One week later

Peter knelt in front of one of Annie's flowerbeds, busy with the task of weeding the flower garden. It wasn't his favorite kind of work, but this time he was very happy to do the gardening. Over the past week, he'd had a lot of time to think about what had happened. Annie had looked so disappointed when she'd learned what he had done. Peter would never forget the sad look on her face, especially knowing he was the reason for putting it there. Since then, he had gone out of his way to please Annie - and Paul - whenever he could.

The sun shone down on his back. It was a very warm day. Peter stopped for a moment, wiping the sweat from his neck. He turned to the right and caught a glimpse of Paul who stood at the living-room window, looking out at him. Peter waved a short hello and it was returned from Paul. Then the teenager dug with both hands into the loose earth to find the roots of the weed, eager to show Paul that he took the work seriously.

A few minutes later, the flowerbed blurred in front of his eyes and he was transported back to the temple seven years ago, watching his younger self and his father.

---

Peter knelt, opposite Caine in front of one of the large herb gardens in the temple's backyard. The nine-year-old boy grasped the weed and pulled with all his might. Caine chuckled and laid his hands atop Peter's. The boy's small hands were lost in the shadow of his father's larger ones.

"Peter, no. That is not correct. I will show you."

Peter's eyes widened as he watched his father dig into the earth and extract the weed, including the root. As the youngster tried to get hold of the weed to throw it away, Caine shook his head no. The Shaolin priest pointed to the other end of the garden that looked like a jungle of various plants, mostly weeds.

"I don't understand, Father."

"We will dig out the roots and plant them there."

"But why, Father? It's only a weed. We have no use for it."

"We have to think of our actions before we start anything. You are correct, those plants are of no use to us. Nevertheless, the cycle of the nature must not be broken."

"But if you plant it on the other side, the pollen will fly around. Most likely, the weed will start to grow here again."

Caine shrugged and canted his head. "Then we will dig it out once more."

Peter snorted. "I don't see any sense in it. That's ridiculous!"

"We must not dishonor the inherent balance in the nature. We are not judges over life or death. Every life is valuable, even those plants. We have to think before we do anything that might affect them," Caine repeated with a hint of impatience in his voice.

Peter laughed. "Aw, come on, Father. This is a weed we're talking about, not some lifesaving herb."

"Without the weed…there is no herb."

"Huh? Pop, you've lost me."

Caine scowled at Peter. "Do not call me Pop!"

"I'm sorry, P…Father."

Caine dismissed the lapse and pointed to the cliff. "Peter, what do you see there?"

Peter turned his head and looked at the spot. "Rocks, grass, birds, and two…no three rabbits."

"Yes. Now tell me what rabbits do like to eat most."

Peter thought hard for a full minute. "Weeds. They love weeds more than the herbs," he blurted out and smiled at Caine.

"Correct, my son."

The young boy hit his forehead. "Ah, now I understand, Father. If we plant the weeds over there, the rabbits will spare the herb garden. Well, or at least they won't do as much damage to the gardens than without the weeds. Hence, everything is in balance."

Caine affectionately smacked Peter's cheek. "You have learned your lesson well, my son. I am proud of you."

Peter rubbed the stinging cheek and peered through long lashes at the Shaolin. "I promise, Father. Before I start anything in the future, I will think first about the consequences of my actions. That was the lesson here, right?"

Caine nodded approvingly and drew the young boy into a tender hug. "Yes, my son."
---

Peter stirred as his fingertips touched something slimy. He looked down and realized he'd continued digging while he'd been caught in the flashback. An earthworm wriggled in his hand.

*Yeah, the balance of the nature must not be disturbed. The earthworm may go back, but there's no way I will plant the weed somewhere else in this garden. Paul would call the loony bin if I did. You were right at the temple, Father. However, here there are no rabbits. I'm sorry that I didn't keep my promise about thinking before taking action, Father.*

Forcing the memory into the back of his mind, Peter let the tiny creature crawl back into the earth. As he turned his head, he spotted some flowers lying in the small mountain of weeds he'd gathered. The teen winced guiltily.
* I better pay attention to what I'm doing.*

A quick glance over his shoulder told him Paul wasn't watching anymore. Relieved, Peter took the flowers and put them back into the flowerbed. He finished just as Annie called from the terrace.

"Peter, stop what you're doing, and go get cleaned up. It's too hot to continue working in the garden. Besides, lunch is ready. Oh, and don't forget to take off your shoes before you come in the house."

"Okay, Mom," Peter shouted back and hurried to obey, his stomach already growling.

***

An hour later, Peter lay on his bed with arms crossed behind his neck, and he stared at the wall. A faint breeze wafted through the open windows, causing the curtains to sway softly. The sounds of chirping birds filtered into the room. Peter sighed and shifted on the bed. The breeze wasn't enough to cool down the room. Though he'd just showered, a thin sheen of perspiration covered his upper body, causing his shirt to cling uncomfortably to his skin.

The teenager decided to take another shower and stood up. His pillow fell to the floor. Peter bent down to retrieve it and his gaze fell on the small box hidden under his bed. It contained the few possessions he'd rescued from the temple. His eyes misted over as he reached for the box and placed it on the bed. Despite the heat, he shivered. Cold crept through every fiber of his body, but it wasn't a normal kind of cold. It was the lingering cold of Caine's death that had left his heart and soul frozen for so long.

*I miss you so much, Father.*

He sat down Indian style on the bedspread, and opened the lid. He took piece and piece from the box and spread them around him. They represented his most prized possessions from his past. A small jade Buddha; some strangely shaped pebbles; a papyrus roll that was a drawing from Dennis, his best friend from the temple; a weathered black-and-white photo of him and Caine, and a thin leather-bound book with Chinese symbols.

Peter took the picture in his left hand, lovingly tracing the outline of Caine's face with trembling fingertips as tears spilled down his cheeks. Peter sniffled and dabbed at his eyes with the hem of his shirt.

"Big boys don't cry," he mumbled, choking back the tears. He pressed the photo to his heart and rocked back and forth until he felt he'd regained his composure. Then he pulled it up, took a last glance and kissed Caine's features on the picture before carefully laying it back into the box. The Buddha, the drawing and the pebbles followed. He reached for the book with a longing look.

A sad smile played on his lips as he remembered who had given him the diary. It had been a present from Ping Hai for Peter's twelfth birthday, five weeks before the destruction of the temple. Old Ping Hai had told him he could start a journal of his own. Peter opened the book. All he saw were white pages and the sight made him sniffle again.

At the temple, he'd been too busy to start the journal, and at the orphanage, he'd been too afraid to even think about it. He knew that the supervisors at the orphanage regularly searched the boys' possessions. The last thing he'd wanted was for anyone to read his private thoughts. If Peter had learned anything at that place, it was to trust no one, not even himself.

Peter stared at the white pages again. Could he trust now? Could he trust Paul enough? He had to admit Paul had never given him any reason for mistrust. Right from the beginning, Paul had treated him like one of his own children. Even at night, when the nightmares returned with a vengeance, neither Paul nor Annie had ever pressed him to talk about the frightening dreams. They had simply held him and had calmed him down when he shook in terror. They always waited until he made the first step. A tiny voice in the back of Peter's mind told him they would never invade his privacy by reading his private journal.

Peter's thoughts wandered to Caine. He missed his natural father constantly and today he missed him even more. "Pop, why did you have to die?" he whispered. It wasn't fair. It simply wasn't fair! He'd lost his mother at the age of two, why did he have to lose his father, too? Was he such a bad boy?

"Life just isn't fair, pal," Peter murmured to himself, trying to lighten his mood.

He sighed and reached for a pen on the nightstand. Then he grabbed the pillow and laid it on his lap, placing the book on top of it. After all, what better way to feel closer to his father than to continue the tradition of writing a journal for the next generation?

*Yeah, if there's even another generation.*

Peter scribbled the date into the book, and then stopped, not sure how to continue. Absently, he nibbled at the top of the pen as his eyes followed the flight of a fly in the room. Finally, he knew what to do. He bent over the journal and started to write.

Dear Father,

I know you will never read the letter, because you are dead. You were taken from me with the destruction of the temple. For a long time, I was very angry at you because you left me alone. I wanted to die too, but I never had the nerve to end my life by my own hand.

Ping Hai took care of me, but he became very ill. He sent me to the orphanage before he died. I hated him for that. The three years I was forced to live in there was like a neverending torture. Even living on the streets as a beggar would've been better than that.

I tried to run away a couple of times, even from some so called foster families, who looked more for a submissive slave than for a child to love, but they caught me every time and I had to go back. I finally landed in Pineridge. They said I was a difficult juvenile. If there is any place on this world that deserves the name hell hole, it was that place. Each day I was forced to stay there, a tiny part of me died.

Everything changed when Paul Blaisdell visited the orphanage for a lecture on police work. I still don't know why, but somehow I caught his attention and he started to see me on a regular basis. I visited him and his family on the weekends for a few months and then I came to live with them.

Pop, they are good people and treat me like one of their own. They're also very different from the other three foster families I lived with before I ran away.

I like the Blaisdells a lot. I hope you are not angry with me that I call Annie 'Mom'. You know, I can't remember much of my real mother. Maybe she'd be clearer in my mind if you had been there to tell me about her and remind me of things we did together, but you couldn't. You were dead…and Mom just faded from my memories like you did from my life.

It just seemed natural for me to start calling Annie Mom after a few months, but I still have problems calling Paul 'Dad'. I do it very rarely.

He is a wonderful father for Kelly and Carolyn (they are my foster sisters) and very patient, but I see him more like an older friend (yeah, okay, much older friend). Maybe it is because you are still too vivid in my thoughts. I feel as if I'd be betraying you if I called Paul 'Father'. I think he doesn't like it very much that I still call him Paul, but he accepts it.

He is captain of the 101st police precinct in Chinatown and he treats me really good. We'd say, 'He's tough but fair.' I still don't know what he sees in me. I wasn't easy to handle when I first started coming here, but they never gave up on me. Not Annie, not Paul, not even the girls. In the meantime, I'm content living here, though I still have a lot of trouble trusting anyone.

I made a big mistake last week. I wasn't thinking and I watched three girls at a lake. I also trespassed on private property. Pop, please don't be angry with me. I know I brought shame to our family name. I hope you can forgive me when my time comes.

Paul caught me. He was very disappointed at what I had done, just like you would have been. I still feel so bad about what I did. I thought Paul would send me back to Pineridge, but he didn't. He's really very loyal and I don't think I'll ever be able to repay him for saving me from the orphanage. I honestly don't know what would've happened to me if Paul hadn't taken me in. Somehow I don't feel worthy of all the effort Paul takes with me. I know it was because of Paul's doing that the girls' parents didn't press charges. Of course, he and Annie punished me, but I'm okay with that. I mean, I really deserved it.

Summer vacation started on Monday, so I didn't have to go back to school. It spared me the teasing of my classmates and the accusing looks of the girls that I would have had.

As part of the punishment, I have to work in the soup kitchen three nights during the holiday. It feels good to do something for the less fortunate. I, of all people, should know how it feels to have nowhere to go and to feel abandoned. I really like helping people. I think I will continue working there, maybe one or two days a week in the Fall, depends on how hockey training and school are going.

I also have to help Annie in the house, more than usual. You know, dusting, doing the dishes or working in the garden, but I also like doing that, because I can spend more quality time with Annie. She's a very special woman. Though she's blind, she 'sees' more than 'normal' people. I'm sure you'd like her very much. It's too bad that you will never meet.

Father, I miss you so much. Not a day goes by that I don't think of you. Sometimes, it's harder to not have you with me than other times. Today is one of those times. It hurts so much not being able to hug you or ask you questions about life.

The Blaisdell's are really a great bunch of people and they will always have a special place in my heart, but no one in this world can ever replace your place in my heart. I love you, Pop. I wish that you were here with me right now. I would give everything I have for that wish to come true. Unfortunately, it won't ever happen. At least not in this life.
Maybe I shouldn't say this, but I look forward to death, because then we will be reunited for all eternity.

I love you

Your son, Peter.

A knock at the door made Peter jump. He snapped the book shut, throwing it in the box and hid everything under the bed before he shouted, "Come in."

He took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself down and wiped the moisture from his eyes. Kelly entered the room with tears streaming down her cheek as she held something in her fist. Peter held out his arms. The little girl ran to him, scrambled on the bed and snuggled to him. Peter hugged her close, brushing the tears from her face. "What happened, squirt?" he asked gently.

Kelly opened her fist and showed him one of her tiny dolls for her doll house. One arm was separated from the body.

"I played with Alida and she fell down and her arm snapped. I looked for Dad, but he and Kermit are away and Carolyn is with a friend. Can you help me?"

Peter smiled reassuringly at her. Big pleading child eyes looked back at him. He held his breath. The innocence, love and trust he saw in those eyes was like a healing balm to his soul.

*Being a big brother isn't so bad. Maybe there are still some things worth living for in the world.*

"Can you?" Kelly's voice cut through his thoughts.

Peter nodded and placed a kiss at her forehead. He looked at the clock, astounded at how much time had passed.

"Come on, sweetie. Lemme see what I can do for you. We still have an hour before dinner. I'm sure that's plenty of time to repair Alida."

He was rewarded by a brilliant smile that cut right to his heart.

***

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