Chapter 47 Soliloquy
Christine Booth loved tea parties. She had been introduced to this rite of femininity by Angela. Her honorary aunt loved her own child Michael Vincent better than life itself, but she longed for a little daughter as well as her adorable curly-headed son. One Saturday afternoon Angela had convinced Brennan to accompany her to a vintage Washington tea room with Christine in tow, all three of them dressed in fancy dresses and large floppy-brimmed straw hats which the artist had decked with silk flowers and ribbons. Brennan, of course, considered this expedition an utter waste of her time, but she respected Angela's opinions and loved her metaphorical sister enough to indulge her request. To her mother's chagrinned surprise, Christine had reveled in the whole 'fancy, lacy, fluffy, ruffle-y' experience.
So her new favorite pastime at home was recreating these tea parties in her room. She had a child-sized table and chairs (at which Brennan would have preferred to build models of the periodic table and atoms). She would arrange her dolls, stuffed animals, and even some of Parker's old Transformer toys, whose presence was required as proper escorts for the ladies. She frequently recruited her mother, or father, or both to attend these imaginative soirees. She would pour them 'tea' and serve them cookies or cakes, all the while carrying on an animated conversation with the guests both living and pretend. If her mother allowed her real cookies, so much the better. But using imaginary desserts didn't dampen her enthusiasm in the slightest. Whenever her great-grand-Pops or Grandpa Max were available, they were enchanted to be her guests.
Booth and Brennan had recently discovered, however, that a lack of living breathing human guests didn't hamper Christine's parties at all. She was perfectly content to serve tea and sweets to her toys, chattering all the while. This amused her parents greatly, and they would occasionally slip quietly up to her doorway and stand out of view, listening intently and shaking with silent laughter at her creative imagination.
One weekend, several months after Booth's return home from prison, they had an unexpected revelation from these hallway observations. Christine's conversations were not always just whimsical chatter. Standing in the hall, Booth overheard some very astute wisdom from the mouth of his little girl.
"Uncle Sweets, do you want one or two sugars for your tea? Oh, you're 'allagic' to chocolate now? That's too bad, it's my most favorite treat. Auntie Daisy says baby Seeley is too little for chocolate milk or cake, either one. Have you seen him lately? He is getting so big. Daddy says he'll be able to join the FBI soon if he keeps growing so fast."
"Pops, you want some coffee, not tea? Okay, let me fix you some. You know I wish you could come visit us. Daddy is very sad that you went away. Maybe you could come over at bedtime and read him and me a story. Daddy really misses you."
"Bunny Rabbit, I'm sorry to hear that your aunt isn't feeling well and had to miss your birthday party. You know, you could have pretended that she was there. When my daddy was gone away last summer, my Uncle Sweets told me to pretend he was here playing with me, and it would make me feel better. I tried that, and it kinda did make me feel happy for a little while. "
Booth tiptoed downstairs and found Brennan in the kitchen. "Come up here and listen to what Christine is saying!" he urged her.
After listening a few more minutes, Brennan knocked on the door frame of their daughter's room. "Christine, honey, can Daddy and I come join your tea party for a few minutes?"
"Sure, Mommy. Here's some tea for you and Daddy. Do you want a cookie?"
"Baby, Chrissy," Booth began. He crouched down so he was at her eye level.
"Daddy, I am not a baby anymore," Christine reminded him adamantly.
"Okay, sorry, honey, who were you talking to? You know Uncle Sweets is in heaven and he can't come back to see you, right?"
"Yes, Daddy, but when you were gone for so long, Uncle Sweets told me if I pretended you were here with me, it might make me feel better. I tried it, and it did. He said I could talk to you just like when you were home, and you would know what I said. Maybe you should try it with Great Grand Pops. I know you are sad he went to heaven. It might make you happy."
Booth couldn't speak. He could only gather his little daughter into his arms and bury his face in her baby-shampoo fragrant hair. After all the times he'd called Sweets 'a twelve-year-old, the kid had cherished and protected his child while he was in jail, and Lance had imparted a gem of astute insight to the little girl who loved him back. Brennan stood over him, tears in her eyes, put her arm around his shoulders and then began rubbing slow circles across his tensed muscles, as he had done for her so many times.
Sometimes, she thought, the soliloquies of little children offer more wisdom than the philosophers of antiquity.