Burning Desire

What We Do For Family

"Right, Sis, this is Lacey Rose, newest member of Red Watch. Lacey, this is my baby sister Marya."

"Less of the baby, asshat." She said, elbowing me in the ribs before she and Lacey exchanged a brief hug.

We gathered in the kitchen, settling at the table and chatting, my father and Mari taking the time to get to know Lacey. It wasn't unusual for other members of the Watch to come by. Over the years almost all of them had been here before. But this was different, Lacey wasn't just another member of Red Watch. No matter how much I was internally battling the admission, and what it would mean, I was rapidly feeling attached to her. I wanted to talk to Marya about what happened with Cedric, but with us all about to eat, it didn't feel much like the right time. Instead, as we began to tuck into the, rather grand, lunch that my father had prepared, the topic turned to work. More specifically:

"Any close calls recently Bro?" Marya asked, leaning across the table to reach for the salad.

"Mari, you know that I don't like that kind of talk." My dad scolded her.

She shrugged it off, picking up the bowl and scooping out a few spoonfuls.

"Well it isn't like it matters now. He's here, whatever happened is over and he's okay."

I placed a few slices of chicken onto my plate and handed it to Lacey, who was sitting next to me.

"It's okay, Dad." I said, stemming the brewing argument before it could begin. "There's always close calls on the job, but we all made it out of them fine."

"Them?" My dad asked in shock, his eyes bulging over the bread basket in his hand. "As in more than one?"

I shook my head in exasperation, my hand automatically finding its way to my hair, running my fingers through it and sighing. I proceeded to explain, in as little detail as possible, about the car incident. Trying not to let him hear just how bad or scary it got. Not that he didn't pick up on it.

"Anyway, as you can see, we both made it out, and with barely a single bruise." I finished with a flourish, stabbing a small baby potato on the end of my fork and popping it into my mouth, ignoring the now stunned expression on Marya's face.

"It will always concern me that you do that job, Son. It's not a parent's wish to see, or hear, their child is in danger. But I will forever be proud of you for it too."

It was rare to have these kinds of moments with my father, we weren't very sentimental. But his words struck a chord and I was touched by them.

"Thanks, Dad."

"I'm sure that your parents are just as proud of you, Lacey." He added.

I froze with my chicken halfway to my mouth, and the air grew thick with a sudden tension. I glanced at Lacey who I half expected to be looking hurt, or angry, or at the very least, awkward. But she wasn't. She was smiling at my father as though he'd just given her a huge compliment.

"I'd like to think so." She said sweetly, "I was raised in an orphanage from a baby. I never knew them."

Mari let out a small gasp, and my father hung his head in sorrow.

"I'm so very sorry." He muttered.

She reached out a hand, resting it on my father's and glancing back at me with a gentle smile.

"It's okay," She looked back at my father, "It was a long time ago. We live with these things."

Her bright attitude avoided the monumental awkwardness that would have otherwise settled over the table at this horrible conversational detour.