Chapter 16 Balcony
Seeley Booth was not a dramatic kind of guy. He didn't particularly enjoy attending plays or the ballet or operas, although he'd taken his girls when Brennan or Christine fancied a presentation like 'Carmen' or 'Sleeping Beauty.' If he had to choose a preference, it would likely be 'The Nutcracker' because it involved Christmas and a great sword fight against the Rat King. He loved Christmas and admired valor.
So balconies aren't really the architectural feature of a building that would come to mind when thinking of Seeley Booth, Brennan mused one day over her latest issue of 'Archaeological Digest.' Yet balconies had featured in more than one negative event in Booth's life.
More than once, he had lain prone on a rooftop taking careful patient aim at an enemy his government had ordered him to eliminate during his time in the Middle East. And frequently, Brennan knew from her familiarity with Persian architecture, his target was standing on a balcony, or inside a room beyond a balconied window.
One of Booth's most agonizing moments had come when Howard Epps sprang out the French doors of her apartment, seeking escape from the agent's sure aim. As Epps vaulted over the balcony railing, her partner's instinctive response and quick reflexes had resulted in him grabbing the weasel's hands to stop his fall. Then, just as quickly, Booth's earlier shoulder injury from the bomb under Carolyn's headless body, had compromised his normally iron grip. And Epps, taunting them like always, had slid out of Booth's desperate grasp and plummeted to his death below. Afterwards, Brennan had doubted that sight would ever leave Booth's memory, triggering undeserved guilt in her friend. Over the years, she worried about the emotional toll their work exacted from Booth, despite the cosmic balance sheet they were successfully 'evening up,' one solved murder at a time.
That is why Temperance Brennan resolved right then to plan a vacation for her family. She knew just the picturesque secluded resort in Mexico that would replace her husband's horrid memories of balconies with pleasant ones. "Well, maybe not erase but at least dilute them," she admitted to herself.
A few evenings later, Booth found a travel brochure on the kitchen counter. "Casa Farolito…What's this, Bones?" "I've planned us a little getaway for Father's Day," Brennan responded mysteriously. "Casa Farolito in Rosarito is on the western coast of Baja California. It's a little bed and breakfast with a pristine beach that I think you and Christine will enjoy. You can do a little surfing or fishing, and she'll enjoy the clean white sand. It's not far from San Diego, so I've made plane reservations for Thursday night. And don't worry, I've already cleared it with Cam and the Director."
Booth stood on the balcony outside their room, his elbows on the railing, and watched the color-streaked sky as the sun set into the ocean. "Wow, Bones, the sunsets here are amazing. I had a great time fishing. My surfing's a little ugly to watch but I guess beginners are always awkward."
"Christine loved watching you; some of your falls were pretty spectacular," Brennan laughed.
"She loved pretending to be Jasmine on the balcony this morning, didn't she?" he chuckled, recalling their daughter's dramatic recitation of lines from the Disney movie she'd watched over and over at home.
"Yes, and you made the perfect Aladdin for her, Booth," his wife responded, wrapping her arm around his waist as she joined him to watch the ocean's rhythm.
"I think I accomplished my objective," she thought to herself, pleased at the success of her idea. "Booth seems far more relaxed than when we arrived, and maybe some of those bad balcony memories have faded for him."