Charlie Burns

Caroline Julian slid her Hornet into a parking space in front of the stately Gothic church, exited the car, and smoothed her dress. She checked her refection in the rear window to be sure her hat was just so, and walked toward the broad front entrance steps. Never in a million years would she have pictured herself being a godmother again. Sure she'd acted as such for several nephews and nieces back in Thibodaux, but never in DC.

When Prentice and Charlie Burns had asked her during lunch at the Royal Diner to be godmother for their soon-to-arrive first child, she was honored and speechless. A very unusual sensation, indeed. The federal prosecutor was rarely caught without words. A tender smile had softened her face as she softly assented.

"I'd be honored, you two. But isn't there some family member you'd rather ask?"

"No, Ms. Julian, you're both our first choice. There's no one more qualified to be sure our child is raised properly," Charlie declared. "All your bluster is just that. You're one of the kindest souls in this city, and besides my brother Greg, I don't have many relatives. Men don't make very good godmothers, you know."

Prentice reached over and patted Caroline's hand. "When I first transferred to DC, my sister told me to listen whenever you spoke. She said you are one of the best prosecutors the Feds have, and I could learn a great deal about proper legal proceedings and case preparation from you. We hope our child can absorb your down to earth wisdom and emulate your unwavering integrity as he or she matures, Ms. Julian."

Misty-eyed, the lawyer gazed fondly at the couple seated across from her.

"You two stop this 'Ms. Julian' nonsense. It's Tante Caroline from now on. Well, maybe not at the office, Charlie, but you know what I mean. If David Barron ever shows his face around here, he's Nonc David, you hear? That man gives the best piggy-back rides in all N'awlins! Our little chaton used to squeal with glee…" her voice faded off as she reminisced about her daughter's childhood.

oooooooooooo

Grasping the scrolled metal handrail, Caroline marched up the church steps, opened the heavy oak door, and stepped inside. The cool shadowed interior of the edifice made her smile, remembering Sunday mornings spent in a similar place, squirming in her itchy Sunday best under her maman's disapproving eye. She spotted Charlie and Prentice talking quietly to the rector near the baptistry. Their baby son was fussing in his father's arms.

She walked softly up the aisle, and crossed in front of the altar with a slight nod of her head. Greeting the slightly frazzled parents, she reached for her godson.

"Here, let me take him. Ma petit Thomas Charles will behave for his Nanan, won't you, bebe?"

The little boy gave her a gummy grin, and burbled happily.

"Pastor Simmons, this is Ms. Caroline Julian," Prentice introduced her to the minister.

The heavy oak door creaked again as Greg Burns entered the church. He strode quickly down the aisle and quietly apologized for being late. Charlie made the introductions and the minister reassured the nervous godfather.

"You're fine, Mr. Burns. We don't have another service until this evening, so no worries. Shall we get started, and welcome this little man into God's family?"

ooooooooooooo

Once the ceremony concluded, the group headed to a nearby Bowie Town Center pastry shop, Heaven Sent Cupcakery, which despite its specialty name, also made Charlie's preferred style of croissants fresh each morning. Shortly before Mother's Day, he had discovered that they offered an exquisite pop tart variation called an 'apple hand pie' which quickly became Prentice's new favorite. In chatting with the owner early on a recent Tuesday morning, Charlie learned that because her family hailed from south Louisiana, she made (upon request) small batches of beignets, Caroline Julian's beloved Southern favorite.

Between powdered sugary mouthfuls, the usually dignified lawyer praised their light delicate goodness, much to the baker's delight. The two ladies launched into a discussion of Louisiana cuisine, comparing their grandmothers' recipes. Before long, Charlie and Prentice were lost in a fog of Cajun cooking terms; poivron, andouille, chaudin, roux, etoufee, couche, maque choux, boudin; on and on. The only word they recognized was gumbo.

They were rescued when the bell over the shop's front door jingled as a customer entered to pick up her daughter's birthday cupcake order. Since the prosecutor lived in Alexandria, she'd had few occasions to visit Bowie, Maryland in the past. But that, Caroline declared, was about to change. The rector's pastry of choice was a blueberry muffin chock full of fresh fruit.

"Ms. Hanson, I believe your cupcake shop has become a fixture of our community more quickly than any other eating establishment in the area," he complimented the baker. "Our hospitality committee is convinced your donuts have increased our weekly attendance as well as church donations!"

"Thank you, Pastor Mullins; I'm glad to hear your parishioners enjoy them. We've had several new customers remark that is why they stopped in for a purchase. So it's a helpful arrangement for both of us!"

The rector thanked Charlie and Prentice for the tasty breakfast, and headed back to his church. Following Booth's suggestion, Charlie and Prentice had found a fixer-upper duplex on a U.S. Marshals' auction, where Sweets had once bought Daisy a birthday Vespa. When they drove Caroline over to see the remodeling Wendell was helping with, she grew teary remembering Sweets' wearing a powder blue 'Easter Egg' around the FBI bullpen to make sure that the helmet fit comfortably.

Renting out one side of the duplex and living in the other reduced the Burns' mortgage enough to allow an extended three-month maternity leave for Prentice. Peyton had suggested this to her sister, since Tommy would be sleeping through the night before she returned to her FBI duties. Caroline commented how placid the little boy was, calmly dozing off in her arms during his christening.

"It's your talent for cuddling little ones, Ms. Julian," Prentice told her with a smile. "Tommy seemed to relax the moment you held him. We were so frenetic getting everyone ready on time, it wasn't very peaceful around our house this morning! You were a welcome oasis of peace for him, I think!"

"Nonsense, Cher, he was just ready for a nap!"

The baby in question began to whimper and fuss, squirming in his infant seat.

"I believe Tommy thinks it's time to go home. Time for a diaper change, no doubt," Prentice remarked. "Even this young, he wiggles when he's soaked."

"You have a smart little boy there, Cher," Caroline chuckled. "I've worn out my welcome; gotta head back into the city. It's a ways out here, isn't it? Good thing DC has strong public transit!"

"We both get a lot done on the Metro, so once we're home, we focus on Tommy. It would be nice to live closer, but we were tired of apartments and wanted a yard for him."

That's a fact of life in the Capital city, ne c'est pas?"

"Caroline, thank you for being Tommy's godmother. It means so much to us."

"You two honored me by asking; merci! See you on Monday." And with that, Caroline climbed back into her yellow Hornet for the trip home. The young parents looked down at their sleeping child, and smiled at each other, Charlie stifling a yawn in the process.

"I think all three of us can use a nap when we get home, don't you, Pren?"

"Definitely!"

AN: If my Wikipedia research is correct, chaton means kitten in Cajun French. I'm not enough of a gourmet cook to explain all the cooking terms I found on Wikipedia. Suffice it to say, the experienced cooks of Louisiana are masters of their craft. But then, aren't all granmas? Mine certainly were!