This Time and This Place
"Children…children just want to be with their parents." His voice cracked as he said those words. Tears flooded his vision as he thought of those children he'd tried to help in the orphanage, knowing the torment they'd already faced and knowing that life outside those walls would not treat them any better. He thought of his Li, of the coldness she'd shown him when he was in China, of the desperation he felt to hold his daughter in his arms and knowing that he never would. All that time she had been lost to him, he had been lost to her. She had been all alone in a world that did not know what to make of her, and he had not been there to love and protect her as a father should.
Jean was at his side, holding his shoulder comfortingly and giving it a squeeze. "Come inside. I'll make us a cup of tea," she offered softly.
Her voice was gentle and kind. Jean was always that way, it seemed. Gentle and kind. Oh she had her morals and her stern rules and such, but when a person was in need, there was no one who would provide a listening ear and sage advice and a shoulder to cry on like Jean. "That would be lovely," he said, putting his hand on hers for a moment before dropping it. "I'll be in shortly."
She gave him one last half-embrace and let him go, walking inside. Lucien remained standing at the end of the drive beside the new letterbox feeling the smallest bit lighter than he had before. He'd never been one to want to talk about his feelings. Talking was for other things, he felt, but being able to bear his thoughts to Jean had eased his pain. He'd said these things aloud, she'd comforted him gently. That was what he'd needed.
Lucien took his wallet from his pocket and fished out the tiny photograph he had of his little Li. Sitting on a chair with her little feet dangling off the end, smiling delightedly as he always remembered her doing. She'd been such a happy child. Rambunctious and full of energy, always smiling and laughing and shrieking with delight. Mei Lin always told Lucien that Li took after him in that regard, and Lucien knew it to be true. He'd not seen that cheerful child in the grown woman he'd met in China. Li was not as he remembered, though she did not remember him at all. Still, he had this photograph that he could cherish.
He held it to his heart and looked out on to the street, watching the wind rustle the leaves on the trees. And a calm washed over him. After all of it, he knew Jean was right. He couldn't blame himself for any of this. All he could do was do the best he could for her and for the people around him. And with that small bit of hope in his heart, he put the photograph back into his wallet and turned to go back inside. Jean was making tea. And he wanted very much to sit with her and share a cup.
