needs recharging, for, contrary to some urban legends, he's just a human.

He is, I should know, I'm his son.

No, really, he is.

I'm sure…

'So, what's next?'

I don't need to add details, he knows what I mean.

'Healing.'

'For whom?'

'It's a difficult path, son, we'll be walking it all together… until we find each other again.'

'Are you going to be there?'

My father knows the significance of that question all too well.

'There's not a force in the world that can make be somewhere else.'

That makes me feel better. I couldn't bear him leaving again, even if it's to protect us. If Dad's here, then anything is possible. You see, he makes things happen.

'Then anything is possible.'

I have to say it aloud. I know I'm too old to idolise my father to the indestructible super hero I thought he was when I was little, but he does have a certain effect on people.

'You make things happen,' I repeat my thought aloud.

He smiles. He must be remembering my frantic exclamations when I was younger. He'd ask me if I really believed him in being able to do this and that, and I, in my absolute and implicit faith would say 'Yes, Daddy, you make things happen, you can do anything.'

I turn and look at him, our eyes meet. We both smile, aware that we're having the same flashback.

'I'm not a super hero, Kace.'

'We'll talk about it after you become a Shambhala Master,' I tease.

'Then I'm in for a trouble,' he responds with a subtle grin. I look inquisitively.

He says, 'I already did', and shrugs. He makes it sound like he's apologising that he had just run out of tea.

'What?!'

OK, I didn't expect that!

I stare at him.

'When..? H-how…? You?!'

He laughs heartily.

'I thought I could do anything,' he manages to say while still giggling.

'That's not funny...! Dad! You're a Shambhala Master!? What the… And I don't know!'

I pout.

'I don't think anybody knows.'

'Why?'

'That's not something you announce on the Evening News, son.'

I'm gaping.

'Wh-when?... Did... Did it happen while you were away?'

'Well... that's a bit complicated… Let's say it all started seven months before you were born…'

'Ah, that story.'

This is something I know very little about. We've been told that something bad happened shortly after Mom learned she was pregnant and that they almost lost Dad. They haven't told us anything else. However I can tell what a deep effect the trauma has had on Mom whenever she is frightened.

Let me tell you about my mother. She's not afraid of anything. If a gang of five attacks her, she'd beat them up; if somebody threatens any of her children, she'd beat or just kill him; if storm hits – she'd probably try to beat it, too. Herself she's like some kind of a natural disaster that apparently only Dad knows how to handle.

Now, there have been few moments when Dad would disappear for a day or two. Once it was even three days, and he was gone together with Grand-Pop, and even uncle K. disappeared at one point. There are only few such instances I remember, and the common thing is my mother's face.

Her eyes change, her whole chi alters. She was hiding it, of course, but is it because I have the Shaolin gene, as we call it in our family, I don't know, but I could really see horror in her eyes; my mother's beautiful, big eyes I worship, filled with terror. Then I realised it was always the same look, and she got it only when she was afraid for Dad's safety, and I knew she was re-living that same nightmare.

'What do you mean, you became Shambhala Master then? Dad, weren't you like… uhm… a bit too young?'

'The age doesn't matter if you're worthy. Apparently I was.'

There's no point in me asking. It'll get only more complicated.

'You know, I'm over 18 now, I'm old enough to hear the story. Is it that horrible?'

'No, it's not... But it's only fair if you're with Lara.'

'OK then…'

'…And your mother.'

I don't say anything.

'We'll tell you all about it, together.'

'But not now?'

'Of course not, she has to get better first.'

I close eyes and turn my back again. The joy of having Mom back had been quickly replaced by this... powerlessness. You know, that feeling which makes you realise you're not quite the adult you think you are, because there comes a situation you can't at all handle, and in your helplessness you're looking to your parents for help. Even if you're already taller than them.

That's how I feel with Mom. She seemed fine at first, but once back home, once her own healing started, we found her a different human being, a crushed human being. Her spirit had been broken to such a degree that the greatest progress she made so far was finally allowing my father to hug her.

I'm really frightened. Of all insecurities about our future this is my biggest fear – my mother. Somehow I feel that if she gets back to her previous self, this will be the moment we start calling ourselves a happy family again. Now we're just a family; the happiness issue, like I said before, I won't discuss. And Mom couldn't be further away from the person she used to be.

'Is she going to be OK, Dad?' I ask without looking at him.

'I'll do everything in my power to make her OK.'

That's a promise. ...And my father's promise is a promise kept.

'Is there anything I can do?'

'Just be patient… and never stop showing her how much you love her. Not just you, all of you.'

'I'll handle the troops,' I say and force a smile.

'I was counting on that.'

When back in China Dad told me he needed me to help him get our family back together, that must have been one of the greatest moments of my young life. That my father should trust me with something like that, after everything that happened because of me, that's the biggest compliment I've ever had.

I drift to one of the first nights after our return home. Mom woke up screaming after a particularly violent nightmare. Lara and I ran (OK, I limped. Whatever…) to our parents' room, expecting the worst. And I really don't know what the worst was. Because we saw her crying, sitting in the bed breathless. I tried to hug her but she pushed me away. She was afraid of me.

I hope you never get to know that feeling.

The woman who gave me life, who I put right up there next to God, didn't want me even to touch her. Lara sat and held her. It's weird, having my sis being the mother-figure of the family. That night Mom was like a little girl in her arms.

And the worst?

As I was fretting over why my mother doesn't want me, and Dad told me that it had nothing to do with me, I saw his own anguish. He was sitting opposite her, he wasn't even touching her. Then I saw it, his pillow and a blanket – on the couch. He was right, it wasn't me, it was all males.

And I don't wish to know, Lord, I try with all my power to block the thoughts, the rushing images that come in response to me wondering what they must have done to my beloved mother that she should refuse the closeness of any man, even if he's her flesh and blood.

Now we're better, thank Heavens. Mom is mother again and Lara can go back to being the daughter. Dad still sleeps on the couch but at least Mom doesn't jump at an attempt from him to hold her. I can, too. I can kiss her. And I can hug her. The bliss of it.

I smile.

I'm allowed back at mamma's arms. And she goes out, too. She takes Hope for walks, she goes out in the neighbourhood, next week she's even planning to resume her role as the apothecary of China Town. All right, she refuses to leave our neighbourhood unless Dad's with her but I wouldn't have it otherwise. It's safe that way. For now. We still don't know if any of the Caine enemies aren't stalking, even if the biggest of them, Sing Wah, is already out of the picture. It's also too early to talk about Mom getting back to training. 'Cause, don't get the wrong impression, my mother isn't the kind of person that needs protection.

'How are things with you and Lara going?'

'We're getting there,' he smiles.

Good. I thought I'd be his biggest challenge but it turns my sister beat me to it. When Dad returned he used the old tactic of divide and conquer. He started with Danny. And it clicked almost immediately. The kid needed any of his parents so badly that he became Dad's shadow almost from his very return. After him Hope followed. The first days she didn't want to leave Aunt and Uncle's K.'s house but on the third she'd get all panicked unless Dad was there.

The best thing is that to them two Mom is still Mom, and we're already the same happy, united family we've always been. It's good that way. Our parents let them be the children they still are.

Mom and Dad are the best.

Then Dad moved to Lara but dealing with her turned out to be like dealing with an onion – the more layers you peel the more painful it gets. So midways he fixed things with me, we got back home, all of us this time, and now he's working with her again. Not even he had any idea of all the insecurities she'd gathered. Here's another thing for me to feel guilty about. I never meant to take Dad away from any of our family, I can't believe Lar has felt so abandoned. My sweet Lar, I hurt her, too.

Why am I such an egoistic jerk?

Dad likes to say of all of us I've taken the short straw, I look like him.

Whatever that means.

I'm nothing like him. My father is calm, and solid, and dependable. He has the answers to everything. He's one of the greatest kung fu masters I've seen (and I've seen many!) and his temper… well, let's say the angriest I've seen him is when he raises his voice at any of his children's exuberance… which must have been, what, a few times at the most.

And me? I'm impulsive and explosive. I have the patience of a cat.

My father has the patience of a saint.

I'm hyper-active, and not doing my training for two years didn't help. You don't need to poke very deep to make me mad and the tragedy is that I still remember a great deal of the kung fu I've been studying since I started walking. Pretty much like placing dynamite next to burning fire.

How am I like my father? Jeez, I can't even keep a girl for more than a month, and I'm not complaining from lack of attention, if you know what I mean.

I'm nothing like my father.

I turn to see Dad. He's smiling at me, and then he pours tea in the other cup; that's my signal. I'm feeling slightly dizzy, instinctively I press my wound. Of course he has already felt the change of my chi, and silently invites me to join him.

I make a step, slowly and insecurely, but I'm determined to reach the chair on my own. I'm sick of using the darn walking stick.

I can feel Dad's eyes fixated on me. At first sight he's still casually relaxing on his chair but that's pretence. His muscles are strained and ready to react. Should I falter or lose my balance, I know, my father will be by my side in a heartbeat. I make another step. No, I won't give up, I can deal with the pain, I've been taught well, and I'm not going to let down the very man who taught me. I've let him down enough already.

I feel safe. I won't fall, Dad will be there to catch me. But for now he trusts me enough to let me see how far I can go. I love him for that. During my life he's tried very hard not make with us the mistakes Grand-Pop has made with him, and I daresay, you succeeded, Dad.

If I'm in danger, if I'm hurt or in pain, he'll always let me see what I can manage on my own before coming to my help. But he's always there, like the safety net is there for acrobats. And he doesn't treat me like I'm made of glass and I'll break should a flock of dust fall on my head.

Briefly I remember the first week after Dad came home. We talked a bit about my job, he seemed content with my choice of profession, though it's probably too early to call it profession since I'm still a trainee. I had the graveyard shift then and we were called to an accident in the Eastern suburbs, a warehouse was burning.

Despite my age I had progressed very quickly and I was allowed in. It wasn't scary at all, I was all right, and you know, I saved one man. I was the one who found him, none of the other guys even thought of going to that corner. I fell behind but I brought him out, a man working a second job so that he could get his two girls through college. And I saved him. God, it felt so good, so unbelievably fulfilling.

I wonder about Dad, a man who has helped thousands. And then I sensed him. I just… felt his presence, I know he's been there, at the site of the fire, I knew he was watching over me. OK, I couldn't blame him, considering the part fire has plaid in the life of the Caines. But he didn't reveal himself, he just watched and waited to see if I should need help. He let me try on my own first, he always does that, he's always wanted us to know our strengths and believe in ourselves.

I can always count on my Dad. And should I just need to unleash my anger on someone, he'd be there, too. Nah, don't worry, I won't hurt him. Ha! Do you know what it's like hitting my father? OK, take a thin cushion, or better a blanket, and lean in against a wall. Now start hitting it. Yeah, that's about how it feels. Believe me, I know, we're sparring buddies. Well, used to be.

Even though things are all right, I don't think I'm ready to go back to kung fu. I'm good at it. I'm real good. And I had such a confidence in my skills that on a stormy night two years ago I went against my father's orders… and that came at the cost of Grand-Pop's life…

There, I've said it. I can scarcely face the thought… I prefer to keep it buried in my mind, in a corner I never dare go to... Especially since things are going so well between Dad and me. And he doesn't hate me. He doesn't even resent me. Or if he does, he's hiding it damn well. No, I need to hear it. Again. And later again. And then… I'll be needing to hear it a lot, at least until the nightmares recede.

Finally I reach my destination. I never thought that chair was so far away. I nest on the warmed seat and as I relax I feel Dad relaxing, too. I raise the tiny tea cup and take a sip. I love his teas. They're so… off beat. My Mom's teas are like those of Grand-Pop's; after all, their knowledge comes from the same teacher. But Dad's teas are different, and delicious, and fresh. Grand-Pop used to say my Dad's teas are his last grain of rebelliousness.

Whatever that means.

'Are you laughing at my tea?'

No, he can't read minds.

Right?

'Just remembered…' Should I say it? OK, I'll say it. '…what Grand-Pop used to say of your teas.'

He smiles and his sight drifts away immediately. I should've kept my mouth shut.

'Do you like it?'

'You kidding me, I love you tea,' I say, and gladly offer my empty cup for a refill. I didn't realise how thirsty I was.

My mind slips to my early childhood. I remember when Lara and I started calling our grand-father Grand-Pop. He pretended to look annoyed at Dad and hissed at him, 'It's your fault,' and then slapped him gently. Oh, how we laughed. Since then we'd call him Grand-Pop just to see how he slaps Dad. And so it remained; we weren't yet at school when he was grand-father no more, he'd always be our beloved Grand-Pop.

'I miss him, Dad.'

'I miss him, too.' I don't dare look. I take a glimpse at his expression; his eyes are flickering wet under the sun. My eyes fill, too. Argh, dammit, I can't ruin everything now. Come on, Kace, get a grip.

'I'm sorry, Father,' I say, and stretch my arm. I don't call him like that often but under the circumstances calling him Dad would be disrespectful.

He looks at me with unconcealed sadness, his eyes telling me 'Stop that'.

'Don't be, Kacey, please.'

I turn my head away.

'Will I ever learn to live with it?'

'You will. …And if you have any doubts,' he grasps my hand, 'your father will be there to disperse them.'

I look at him. His eyes are overflowing with love. Those tender, protective eyes. And one more time I have no doubt that my father loves me. Despite everything, he still loves me…

'Thank you,' I say quietly, and, I don't know why, I kiss his hand. Out of respect, out of my deep, endless love and affection, out of joy that he's back… or all of these together. He caresses my cheek and I think I'm melting, it's so wonderful.

Some time passes, we're silent. We both need few minutes to get out of the melancholic mood. I remember our earlier conversation.

'Something's bothering me,' I speak at last, trying to sound as cheerful as possible, just to make sure he understands I'm changing the subject.

'Let's hear it, then.'

'This...' I clear my throat. 'This Shambhala Master thing... is it hereditary?'

'Not that I know,' he says, and gives me a mischievous look. I don't like that look. I'll get teased, I know it.

'Hm…'

The look is still there.

'Stop it.'

'You started it.'

'I… I just worry…'

'What for?'

'Well, the realisation that there are a way too many Shambhala Masters in this family is… frightening.'

'You don't need to become one.'

'Yeah... And if I can't? What if after some time I recommence my training and then find out I'm not good enough?'

I'm sure I'm having my puppy eyes right now.

He laughs. Is he mocking me?

'Is it so funny?'

'You can't imagine…' He's giggling.

'Why? Aren't you gonna be ashamed if your son isn't worthy enough of being a Shambhala Master?'

He's laughing out loud now.

Finally he wipes his eyes and looks at me.

'Kacey… You and your brother, and your sisters… My children are and are going to be the pride and joy of my life, even if nobody becomes a Shambhala Master, or a Shaolin for that matter.'

'Really?'

'Really.'

'Don't you have any expectations at all?'

'I expect you only to become honourable people who take pride in their heritage.'

He caresses me. His soft eyes look straight in my heart.

'You've been here, haven't you? You've been in my place.'

'You bet.'

I lean a bit on his strong palm and then relax against the wall.

I knew all he told me. I knew it. Guess I needed yet another reassurance. Dad will never put pressure on any of us. He teaches us only if we want. And I don't remember a time of my life when we haven't wanted.

I also know he'd love to see at least one of his sons become a priest and frankly, my bets are for Danny. He started pestering Dad about resuming their lessons practically minutes after Dad came back. The way he looks… I'm sure he already knows he'll be a Shaolin. I envy him.

'I guess we're staying here this summer…'

He shrugs.

'I don't know… We have a hell lot of catching up to do. I'm not going anywhere, that's for sure. But I think Matt is.'

'To the temple in Canada, right?'

'Yeah, Auntie M. said even he doesn't like to be too far away right now.'

I chuckle. 'Jeez, it's hilarious when you call her 'Auntie'.'

'What, she is my aunt,' he says innocently.

We both giggle. Auntie M. has officially threatened to shoot him if she ever hears him call her like that, so Dad's using every opportunity to refer to her as 'my aunt' whenever she's not around. Even Matt he calls 'cousin', though the kid wouldn't dream of returning the compliment. He's too much in an awe of my father to do that, 'uncle' suffices for him.

I love Aunt and Uncle M. but for some reason they're not as close to us as Aunt and Uncle K. Auntie M., even I noticed, was disappointed when Dad made uncle K. our legal guardian for those two years, and not her and Uncle M., our actual blood relatives. But they had enough on their plate as it was, with little Marie and with Auntie M.'s condition, to take four more monsters would be too much even for the wonder woman she is.

I wonder if Matt's planning on becoming a priest. He's training very hard, though he's not quite there yet, and I feel guilty about that, too. Why the Hell, I don't know. But when few days before Dad came home I visited him, he refused to take my advice on his training, like I had no right to give it at all. True, I haven't been training, but I still outperform him, and my opinion is still legit, dang it.

I'm vain, I know.

'What is it?'

'I was thinking about Matt.'

'He'll be all right.'

'Does he hold a grudge against me?'

'No, Kace, no, he just needs to start believing in himself. And, he needs to remember that every student progresses in his own speed.'

'Then why do I feel guilty? I'm sorry I progress faster, I didn't mean it…'

'Son, consider.'

I halt.

'Do you really feel guilty that you progress faster, or because you see your cousin tormenting himself like that?'

My fingers explore my thick hair.

'The second, I think.'

He smiles and sips tea. My Dad does that; he can solve what seems like a very complicated situation with one-two sentences, making it look the simplest thing in the world.

There's more to it than that. Matt's a good boy and I love him, of course, but I can't call him a 'brother' as I do with David. He's not my best friend, Dave is, and, I think in a way Matt's a bit jealous. And the age difference is of no consequence, Matt's only two years younger. Though we all grew up together, my deepest fears and secrets I've shared only my parents and grand-parents, or with Dave.

Maybe the fact that our fathers are so close has a part. Dad's practically shining every time Uncle K. refers to him as 'my brother Peter'. I feel like a part of something great whenever I hear him exclaim how Fate has taken one brother from him but given him another. In the same way their sons are bros. It may not be the same deep connection but we're best pals for sure. And our friendship has endured the biggest test, too – girls.

It was almost as soon as our dads noticed certain changes in their growing boys that they talked to us. The reason was Angie Hansen, the beauty of our school. She was in my class (Dave's a year older). It happened so that Dave fancied her but she liked me. I was flattered at first but then Dave became edgy and I couldn't get it. So we had this honest talk with our fathers and we learned that a friendship means much more than a crush. This never changed.

Though Dave doesn't like me being his wingman anymore… OK, it's not my fault that ladies are fond of me (I blame my father)... we've never allowed ourselves to fight over a girl. If the 'Angie Hansen' situation occurs again, simply we both step back and we're good.

By the way David had his heart broken not long ago, or so I think, but he wouldn't tell me who it was. He only said 'She's the one', and I know it happened just before he entered the Academy. Once upon a time we'd go and laugh over it, or just hook up with someone totally inappropriate. But guess that's what being a grown-up means, right, having secrets and being miserable.

When I think about it, honest talks I mean, we've had only these with Mom and Dad. Sex, drugs, alcohol, politics – you name it. Anything a kid might want to know about the world, they've explained clearly and simply. No taboos. It was very hard to rebel like normal teens do when you have such understanding parents. Even later with our guardians, Auntie K. would say 'You're an open book, kid', and Uncle K., with that grin of his, would add, 'You just look too much like your ol' man, you're predictable'.

That hurts.

...It's even rarer to be a teenager and call those parents of yours 'best friends'.

'Dad…'

'Yes?'

'Now… that you're back…'

'Yes?'

'You'll be very busy, right?'

My father shrugs. 'I'll try to make the transition as smooth as possible. Rick is still going to be in charge of the Centre, your Uncle Khan is still running the Academy…'

'But all my life I remember you doing these things…'

'It wouldn't be right if I claim my position only days after my return. Besides, as far as the Centre goes, there are many new kids who don't know me. I need to gain their trust. It's a long process, you've seen it.'

'Sure. …And the community?'

He smiles. 'OK, I guess there's no escaping them.'

'You're in charge here the moment you set foot in Chinatown,' I chuckle. He smiles but doesn't say anything.

First time Dad returned, the Chinatown folks were ready to throw a whole celebration in his honour. Crowds of people, old and young, were following him wherever he went. It hadn't been a week and he already knew everything that had happened in the lives of each one of them, more so than of his own children…

But it wasn't his fault. We were the ones who pulled back, especially me and Lara.

It wasn't his fault…

'And… what else is bothering you?'

'You know, of the things I missed, our 'family councils' are what I missed the most.'

'That's doable.'

'Really?'

'Of course. …Why not?'

'Well… Dad, just…'

Come on, Dad, you've been reading my mind all my life, can't you for once do it when I actually need you to?

'You want things to be back to normal…'

Thank you!

I nod.

'…And re-starting our little family talks will mean that things are getting back to normal…'

I nod more vigorously.

Those 'family councils', they're our family trade mark. What happens is that whenever any of us had a problem, anything at all – from unrequited love to difficult school lessons – we'd sit somewhere, Mom and Dad on both sides, and whoever had the problem would talk. And then they'd comfort. And offer advice. And cuddle. And make things good again. They'd never fret over us hanging with bad company, or do silly things. They trust us. And those councils? They made us trust each other, they made us friends.

'It's the same with me going back to doing what I used to?'

'Yes, but you'll be busy… and…. You won't have time…'

'Ahh… Now I understand,' he says softly and gets up.

I get a bit nervous when he approaches me and kneels before me.

'Kacey, you know I've got many responsibilities.'

'I figured.'

'Amongst them is me helping those who need my help.'

'Aham.'

He leans arms on my legs and takes my hands in his. I'm a little boy again.

'And, right now, it's so that those who need my help the most happen to be my family.' He speaks calmly, his soft eyes are caressing my anxious face.

I use the opportunity to explore my father's features. No wonder women are still drooling after him, he looks 10 years younger than his real age. His hair is still dark and thick, there are only a few white hairs here and there.

Why don't I trust my father? Of course he'll be there for us. He's never let us down. I don't know how he did that but as a Shaolin priest all his life he's been dealing with the problem of every Chinatown inhabitant, and more. He practically brought up hundreds of kids he took from the streets and gave home to. He trained countless students, at least a dozen of them - masters, and, simultaneously, he found time to be the most devoted father and husband you can imagine. Oh, and son, too; for whenever my grand-parents were in the room, especially Grand-Mother, he would become this obedient puppy who'd stare at her adoringly and would be ready to eat from her hand.

'I didn't mean to doubt you, Dad.'

'You didn't doubt me. You simply… still need reassurance that things are going to be all right.

'I guess.'

'It's understandable. And I'm ready to provide it. Any time.'

I don't say anything. I struggle to swallow the welling tears (Jeez, what's with me today, seriously…). Instead of thanking him I only stretch hand and cup his cheek. He leans on my hand and there's a new look in his eyes; I see gratitude, relief, and this all-encompassing love only parent's eyes can have.

Now I pay attention to his face. It's changed. When you have a father who can beat 10-20 attackers at the same time it's easy to take it for granted that he'll never grow old. Well, he has. There are more wrinkles around his eyes than when he left. His skin is not as smooth as it used to be. I knew he was tired but only now I see it on his face how drained he actually is. He's dreaming of some sort of relaxation, and we both know there will be no time even for that for at least few more weeks.

'Do you ever miss it? Your job?'

'You're asking about something that I used to 20 years ago?'

'Yeah, well… I know you and Mom, especially Mom, had given up on amazing careers.'

'…Yes, to raise an amazing family,' he grins and holds my hand tighter, than kisses it.

I smile. Oh, yes, we are pretty amazing, aren't we?

'So… Shall we go?'

'Oh... I don't want to move…' Then my stomach decides to express its own opinion. 'My… stomach, apparently, thinks otherwise...'

Dad laughs and gets up.

'We'd better go, 'cause if we're late for lunch I'll be facing God's anger.'

He means Mom.

Dad helps me get up but I don't mind now. I also don't mind the strong arm behind my back and I'm more than happy to put my arm behind his back, too. We exchange a look and it's as if only now he notices that my eyes are now slightly higher than his.

'Before I left you weren't even as tall as me,' he says and we make few steps to the French door.

'Uncle K. says you were growing like a weed in your late teens.'

'At one point I'll have to talk to him about the stuff he's telling you.'

I grin. 'I think it's too late for censorship…'

'Just walk,' he mumbles in a playfully-annoyed manner.

We're already approaching the room's entrance when Dad stops, turns and makes a brisk move with his palm towards the balcony door. It closes.

'They'd love to have you in some country fair, you know,' I tease.

'I'll consider it if I run out of cash.'

Good point. I've never seen my father take money for what he does; nothing but donations which go against maintenance of the Academy and the Centre. Yet we've never known want, or lacked anything material at all. Part-time job as a talker for the police and teaching at the Police Academy is far from sufficient to provide for a family of six. It's also not enough to have savings accounts for your four children, with money in them enough to buy each a house …without the mortgage… And to pay for Lara's med school.

We've discussed it. It seems that the way our parents make a living is ranked as 'classified' and if we ever learn of it at all, it's not going to be any time soon. Frankly, I'd prefer not to ask.

Dad tries to leave but my body refuses to move. I want to look at the room. Many and beautiful memories have been made here. I can't even imagine how many Dad has.

'Any time I'm here, it's like he's here, too.'

The arm behind my back trembles, then the grip tightens.

'It's always been so.'

'Is that why you spent so much time here when you first returned?'

He nods. 'Also... having a cold, empty house waiting for me added to it, but yes…' He gulps. 'I was lost, shattered…'

I look amazed at my father. This honesty takes me by surprise.

'I almost moved in here when I first became a priest, you know.'

'You did? What about the studio?'

'Nah, we acquired the building later. Those first months... they were a living nightmare. I needed him so badly… and only here his absence was not so… tangible.'

'You'll tell me about those days, right?'

'Of course, I'll tell you everything,' he says and pulls me closer.

Then he continues.

'When I'm here I feel like I can seek shelter in his arms again. I'm not alone.'

'Dad…'

'Surprised?'

'A little.'

He sighs and stares at the floor for a moment.

'...Many years ago... I told your grand-father that I didn't know him because he'd never share his feelings with me.'

Dad turns his face to me, it's grown pale.

'I want you to know your father, Kacey.'

'I'm honoured. …And… I didn't mean to bring you to the verge of tears… again...'

He smiles faintly and caresses my head. There are no tears in his eyes.

'I don't think there are enough tears for thissorrow.'

I bit my lips.

We take a last look at the room and head for the door. We'll be back tomorrow, and the day after. We're always going to be back.

I stop and hold my father.

'You know, Dad... You're the best father in the world! I love you!'

Now a tear, and then another one falls down his tired face. The next second I find myself in Dad's strong, bear hug. At last I can relax head on his shoulder. God, I needed that.

'I love you, too, Kwai Chang!

THE END