A/N: Didn't intend originally to break it here, but I decided to go ahead and do it, as this part was getting longer than I realized, and I'm out of time, and it's a nice dividing point between introspection and conversation. It's odd how mental to page length varies sometimes. The meat of the discussion will be up next.
Hope you enjoy 53.
(H/C)
Thomas sat on the couch, sketching, but his mind, as usual, had multiple tracks going. Part of him was replaying this morning's ride, enjoying the memory. He was starting to discover favorite places on the trails at the new stable, and Ember, too, was growing to like them. He could feel her reactions, the growing reassurance of knowing what was around a bend up ahead. She liked to get out of the ring, but like almost all horses, she drew comfort in familiarity and routines.
Another part of his attention was on Jet. At the moment, the kitten had untied Thomas' right tennis shoe and was happily, if awkwardly, pursuing and chewing the shoelace. He was flopped onto his side and twining the string around through his three good paws as he batted it. The landscape timbers safely sealed off the territory under the couch as a retreat, and it really didn't even look that bad. Thomas grinned to himself, wondering how many interior decorating fads through the years had started by pure necessity and then been modified for appearances later.
He had also purchased the materials at Home Depot last night for a homemade cave. He had bought a fairly good-sized plastic storage container with opaque walls and with a tight lid. Flipping it upside down, with the lid now the floor and also helping to stabilizing the walls, he had cut an ample hole in one long side, clear over near the corner, leaving most of the interior still hidden. He added a towel as carpet and duct taped it to the inside walls so it wouldn't slip or bunch when being limped across, and as a final touch, he placed the plush cat bed inside, around the corner from the door and out of sight.
The cave now sat in the floor next to the couch. That was an even stranger decorating look than the timbers, but Jet had moved right in, obviously enjoying it. He had come to bed last night as usual, but a good bit of his time otherwise was spent there. Furthermore, Thomas had seen him retreat quickly through the hole once this morning when a car had varoomed away up the street in sudden acceleration. A nice, soft, safe hiding place with nothing for him to get caught on. Thomas hoped it would help and keep Jet from looking for an alternative household tight spot to replace the area beneath the couch when he was frightened.
As always lately, Thomas was also thinking of Greg, wondering how his day was going and if he had gotten the rest he needed last night. No reply had come to the pictures and x-rays, but now that they were actually talking to each other, email was less of a your-turn-my-turn affair. He'd check with Lisa a little later this afternoon to see if he would be needed for backup tonight in terms of her parents. Or simply for company; he always enjoyed theirs, and he hoped it was mutual. Still, they had their own home, and he had his. He didn't want to intrude too much. Like her parents were doing. He wrestled again briefly with a sense of guilt. He had been told in advance and believed it even more now that there were long-standing problems between Lisa and her parents. He might have been the immediate catalyst for the current episode of tension, but he hadn't created the issues.
There was also the sharp curiosity about this coming appointment with Wilson. Wilson fascinated Thomas. The dynamic between him and Greg was its own flavor, obviously good friends but unusual ones. There were also those moments occasionally when Wilson let the shields slip and revealed a lot more underneath than his helpful nice guy front. For one thing, Thomas was certain that there was something surrounding John's funeral for which Wilson felt monumentally guilty. Not that Thomas was going to ask outright; he knew that his own past mistakes with Greg could probably top anybody else's other than Blythe's. But it was a puzzle, and he couldn't help examining the pieces now and then, wondering how they might fit together. Any opportunities to add data were appreciated.
Wilson also was as good at dodging emotional points in conversation as Greg was and sometimes got micromanaging of other people, though he was much more subtle at it than Lisa's parents. And he was now in his fourth marriage, which information had indeed come from Wilson himself, not Greg, in spite of what Wilson had expected. It impressed Thomas that he had asked for this meeting. Trying to improve in areas of past mistakes spoke well for him.
There was the danger of temptation leading Wilson toward talking about Greg, which Thomas was sure would probably creep in at least a time or two in spite of Wilson's good intentions. He knew that he himself, in his role as Greg's father, was highly interesting to Wilson. Back in Lexington, the man had reminded Thomas of a dry sponge, desperate for any drop, trying to soak it up as far as it would go. But he had relaxed a little more as Thomas became less of a novelty to him, as contact wasn't so rationed. It might be hard to resist giving at least a little advice, a role Wilson seemed to enjoy, but that line in the sand was firm. They would not be discussing Greg, even though Wilson could undoubtedly fill in some of the gaps in Thomas' own knowledge. If things were different, Thomas would have enjoyed hearing about their friendship and getting the other man's insights into his son, not to receive as gospel but to add to the whole picture he was developing as he got to know him. Wilson had years of close contact and experiences that Thomas lacked. But Greg wasn't ready to trust his father that far yet.
Thomas was also enjoying the interactions with Sandra and Daniel the last few months. He was still getting to know them, but he liked what he saw. Sandra was steady but with determination underneath it. Even tempered but far from a pushover. She struck him as a good counterpart to the more moody behind the smile Wilson. She also obviously cared passionately about her job and her patients. It was far more than a paycheck to her. As for young Daniel, he had his father's eyes, smile, and winning charm but without the sense of multiple layers beneath it.
Thomas got a kick out of watching Daniel with his granddaughters, both of whom were interested in somebody even smaller than they were. Rachel could get a bit bossy at times but was also like a butterfly, hopping from thing to thing. She tried to pick activities and games for all of them, most of which Daniel was way too young for, but he would usually watch her for a while before losing interest. Her enthusiasm was contagious, and she was always ready to try something else, even when he hadn't been able to grasp the first thing she came up with. Abby, on the other hand, had the best attention span of all three of them, in spite of not being the oldest. She tended to get a little impatient at times both with her sister and with Daniel; she wanted to dig into an activity and spend time wringing all she could out of it. Still, she enjoyed the times they played together, and sometimes, she could hold the other two's attention there just a little longer before losing them. She had Greg's interest in people but without his sharpness.
Families. Wilson's, Greg's. Thomas looked over at the pictures of his own, past and present, on the wall. There were families here, the one thing he had always needed most himself to ground him. He had a family again. And tonight, hopefully, he would see them, regardless of the in-laws' presence or not. They, too, were part of the whole, as Tim's in-laws had been. Tim had exasperated his set no end, but they were also quite fond of him by the end, even more because they could see their daughter's happiness. Thomas remembered their devastation at the double funeral, a loss that matched his and Emily's. Love came in many flavors, and some flowed more easily than others.
And he thought of Emily. He had really intended to work on the caricatures for Greg (and himself, he admitted) when he sat down here, but he noticed now that it was Emily who had taken shape on his sketchpad, smiling back at him. So many years, yet not nearly enough.
A car pulled up outside. Wilson was right on time, which Thomas had expected. He closed the pad and put it on the coffee table, then bent to gently reclaim his shoelace and retie his shoe. Jet released the string without a struggle; he had tensed up at the sound of the engine coming to a stop just outside. He came to his feet and stood, ears alert, waiting. The car door closed, and Jet vanished through the doorway into his cave. Thomas finished tying his shoe and stood, heading for the front door to let his son's friend in.