Disclaimer: The Sentinel is a Pet Fly Production and all related characters and situations belong to those who hold legal copyright. No money is being made and no infringement is intended.

Spoilers: Sentinel Too, Spare Parts, His Brother's Keeper, Remembrance, and my version of The Sentinel by Blair Sandburg

Parenthood
#8 in The Sparrowhawk Sandburg Series
by
Besterette
Besterette@aol.com

 

My son stands on the balcony with his son crying in his arms. What dreams does he have for the boy? None of mine came true. I had it all planned, when I was a young man gazing down at my firstborn son. After Harvard, Jimmy would come home and work for me, meet a nice young woman from a good family, settle down in a house in the suburbs, I'd hand over the reins to Jimmy, his wife would raise their children and spend her spare time with the library board and the garden club. Grace and I would winter in Florida and dote on the grandchildren.

What is that saying? Life is what happens while you're making other plans?

I didn't expect that Jim would be a sentinel. A name for it, finally, given to me by young Blair Sandburg, currently in the kitchen with his sister and their mother. Going through the police academy has done the little professor some good, he's finally got a decent haircut.

I remember the excitement in his voice and the sparkle in his eyes as he described one of Jimmy's fits and then explained what caused it, that Jim's senses were sharper than the average person's and he couldn't always control them. So taste explained the vomiting, touch the hysterical insistence that tepid bathwater was burning or freezing him, the zone-out an intense concentration on one of his senses, that I always thought was daydreaming at best, or at worst Jimmy losing ground to the madness, and I had to shake him and shout to rouse him out of it.

Vestigial prehistoric abilities, Blair called it, people like Jim could track game better, keep watch for predators and storm fronts, enemy tribes and fires. Abilities lost to modern man. Sentinel. A noble name, a gift instead of a curse. But I hadn't expected it.

Just as I hadn't expected Grace's growing insistence that we put Jimmy away, be happy we had Steven, a healthy son, and just send Jim to an institution. My son. Our son. Or her drinking. Jim doesn't know. Small miracle, with his hearing. He'd blame himself for the divorce. Or her death, thinking that if we were still married she'd never have gotten behind the wheel in that condition. But it's not his fault. It's mine. I thought I knew the woman I married. Turned out I was wrong.

So no winters in Florida. We go to Hawaii instead. Sally has family there. Sally Wong. The housekeeper I hired after Grace left. A godsend to the boys, and to their lonely bitter father. Not the done thing, in those days. Something to be kept hidden, never spoken of. Like Jimmy's senses. Something else that's changed, but we're both too old, too set in our ways. Sally wouldn't come tonight, saying it was for family. Jim tried to tell her she was family, just embarrassed her, I'd feel just as awkward if Sal's daughter knew about us.

No Harvard for Jimmy, no corner office, debutante, big house and lawn. When I found my prized Cobra with it's crumpled hood, I tore into Jimmy for joyriding without permission, and getting into an accident. Half afraid that he'd kill himself or somebody else if he had one of his fits while driving. His pretended innocence only enraged me further, I knew better. I took Stevie with me on an extended business trip, when we returned, Jimmy had moved out and enrolled at Rainier.

I considered it petulance, an act of defiance, sure he would come home when he was ready. The years passed in silence. The army. Ranger school. Peru. I was still listed as next of kin, realized what an ass I'd been when the word came, missing, presumed dead. The Return. I tried to call him, he never returned the call, my own pride wouldn't allow me to go crawling, begging for his forgiveness.

He joined the police force. It gave me glimpses of his life, newspaper articles on his more prominent cases. He married, and was divorced. I was proud of my detective son, not the life I had planned for him, but a successful one, doing useful work. And the policework brought him back to me, on the trail of an old enemy.

At first, I wasn't quite sure what to make of it, Jim living above a shop in North Bay with Blair Sandburg. The long-haired younger man, with earrings, chattering nervously... well, I admit to my prejudices and my first impression. I wasn't thrilled to learn that he was studying Jim, which led to our first real argument since our reunion. Jim made it clear to me that the young anthropologist was important to him. Getting to know Blair, I still must say I don't entirely understand their relationship, but he's a good man, and a good friend to Jimmy, so I accepted Blair's presence in the loft as charity on Jim's part, rent prices being what they are, and perhaps charity on Blair's as well, since he voluntarily acted as a twenty-four hour on-call personal physician of a sort, for Jim's condition.

What confuses me is that they continue to live together despite the new Sandburg in Jim's life. Blair's elder half-sister. Sparrowhawk Rainbow Sandburg. She prefers to be called Beau, thank goodness. Jim's gentle rocking attempt to quiet their crying child has failed, she makes a laughing comment and crosses the loft to take the baby, climbing the stairs to Jim's bedroom for privacy. Jim comes over to ask how I'm doing, if I'd like another drink. I decline. He pauses, listening intently, then disappears down the hall, and emerges from the bathroom with a package of baby wipes, following her upstairs.

No wedding, just Jim's sheepishly proud announcement of the pregnancy, and an introduction to the young woman he'd disgraced. In my day, Blair would have gathered a few of his other friends and had a little talk with Jim. A blackened eye, bloodied nose, and a quiet wedding before she started to show. Of course, after meeting their mother, I do understand a bit better, Naomi Sandburg is a flower child who never grew up. Born of free love themselves, I suppose it seems normal to them, nothing to be ashamed of. And the baby has Jim's name, and the name of her grandfather. James Jacob Ellison.

Beau is not the Library Board and Garden Club type. A world-traveler, she and her mother have been discussing the latter's recent trip to Egypt, Beau speaking of it as casually as another young woman might discuss a shopping trip to Seattle. Not a trophy girl, not beautiful, not at first glance. She has a vivacious, gamine quality. And she certainly looks at Jim like he hung the stars. He looks at her like she shone the moon. As it should be.

She keeps an apartment at the Baygate Towers, lives there with the baby, while Jim continues to live here at the loft. It isn't the squalid hole I might have expected. Bright and airy. Jim's Spartan contemporary tastes mix with Blair's artifacts and mementos to give the decor a quirky charm.

I gaze around this odd but comfortable life Jim has made for himself, glad that I'm part of it again.

My son. The pig.

The first thing I notice when Blair comes in and takes his jacket off is the shoulder holster for his gun. My sweet boy is carrying a machine to put holes in people. He ducks into his room and comes out without it, but I've already seen, and he knows it, and I knew this would happen. I predicted it on my first visit to Cascade. I could see that Blair was falling in love with the lifestyle, going native, as they call it, although Blair tried to convince me that he was only an observer. Like I was only going to go to one concert and listen to a political speech afterward. I suppose I knew I'd lost my son to this world, when I left. I just never expected my daughter to follow him.

But it's hard to see James Ellison as a living symbol of the dangers of the macho-male-military-industrial complex when he's sitting on the couch making faces at the baby. My grandson.

We're having a family dinner at the loft, Blair and Beau and me, and Jim and his dad. I'm not sure why Bill didn't bring his lover Sally, that nice Japanese woman I met at the hospital when Beau gave birth, or why I'm not supposed to ask about it, but its obvious that William Ellison is a Suit, very Establishment, so I'll be a good mom and tone it down a little. This whole family dinner thing is sort of 50's but also right, getting the family together to break bread, to celebrate the new life that has joined us, our little James Jacob Ellison. Still, we're roasting a chicken for all these omnivores, and when I tie Jim's apron on over my caftan to baste the bird, I can't help announcing that I feel just like Donna Reed. And I ignore the amused sounds around me.

I keep a motherly eye on Blair as he helps me in the kitchen. He's changed. But his aura has not been tarnished by all the darkness and despair he's been exposed to, in this new life of his. If anything, his aura is brighter now. He's calmer, steady, more self-assured, as he washes and tears salad greens while telling a surprisingly silly story about a rather addlepated burglary suspect he and Jim just arrested. And I know he's deliberately trying to make the story as funny as possible, outrageously embroidering the truth so I won't worry about his new career as a cop.

But I do. I worry about Blair getting killed. I worry about Jim getting killed, because both my children love him. Beau would be devastated. And Blair would be destroyed, because he's Jim's partner, he would feel responsible. Partners. Each places his life in the other's hands.

Blair has always been such a gentle soul, a free spirit, a student of life, of people. That's why he chose anthropology in the first place, because he is genuinely interested in people, their lives, their customs. I was so proud of him, living with native tribes, learning their ways and legends, things that would be forgotten, wisdom that would be lost forever if not for people like Blair recording it to be shared with the ages.

When he decided to stay in school and go for his doctorate, I was even prouder. To be a teacher! A noble calling. And the university scene was such a good space for Blair, a center of learning, all that youthful energy, the free exchange of ideas, such good vibes.

And then he decided to write a paper on the police department.

And despite the fact that Blair is such a nurturing, peaceful person, I suppose the glamour got to him. The car chases and the excitement. And the ability to do direct battle with evil. The cops do get the bad guys and put them in jail so they can't hurt anybody else. I meditated on it, when Blair announced that he had finished his thesis and after he graduated he was going to become a cop. Despite my fears, I can't interfere in his destiny, and I have to admit Blair has found his destiny here. The Cascade police, or at least the Major Crimes people, aren't the jackbooted thugs I remember from my protest days. Working within the system, to help the people who fall through the cracks. I'm still proud of Blair.

He's found his place in this world. It may not be what I wanted for him, but it's what he wants, and that's enough.

What really blows my mind is that Beau's place is the same place. With Jim Ellison. I mean, when they first got together, I thought it was a physical fling, he's very sexy, such lovely muscles. I'm old, not blind. But they are soulmates, lovers, co-parenting their child, making each other happy. And that's all that counts.

But I still can't believe it sometimes. My son is a cop and my daughter is sleeping with one. What a long, strange trip it's been.

~ End ~

E-Mail Besterette at Besterette@aol.com
Return to Besterette's Fan Fiction for The Sentinel
Return to Besterette's The Sparrowhawk Sandburg Series
Return to Besterette's Basement

Problems with the page? Contact the Pagemaster.
Page last updated 8/15/03.