Title: Weekend in the Country

Disclaimer: Blind Justice belongs to Steven Bochco Productions. No copyright infringement intended.

Rating: PG-13.

Spoilers: Set right after "Dance With Me."

Author's Notes: Many thanks to shmeep, who helped me immensely with her thoughtful critique of this draft chapter, which led to a significant revision that I hope has improved both the focus and quality of the story. Sorry for the length between postings—bear with me! Enjoy and please take a moment to leave feedback. Thanks.

Chapter 5

(Jim's POV)

I was a little irritated by Christie's implication that I was too incapacitated by the blindness to walk a simple wooded path, even it was rocky and uneven. But I tried to keep it to myself as we turned from the roses and headed back up the driveway. I was determined to keep things light and enjoyable this weekend—and Christie's father had already made that more difficult than I'd imagined, so I definitely wasn't going to turn Christie's goof into a full-blown discussion about the capabilities of blind people. That would just end up making all of us uncomfortable, and we'd already had that discussion many times anyway. The fact was, it was still a learning process—for both of us, and I tended to give Christie the benefit of the doubt, since shejust as oftenerred on the side of overestimating my abilities. Besides, we hadn't been out in nature at all during the past year, so her uncertainty was even more excusable.

"You okay? You're being kind of quiet." Christie's soft voice brought me back to the present with a jolt.

I realized that even though I was deep in thought, part of my brain was also intently focused on my surroundings, trying to get a sense of where I was by smell and hearing and even my memories of how things were situated. I should've remembered the path down to the creek that ran through the western part of the Sullivans' property…but I didn't. I had a vague idea of where we were, but I had honestly never paid that much attention. I was a city boy, born and bred, and had no patience for the bugs and dirt and leaves that one inevitably encountered in the country. Granted, my in-laws hardly lived in the boondocks, but it was decidedly more rural than any other place I'd spent any amount of time in. And in the seven or so years I'd been visiting them, I'd been content to stay inside and crack open a beer and watch a football game.

Of course, that was when I could view the roses from afar, and could tell my mother-in-law that they were very pretty from where I stood on the front porch. Never had the slightest desire to go smell them. Today, though, I was actually eager to experience the great outdoors in all its glory. You don't know what you got till it's gone. How true that phrase was. I wish I had appreciated all the sights around me when I'd had the chance. Now I was figuring out other ways to experience things—which is one reason I'd suggested wandering around a little—but it was definitely more of a challenge.

Remembering that I still hadn't answered Christie's question, I shook my head a little and forced a smile. "I was just….are there horses around here somewhere?"

"Yes, there are," Diane said with a bit of wonder in her voice. "How did you know that?"

I wrinkled my nose. "Thought I smelled them. Reminded me of the races I used to go to with my…when I was a kid."

"See, I told you the smell would be terrible," Christie said, sounding irritated. I assumed she was talking to her mother, because I could hear the change in the sound of her voice as she turned her head away.

"Christine, Jim can probably smell things that the rest of us can't. And we don't spend much time all the way out here anyway. So stop worrying," Diane said sharply.

"What's going on?" I asked, confused by the turn of the conversation.

As we made our way across the large backyard and into the woods at the far edge, Diane explained about the riding center next door. "It's just for disabled kids?" I asked.

"No, I think they'll serve everyone," Diane answered, "but the therapeutic services will be woven into everything they do. It's really been a community effort."

"Sounds like a good thing to get behind. Even if it does smell," I added.Diane giggled in response,but Christie didn't. I loved my wife, but sometimes her Type A personality got on my nerves, and I wished she could just relax and laugh about things once in a while. More like Karen was, I realized. Though Karen was probably like that because she was a cop. The profession tended to teach perspective on a grand scale. More than the world of high fashion, in any case.

As we walked, I noticed the air around us cooling, and knew that we had left the meadow behind and gone far enough into the woods to be completely shaded from the sun. The smell changed too, from grass to the damp, rich scentof earth and leaves. "Okay, sweetie, we're in the woods now," Christie said.

I took a calming breath, and slowed to a stop. "Christie, do me a favor, okay? Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Just do it," I said. "You too, Diane."

I waited a moment, then said, "Okay. Where's the sun?"

They both mumbled versions of, "I don't know."

"Right, because the trees are covering it," I said, trying to keep the impatience out of my voice. "A minute ago, we were walking in the sun, and now we're not. What else can you tell me about where we are?"

A beat of silence, and Christie says, "I hear birds…and maybe crickets?"

"Yeah," I agreed. "Crickets like cool, damp places, like the woods. What else?"

"Smells like rain," Diane said. "Kind of…mossy."

"Okay, we're done," I said, and squeezed Christie's arms gently to start her moving again.

"I'm sorry, Jimmy," she said softly.

"Don't be," I replied curtly. "I wasn't trying to...I just wanted to show you I already knew we were in the woods."

"I'm sure people underestimate you a lot, Jim," my mother-in-law said from behind us.

I shrugged and frowned a little, then turned my head to address her. "It's not a big deal."

"I think it is," Christie said, her voice still low and contrite. "I wish you would show me more about how you see things more often. Maybe then I'd understand better."

Though I was pretty sure I had hidden my irritation from my mother-in-law, my wife knew me well enough to sense how I was feeling, and her typical defensiveness had sprung up. I shrugged again, not wanting to get into an argument. "I'll keep that in mind."

We walked a little further, and then Christie said, "The path is getting narrower, Jimmy—I don't think it's wide enough for us to keep walking side-by-side like this."

I paused a half step, and moved slightly behind her into a more traditional guiding position. But I kept the cane off to my right and moving along the ground to feel out the terrain. "Better?"

"Yes," she answered. "Okay, there's a big dip coming up, and some rocks. It's going to get kind of steep."

"You know, a blind man hiked the Appalachian Trail," I said, feeling my hackles rise again.

"Really?"

"By himself?" My mother-in-law and wife exclaimed at the same time.

"Does it matter?" I replied, answering Christie's question.

A pause, and then she answered, "No, I guess not."

I decided to let the subject drop, and as soon as quiet descended among us again, I heard the faint gurgle of running water ahead and to the left. "Do you hear that?" I asked them.

"What?" Diane asked. "Oh—is that the stream? We're almost there."

The sound grew steadily louder, until I could finally sense that we'd come into a bit of a clearing, so the path was open to the stream, with no trees blocking the sound—or the view, presumably. "Sounds...bigger than I remember," I remarked.

"We had a lot of snow and rain this winter, so it's pretty full right now," Diane replied. "You might've seen it in fall or early winter before, when it's a lot lower."

"Can we get down to the water?" I asked Christie.

"Um...I think so. Be careful—there are some branches and it's steep," she warned.

Feeling the way with my cane and stepping cautiously, we made it down to the water's edge, where the ground became increasingly soft and squishy beneath our feet. "Are we there?" I asked.

Christie affirmed that we were, so I folded my cane, handed it to Christie, and squatted, sticking my hands out and down until they made contact with the water. I felt like a little kid, but didn't care. It was one thing to hear the rushing water, and quite another to feel it flowing over my hands. I almost suggested we take our shoes off and go wading, but I thought Christie might have a heart attack, and I didn't much feel like taking a mid-morning swim, so I refrained. But not by much. I was a little surprised,but pleased,when I felt Christie squat next to me and heard her hands dip into the water next to mine.

Finally we turned and headed back to the house. As we were just coming out of the woods, I heard the unmistakable sound of a car engine starting up across the yard in the driveway. "Jeff going somewhere?" I asked.

Neither Christie nor her mother answered right away, then Diane said, with a note of apology in her voice, "He has a weekly round of golf with some friends. He's going to meet us later at Sarah's for the cookout."

I didn't respond, but I felt a flicker of anger flare somewhere inside. Not that I expected him to invite me along or anything so noble, but he couldn't even wait for us to get back to the house before taking off? I had wanted to try to corner him again and see exactly what his problem was and if there wasn't some way to resolve it so we could get back to our pre-blindness relationship of mutual disinterest. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than the simmering tension between us now. But I wasn't going to get the chance—not this morning, anyway. I clenched the cane tighter, trying to dissipate my temper rather than let it seep into my voice and behavior.

Instead of walking back around to the front porch where we'd started our journey, Christie led us to the deck at the back of the house. "Want to sit outside for a while?" she asked.

I shrugged. "Sure."

Diane asked if either of us wanted more coffee, and when I expressed interest, she offered to get it and disappeared into the house. Christie led us to a couple of cushioned deck chairs, and for a few moments I just listened to the birds and felt the slight breeze fight a losing battle against the sun's growing warmth on my face. I wanted to ask Christie again about her father, but she brought it up in a roundabout way before I could figure out how to phrase the question. "Are you upset with my father for going golfing?"

I rubbed my fingers absentmindedly over my lips, then turned my head to where she was sitting. "Are you?"

"A little," she admitted. "But he said he couldn't get out of it, because we didn't give them a definite answer about whether we were coming until this week."

"It's not about the golf date, Christie. He just wanted to be somewhere else today. That's what bothers me. Did you ask him what was going on with him?"

"I tried," she began hesitantly, "but he didn't want to talk about it."

"Listen, Christie..." I was having a harder and harder time trying to keep the impatience and frustration out of my voice. "I know your family is big on 'don't ask, don't tell,' but I'm pretty sick of him right now. I've—we've—been through a lot this year, and he's not making it any easier. And I'm telling you: something's gotta give here."

"Jimmy..." Whatever she'd been about to say, it turned into a long, drawn-out sigh instead.

"No, Christie—I'm not going to just sit around and wait for him to forgive me for reclaiming my life, if that's what his problem is."

Christie seemed about to say something more, but the sliding glass door opened, and Diane's footsteps neared us. "Here's your coffee, Jim," she said uncertainly.

I held up my hand, and she awkwardly touched the handle to my palm. "Be careful, the mug's hot."

I swallowed a sigh. "Thanks, Diane. Listen, can I ask you a question?"

"Of course," she said, and I heard another chair slide across the deck as she pulled one up and sat down nearby.

"Jimmy, no," Christie interjected. "Just let it go for now, okay?"

I shook my head. She might've accused me many times of not sharing my feelings in our marriage, but when it came to her family, Christie was the one who loved to stick her head in the sand and pretend everything was fine. "Is Jeff upset with me for something?"

Diane didn't answer at first, and I would've given anything to have seen her physical reaction to my question. "He worries about both of you," she said finally. "He's afraid you'll get hurt again."

I snorted indelicately. "That might be part of it, but honestly? I'm sensing more anger than fatherly concern."

More silence. "I don't know what to say, Jim. He's not angry at you for getting shot, if that's what you mean."

I rubbed my lip some more, leaning back into the chair. Taking a moment to think about how to verbalize my thoughts, I took another sip of coffee. Whatever I said wasn't going to make Diane suddenly open up to me, that much was clear. But I'd been trained too thoroughly in getting to the truth to give up entirely, like Christie was suggesting, and just wait for my father-in-law to get over it. Because after that morning's conversation, I wasn't sure he ever would. And I wouldn't subject Christie or myself to that kind of discomfort indefinitely.

Christie put her hand on top of mine, which was resting on the chair arm, and rubbed comfortingly. "I'm getting a little warm out here—do you want to go back in?" she asked, in an obvious effort to leave the conversation behind.

I grabbed the folded cane from my lap and stood, shaking it out. "Ladies first," I told them, managing a small half-smile. Frankly, I was as tired as Christie was of discussing this issue with no resolution. But as I followed their footsteps into the house, I resolved again to get my answers directly from the source before the weekend was out.