A/N: A huge thank you to everyone who has left a review on this story. Your kind words make all the difference and keep me wanting to write stories for these characters. I always enjoy hearing what folks think.
The following Saturday morning, with a fresh ten dollars in his pocket courtesy of Lynn and Henry, Jake set off for Brooklyn again. While he knew that Maggie did not begin work at the diner until later, he had other matters to attend to first.
While he eyed a thirty-day metro card with envy, he did not have the extra funds. So instead, he bought tokens for both his trip to and from Brooklyn, keen to keep a close watch on the meager bills in his pocket. Living topside was expensive, Jake noted with disgust, not even bothering to wonder how expensive it would be to take a yellow taxicab.
He arrived in Brooklyn at half past nine, but rather than go straight to the diner, Jake made a detour to the care facility first. When he arrived, he saw several of the older patients sitting outside in their rocking chairs. Feeling a strange sense of courage, Jake moved among them without hesitation, asking how each of the older people were, whether they were getting enough sunshine and fresh air. A few said nothing, simply staring ahead as though their minds could not engage. But the rest smiled back at him and several thanked him for being 'such a nice young man.'
As he turned around, Jake came face to face with the nurse he had met before, Harper. She stood with her arms crossed and an expression of half annoyance and half amusement across her face.
"I didn't expect to see you back here again," she noted. "Have you come to volunteer? I have plenty of patients who would love someone to read to them."
The insinuation surprised Jake, but he stood his ground.
"Actually, I came to talk to you."
"Oh?"
"See, I have a question," he said.
But before he could say more, Harper waved him away from the hearing of the patients on the porch.
"If you're asking about a certain someone-" she began.
"Actually, my question is more general," Jake interrupted, sensing her growing nervousness and irritation. "I was wondering… What I mean is... "
He took a deep, steadying breath.
"Imagine - hypothetically speaking - someone has amnesia and they don't remember who they used to be."
Harper rolled her eyes.
"Okay, Mister Hypothetically Speaking. I'm imagining."
"How would someone get them to remember their former life?" he asked.
She stared at him for a long moment, and Jake could feel within her a vast uneasiness at not only his presence but the subject of his request. Finally, she said, "It isn't that easy, kid."
"But I know she has those memories, deep down-"
"Slow down," Harper advised. Pinning him with a sharp look, she went on, "What you're suggesting can be very dangerous. Maggie experienced some sort of trauma over a decade ago. She was in a coma so long, her muscles atrophied. She had to re-learn everything. This wasn't some quick and easy process like you see in the soap operas. She struggled and she fought, every day. You think she didn't want to remember who she was? She tried very hard to remember."
Swallowing tightly, Jake began to doubt himself and his newfound purpose. He also wondered what a soap opera was, but that seemed unimportant.
"But surely she could still… I mean, what if she didn't have anyone from her life before to help, but she does now? Wouldn't that make a difference?"
For a tense moment, the nurse's face seemed inscrutable as she studied Jake. But finally she said, "You're suggesting Maggie has someone from her former life, someone who she might remember?"
He nodded.
"Then why didn't they ever come forward before?" Harper demanded. "It's been twelve years."
"Maybe no one knew she was alive."
Her eyebrows raised in skepticism as Harper shot back, "And maybe you're just looking to stir up trouble for someone you don't know."
The statement angered him and Jake insisted sharply, "But I do know her."
He spoke so loudly that it caught the attention of the patients and a few eyes turned towards them. Harper looked about uncomfortably, perhaps realizing how long she had been speaking with the boy and neglecting her professional responsibilities.
She took a few steps away from him, as if to return to her work. But then she paused.
"How old are you?" she asked him, her eyes narrowing.
"I'm twelve."
She looked him up and down.
"Twelve, huh?" she said. "That's interesting."
"Why do you say that?"
"Because Maggie's file said she gave birth just before she was transferred here. And that was twelve years ago."
He stood his ground but said nothing, only meeting the woman's eyes with fierce determination.
With a thoughtful nod, Harper told him, "I get off work at 3 o'clock. Come back this afternoon, and we can talk more."
Jake arrived at the diner at a quarter to eleven and quickly installed himself in what he had previously decided must be the best seat in the place: a spot at the counter to one side, near where the waitresses moved from the kitchen to the booths along the outer walls. There, he was sure to be seen by Maggie each and every time she passed by.
The other waitress did not seem surprised to see him, but she asked impassively, "Back again?"
Jake nodded. "I can't get enough of your coffee," he joked. "Best in the city."
His comment earned him a laugh and when she brought him a cup of the bitter liquid, he used the advantage to ask her name.
"Lorena," she told him cautiously.
"I'm Jake."
He flashed a smile.
"Well, Jake, are you planning to order food today or are you going to take up one of my counter spaces drinking nothing but coffee all day?"
While he still had money left over, Jake knew he had to make the funds last.
"Just coffee," he told her with more confidence than he felt. "It's very filling."
She made a noise but left him to the steaming cup. The liquid smelled better than he knew it would taste, and without hesitation, he dumped in three cream cups and four sugar packets to make it palatable.
A few minutes later, Maggie entered the diner. She walked past him into the kitchen without stopping to look his way. A few moments later, she emerged again and then paused at the sight of him.
"You don't give up," she muttered, although her annoyance seemed feigned.
"Giving up is for quitters," he quipped.
"And diners are for people who eat," she reminded him. "Are you going to order a meal or should I have the cook throw you out of here?"
For a long second, Jake pressed his lips together, gauging whether or not she would go through with the threat. Finally, he took a menu and looked down at the a la cart section. The cheapest item was a sausage patty at $1.00.
"I'll have that," he said, pointing.
"One sausage?"
He nodded in confidence. And to emphasize his point, he pulled out the few dollars from his pocket. He set one aside for the coffee and another for the sausage. On top of those, he allocated another dollar for tip. The subway token he had purchased that morning jangled in his pocket next to his few remaining dollar bills.
"One sausage," Jake confirmed, looking back up at her without a trace of artifice or self pity in his eyes.
Maggie frowned at him and at the dollar bills on the counter.
"Coming right up," she said, turning away from him.
As Jake waited for his food, he looked around. The diner seemed unusually sparse at this hour, without much material for observation. The few couples in booths seemed more intent on their meals than on talking, and the other patrons at the counter likewise minded their own business. But a few seats over, Jake noticed an abandoned section of newspaper. Out of curiosity, he picked it up and paged through it.
Politics, he noted with disgust, and almost set the section aside again.
Politics held little interest for him as Jake knew very little about the leaders who ran the world above. His father lacked respect for them and Grandfather often made comments condemning everything from their system of justice to how they took care of the poor and homeless. But without much else to occupy his mind, Jake read through the newspaper anyway.
By the time he had skimmed through most of the stories, Maggie returned with his food. But rather than the single sausage he had ordered, the plate was piled with scrambled eggs, pancakes, two sausage patties, and at least three slices of bacon. Panic sliced through him as he looked back up at her.
"I didn't order all this," he said, fretful of getting in trouble. "I can't pay for it."
The corner of Maggie's mouth quirked up and she told him, "Don't worry about it, kid. I upgraded you. On the house."
He blinked at her. "On the house?" he repeated.
Maggie looked at him with surprise.
"It means free," she explained.
"Oh." His eyes widened, and then he grinned. "Thanks!"
Jake did not hesitate to pick up his fork and quickly began digging into the plate of food. He did not notice as Maggie watched him for a moment, a small smile on her own face, before she returned to her work.
By the time he was done, Jake felt not only sated but extra satisfied that his mother had done something so nice for him, even without knowing who he was. The gesture only reinforced to him that she was who he knew her to be: the famed Catherine Chandler who had been so intent upon helping others until her tragic murder.
"All done?"
Maggie stopped in front of him and gestured to the empty plate.
"Yes, thank you. It was delicious."
As she took the plate, Maggie nodded to the newspaper beside him. "Anything interesting?" she asked.
With a shrug, Jake turned the paper over.
"Not much," he said. "Everything's starting to go electronic. Internet this and that. Businesses relocating overseas. And to Jersey. There's this guy running for office-"
He stopped speaking as soon as he noticed her expression. Maggie had gone white as a sheet as she stared at the paper beside him on the counter. Glancing down, he noticed the picture was of the man he had been about to mention, the one running for some public office.
Jake knew in an instant that Maggie recognized the man in the newspaper photograph, and he looked at the caption beneath it.
Assistant District Attorney Joe Maxwell, a long-time supervisor in the DA's office, running for the office in wake of District Attorney Mattingly's sudden retirement.
Searching back through his own memories, Jake recalled that in her former life, his mother had been a lawyer. And while his father and grandfather rarely talked about her work, he knew that she helped people, especially victims of crimes. Within seconds, the connection with the prosecutor's office clicked in his mind and he turned the paper back over to hide the picture.
But the damage had been done.
Looking back at Maggie, he realized she was unable to break her gaze from the newspaper. She had not moved at all but remained frozen in place. But more worrying still, she was trembling.
"Maggie?" he said, reaching out to touch her.
But as soon as he made contact with her arm, she started violently. As she took two steps back from him, the plate in her hand dropped and shattered on the floor.
"Maggie? Are you all right?"
The other waitress, Lorena, approached her, and Jake realized that the diner had gone quiet as everyone turned to look at the ruckus. Then Lorena looked at him and glared.
"What did you do?" she demanded.
Jake's eyes went wide. "I didn't do anything! She was just looking at the paper and-"
He stopped, not wanting to give too much away. But even as he spoke, Maggie came out of her strangely catatonic state. Glancing at Lorena, she assured the woman, "I'm all right. Everything's okay. I just had a start."
The other waitress patted her shoulder and said, "Why don't you go outside and take a quick break? I'll clean this up."
With a smile of thanks, Maggie accept the proffered help and quickly slipped out of the diner. As if helpless to stop himself, Jake followed her.
Outside and half-way up the street, she found a low wall to sit on. Jake watched with rapt attention as she reached into the pocket of her diner uniform and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. With shaking hands, she removed one and quickly lit it. After taking a puff and then one long drag on the cigarette, she exhaled slowly, a plume of smoke emerging from her nose.
No one smoked in the tunnels, so Jake only watched for a moment, unsure what to do or say. But when she glanced up, noticing him, Jake took the opportunity to approach her.
"You know, those cause cancer."
"I know." With a waive of the hand holding the cigarette, she noted sardonically, "It's a bad habit. Don't ever start."
Sitting down next to her, Jake asked, "Are you okay?"
She sighed deeply before staring at the concrete sidewalk beneath her feet.
"I don't know," she admitted. "That hasn't happened to me in a long time."
"What happened?"
"Look, kid-"
"You don't have to tell me," Jake conceded. "But I wanted to make sure you're okay."
Maggie looked at him as she took another drag on the cigarette.
"Who are you?" Maggie asked finally. "I mean, where did you come from? Why are you suddenly hanging around me all the time?" Pausing for a second, she added, "And why are you dressed like that?"
Jake looked down at his worn and patched tunnel garb. Most people never commented on it, but he knew that he and the other tunnel kids often stood out when they ventured above.
"Like what?" he asked innocently.
"Like you escaped from Ruritania," she noted with amusement.
She reached out a hand to touch his vest, a piece Sarah had recently mended by hand after he'd tripped near the falls and torn part of the fabric. But her fingers paused just before touching him, and her eyes swept back up to his.
"You said before that I remind you of someone," Maggie said. "Who do I remind you of?"
Truthfully, he admitted, "My mom."
"Where is your mom?"
He paused, considering for a second before answering, "She died when I was born."
"She died in labor?" Maggie asked.
"...not exactly."
She regarded him for a moment, once again bringing the cigarette to her mouth and inhaling deeply. The sharp, bitter smell of the smoke did not appeal to Jake and he wondered how she could stand it.
"Do you think I somehow knew your mother?" she prompted.
"Why?" Jake shot back. "Do I seem familiar to you?"
She shook her head.
"Not in the slightest."
"But you recognized that man in the paper."
His observation startled her, and she looked away. Through his empathic sense, Jake could tell that the experience in the diner had shaken her deeply. But she also had no wish to determine the reason for her response. The emotions frightened her, as though she knew if she looked too hard at any one thing, she might remember the things her mind had long forgotten.
She does not want to remember.
The realization saddened Jake. Up until now, he assumed she did not remember because she could not, but in reality, she had no wish to find those memories. She kept them locked away, deliberately avoiding them.
But why?
"I don't know what you're talking about," Maggie said, the lie so obvious she did not even try to disguise it.
Pressing his luck, Jake asked, "Do you like being a waitress?"
"Do you like being annoying?" she shot back.
With a shrug, he admitted, "Not really. Occupational hazard, I guess."
"And what occupation is that?"
"Teenager," he said with a grin.
Maggie looked at him for one long minute before she let out a laugh. While she had shown moments of amusement before, this was the first time Jake had actually heard her laugh, and the sound was like music to his ears.
They sat together silently for a few moments, and Maggie put out her cigarette on the concrete at her feet before returning the butt to her pocket along with the pack of cigarettes and lighter. Only then did she turn back to him.
"So why do you think I knew your mom?" she asked.
Jake hesitated. Now came the tricky part.
"I found a picture of you with my mom's old things," he said carefully. "And an address. That's how I tracked you down."
"What picture?"
Carefully, he removed the one he had been carrying in his pocket, the one which showed her much younger self half-smiling for the camera. Maggie's hand trembled as she took it from him, but she did not react as strongly as she had to the man in the paper.
"This doesn't look anything like me," she said after a quick glance and handed it back.
This time, Jake raised an incredulous eyebrow.
Ignoring it, she demanded, "And the address?"
"The nursing home a few blocks from here. One of the people there told me I might find you working here."
"The people there need to mind their own business," Maggie said with irritation.
As Jake looked at her, he reached out with his inner senses. The woman next to him, for all her bluster and bristling, felt very frightened. And very alone. She had no memories of anything else, only pain and devastation and disappointment. She had no family and few friends. Her life was small - small and sheltered in the world she had rebuilt for herself. It was as though she existed inside an invisible fortress and kept out anything which might threaten the fragile inner balance of her life.
"What are you afraid of?" he asked, the question coming out with more emotion than he intended.
His heart ached, not only for her, but for the years that had been wasted. All the moments they could have shared up until now. He had been robbed of knowing her just as she had lost a dozen years with her family and friends. It hurt all the worse as he recognized that she did not seem to want that other life, an existence she actively fought to remember.
"I have to get back to work," Maggie said with a flat, urgent tone. Leaving him on the bench, she went back into the diner.
"Not everyone who suffers from long term memory loss wants to remember their past," Harper said.
He sat across from her in a small coffee shop a few blocks from the nursing home. While she sipped a steaming hot latte, Jake had opted for just a plain tea. But even as he sipped it, he found himself missing the richness and artificially sweet flavor of coffee from the diner.
"Why not?"
"Because usually whatever caused that trauma can be very frightening to confront."
"But Maggie-"
Harper stopped him. "Look, I can't talk specific cases here, okay. I can lose my license if people thought I was giving you medical information about patients, current or former."
With a sigh, Jake said, "Okay. Then a hypothetical person. Her name is… Catherine."
The woman in front of him stiffened and she looked at him intently. Very carefully, she said, "How about Jane Doe?"
He waved his hand in acceptance of the name.
"If Jane Doe has resisted remembering her past all these years, forcing her to suddenly confront those old memories could cause her serious mental damage."
Jake frowned. "Like, what kind of damage?"
"She could retreat into herself, go catatonic. I've seen it happen before, once or twice. With, er, other John and Jane Does."
He sat back and stared at his tea. Then he asked, "Is there a way to get her to remember, gently, without hurting her? Without causing that damage?"
"Maybe." Harper shrugged. "But she hasn't remembered anything yet. And I think without something physical to remind her of that life, she isn't ever likely to."
"You mean like pictures?"
"Sometimes those help," she conceded. "Or mementos. Old, familiar scents."
"What about people?"
He asked the question softly, thinking back to Maggie's reaction to the picture of the man in the paper. If only a photo of someone had caused such a strongly negative reaction, what would happen to her if she saw someone in person?
"It would be risky." Harper frowned. "I'm not a doctor, but my best advice is to take it slow. Don't push her into anything which might upset her. Start small and work your way from there. And don't force her into anything if she seems uncomfortable."
Jake nodded thoughtfully and for a long while, they both sipped their drinks.
After a time, he said, "Will you tell me about her? I mean, how she is now. It seems like you've known her a long time."
"Our hypothetical Jane Doe?" Harper asked with a smile. But even as he worried that she might refuse, over the next hour, the nurse relayed a series of stories and circumstances to help inform him of his mother's new identity.
Fear seemed to guide Maggie like no other emotion. It had been woven into the fabric of her being, and while she had moments of courage when defending others, Maggie never seemed able to truly rest. To Harper, it was as if the past stalked her from the very edges of her mind.
But when she was not fretful of her memories, Maggie displayed kindness and thoughtful intent with every other fiber of her being. She visited the other patients at the nursing home at least once a week, usually on Mondays when the diner was closed. She especially liked reading to the lost cause cases like she had once seemed herself - the coma victims and those locked inside their own minds.
Harper felt Maggie had a keen mind, and whatever education and training she had enjoyed in her earlier life remained even if the memories had not. She asked sharp questions and made discerning observations.
"She's wasted in that diner," the nurse said with more than a little disgust.
"Why has she not moved on?" Jake asked. "I mean, she seems stuck in this neighborhood, as though there isn't an entire world for her to explore. An entire city-"
Harper smiled at him, a little tired and sad.
"This neighborhood is the only place she has ever known. She has lived and worked in this area for years and yet, she has no real friends. I think she's afraid of reaching out and connecting with others."
He nodded slowly, taking in the description. All of this fit with the emotions he had felt from his mother but they did not square with the woman he had known only through descriptions from his father, grandfather, and other friends. Catherine Chandler had been an attorney, an investigator, and a force to be reckoned with. In the world above, she had lived like a modern day princess before meeting his father and the tunnel community. The notion of her working quietly as a waitress for a decade in Brooklyn made no sense.
And yet… Jake knew that it did for Maggie.
"She's hiding," he said quietly. "She's hiding from her old life, from the possibility of being recognized. Of even from just seeing something and remembering."
Remembering Maggie's reaction to the picture in the paper, he described her reaction to Harper. The nurse listened carefully but offered no commentary. Instead, she shrugged.
"It doesn't sound like she wants to remember, Jake," she pointed out. "Are you sure this is something you want to attempt? You might end up destroying the life she has managed to build for herself."
The boy thought hard about her question. For the first time, he wondered if it wouldn't be better to leave well enough alone, to abandon his mission and let Maggie continue in her obscure little world, away from everyone who had known and loved her. But just as any child would do, Jake also thought of himself, of the parental figure who had been absent his entire childhood.
"For my entire life, I thought my mother was dead," he stated. "I didn't even see an actual photograph of her until a couple of weeks ago. I only had… stories. And besides-"
He paused, taking a deep breath before looking at Harper directly in the eyes.
"If your family thought you were dead for a long time and then found out you were alive, would they just… leave you be?"
But Harper ignored the question to focus on one word.
"Family?" she questioned. "She didn't have any family. Both her parents died."
"I thought we were talking about a hypothetical Jane Doe?" he reproached her.
"Jake..."
"She did have family," he insisted. "And not just me."
This new information seemed to disconcert Harper a great deal, and she looked away.
"The newspapers said-"
"The newspapers don't know anything. My father-"
She looked at him sharply and he stopped.
"Your father?" she prompted.
He knew he could say nothing more, that doing so would betray the tunnels and the rest of the residents of the secret place he had called home his entire life. But Jake also felt that strange, tingly feeling of having a secret and wanting to share it with someone. He had never experienced that before, never having interacted much with those who were not at least helpers.
"My father mourns for her still."
The weight of his statement settled on Harper, and she seemed even more agitated. While she kept her outward reactions in check, Jake could feel the force of her emotions through his empathic senses. Suddenly, something occurred to him.
"You're the one who called the tip line and left the address for the nursing home," he mused aloud. "Months after she was reported dead, you recognized her and called in."
This time, Harper did betray her shock as she met his gaze. Her mouth opened slightly and her eyes widened. Jake could make out a faint trembling to her form, and previously invisible hairs stood up from the dark hued skin on her arms.
"I thought someone might look into it," she said quietly.
"But no one did."
"She was still in a coma, and it seemed like she might never come out of it," Harper stated. "So I didn't do anything else."
"And when she did wake up?" he prompted.
The woman shrugged.
"She didn't remember anything. She had to start over completely from scratch. How was I supposed to tell her that she had a former life where she was murdered?"
Jake could understand the nurse's thought processes, but he also wondered how things might have gone if the world had learned so many years ago that Catherine Chandler had lived.
"And the newspapers linked her supposed death with this huge drug and public corruption case," Harper went on. "It went all the way to the District Attorney, her boss when she was kidnapped. Can you imagine? Betrayed by someone you thought you knew?"
She shrugged again.
"I figured with no living relatives, maybe she was just safer not knowing about her past. Besides, I couldn't even be completely sure it was her."
This last statement was a lie, and Jake said starkly, "You knew."
She sighed sadly. "Yes, I knew."
Looking up at him, she added, "Jake, I'm sorry. I should have done more to tell people. Maybe if I had…" She frowned and shook her head. "Look kid, I'll help you however I can. I owe you that much. But I don't want you to be too disappointed if this doesn't end up the way you think it will."
With a thoughtful half-smile, Jake said, "I just want to know my mom. And I want her to know she still has people who love her."
Jake made sure to return to the tunnels before dark, and he even returned with a box of fresh vegetables from Lynn and Henry's restaurant. Like so many other helpers, they contributed as much as they could to those who had taken them in and given them shelter in their greatest hour. And Jake knew they had a soft spot for him because of his father.
After dropping the food off in the kitchen with William, he went to Grandfather's chamber knowing he would find the man there. And indeed, his grandfather sat absorbed in a book as he entered.
"Ah, Jacob," the man said as he strode forward, taking an empty seat nearby. "Have you had a good visit above?"
The man's tone betrayed more than just the depth of that question and Jake knew Grandfather burned with curiosity as to where and why he had been spending his weekends topside. But having helped raise dozens of children, he also knew when not to pry.
"I have," Jake affirmed.
He allowed a few moments of silence to settle between them, and Grandfather looked at him, his head cocked to one side in question.
"Would you tell me about my mother?" Jake asked.
Grandfather did not seem surprised by the request. "What do you wish to know?"
Now came the tricky part, Jake thought.
"How did she die… exactly?"
He had long heard vague stories about an evil man taking her from them, but no one had ever given him real specifics. She had not suffered, not from what his father had implied, but nor did anyone tell what had actually ended her life. Not a gunshot or knife, surely. But what?
"What do you mean?" Grandfather asked.
"I know she was killed right after I was born, but what did they do to her?"
Finally understanding, he nodded.
"I believe it was a fatal dose of morphine," Grandfather said. "They injected her shortly after taking you away. By the time your father arrived, it was too late."
He spoke quietly, as though worried others might overhear him, but Jake had no such concerns. As his empathic sense had been growing and developing, he had learned to have confidence in it. No one else was near his grandfather's chamber, and he would know if anyone approached.
"She died in his arms," Jake said, remembering that part from something his father had said long ago.
"Yes."
"And then?"
"Then he…" Grandfather's voice broke, and Jake could tell that old emotions had caught up with him. Grief and loss were his father's constant companions, but rarely had he ever seen Grandfather so overwhelmed with feeling.
"He took her back to her home, to her apartment. He did not return below until dawn, until the last possible moment. On his way back to the tunnels, he contacted a helper who phoned the police to let them know where she could be found. And then he came back down here."
Grandfather looked away, his eyes dark with old, painful memories. "We did not see her again. Even at the funeral… We did not see her again."
Jake nodded slowly, taking it all in. Part of him wished he could reach out to his grandfather and correct the man's mistaken belief that Jake's mother was dead. But he also knew that it was too soon, that he needed Maggie to remember who she was before trying to re-introduce her to their family below. As Harper had told him, her fragile mind might fracture completely if he pushed too hard or too quickly.
But his grandfather's recollection also allowed him to piece together how his mother had managed to survive. That fatal dose of morphine, something he knew very little about, had apparently not been so fatal after all. And whomever had discovered she survived had obviously not wanted her found, sending her away from Manhattan to somewhere she was not as likely to be recognized as she lay in a coma, half dead and entirely forgotten.
"Would you tell me more about her?" Jake pressed.
"Perhaps you should ask-"
But Jake cut him off. "I have asked my father. But he doesn't like to speak of her. It hurts too much."
With an understanding nod, Grandfather acknowledged the truth of the boy's comment.
"She was an amazing woman. I wish you had known her."
"She worked for the District Attorney's office?"
Grandfather raised an eyebrow.
"You have been doing some research above, it would seem."
Jake shrugged one shoulder but did not answer.
"Yes, she was a prosecutor, although much of what she did was more investigative in nature. Speaking with witnesses, victims, and so forth. After her attack, she wanted to give back to others. But she often got herself into trouble…"
He listened as his grandfather spoke, relaying a variety of new details about his mother's life. While many below spoke of her in only gentle, loving terms, Grandfather gave him some new insights into her life, sharing stories Jake had not heard before. Her job had gotten herself into a few scrapes, he realized. And reading between the lines, he recognized quite clearly that his father had been obliged to rescued her, their empathic bond letting him know whenever she was in danger. Jake did not entirely appreciate what those "rescues" might entail, and from Grandfather's expression, he would not be sharing specifics.
He wondered idly if his father had hurt people to save his mother's life.
And then he wondered if his father had ever killed someone.
The thought strayed into his mind and then out again, dismissed by the untroubled mind of a child. If his father had killed anyone, they deserved it, Jake decided.
And his mother had been a crusader, he decided as he listened with rapt attention to his grandfather's stories. She had saved the tunnels from a greedy developer once. She had also saved his father and Grandfather both after a cave-in. And, Grandfather informed him, careful to be vague in details, Catherine had saved his father - twice - when madness had called, driving Vincent deep into the earth and away from his tunnel family. Indeed, Grandfather seemed to have no difficulties in both praising his mother and calling out her faults.
"She was… impetuous. Perhaps too cavalier with her safety," he acknowledged. "But she showed that same lack of fear when it came to sharing her love as well."
Jake took note of the shadows behind his grandfather's eyes, and he recognized an unspoken wealth of guilt harbored by the older man. Adults carried their regrets deeply, like bags they could never set down, and Jake hoped he never had to labor under such uncomfortable burdens.
"Like when she fell in love with my father," he said, figuring the example to be an obvious and easy one.
But his grandfather still froze at his words, and Jake watched him curiously.
"Yes, exactly," the elder stated, although his hesitation could not be ignored. He sensed a distinct feeling of discomfort from the man, tinged with more than a little guilt.
"What?" Jake asked. "Did you think maybe she didn't love him?"
Grandfather instantly shook his head.
"No!" he stated quickly. "I don't think anyone could argue that your mother did not love your father. Not at all. Just…"
He sighed deeply, and Jake watched his every movement.
Finally, the tunnel elder told him begrudgingly, "Your mother was quite the woman. Wealthy and highly educated. She could have done anything with her life she wanted. But… as you know, she fell in love."
He paused, and Jake waited curiously. Grandfather eventually smiled, the facial expression coming to him naturally even though Jake wondered at the maelstrom of emotions behind it.
"Catherine… your mother… She defied all hopes I might have had for your father. I never expected him to find someone who would look beyond his appearance, at least not in that way. But Catherine…" He sighed, this time with a slight smile. "She was so lovely. And she looked at him as though he were the mirror of herself - in every way."
His grandfather gazed into the distance, an expression of deep reverie overtaking him, and Jake patiently said nothing. Sometimes, the best stories required the listener to play the waiting game, and he had conquered that technique long ago.
After a time - a long time, Jake might have insisted - his grandfather smiled fully.
"Your mother was only part of our lives for a short time. A little over two years. But she changed all of us for the better. I wasn't very welcoming of her at the beginning. I thought she would break your father's heart. But now, I'm so glad to have known her. And I'm glad she gave us you."
Jake studied him for a moment, hoping for more. But an aura of melancholy now surrounded his grandfather, and Jake could tell the time for storytelling had come to an end.
On impulse, he asked, "Did she smoke?"
The question seemed startling in the wake of so many generalities. Grandfather glanced back at him, confused. "Smoke?"
"You know - cigarettes."
He shook his head. "No. Not that I ever saw. Why do you ask?"
With a shrug, Jake said casually, "No reason." And then, after a beat, he asked, "What was her favorite book?"
This quest, more innocuous, led his grandfather to sigh as his gaze flashed up with consideration.
"I don't know her favorite book," he said. "She and your father often read together - the classics, I believe. Oh, but I remember now. When she was first here, I believe he read to her from Great Expectations. That was something of a favorite between them afterwards."
Jake nodded slowly. Of course it was Great Expectations.
He hated that book.
But now he finally understood why his father had always been so keen on him reading it and understanding the story. Not only was it a coming-of-age story, but it was the novel which had first united his parents so many years before.
"Thank you," he said.
Shelving the rest of his questions for another day, Jake gave his grandfather a hug before heading off to bed.
TBC