Death of an Adept

They were breakfasting together in the small dining area adjoining Ximena's kitchen, both wrapped in terry-cloth robes. It was early yet, and the sun was shining diaphanously through tattered mist outside the windows. Watching as Ximena deftly replenished his cup from a glass cafetiere, Adam marvelled anew at the unstudied grace that seemed to invest her every move. Even at rest, she had the lissom poise of a gypsy dancer.

"You make me think of scenes from the court paintings of Goya," he remarked fondly. "It takes very little effort to imagine you in a lace mantilla."

"Ever the romantic!" Ximena laughed. She returned the cafetiere to its place on the starched damask tablecloth, then glanced at her watch.

"Good heavens, is that the time?"

"Why, are we late?"

"Not yet," she conceded. "But we can only afford the luxury of lingering over our fancies for another quarter of an hour. After that, I have to start getting ready to cut a professional figure in the eyes of the workaday world."

At nine o'clock Ximena was scheduled to deliver a lecture on triage procedures for the benefit of new trainees on staff. Following the lecture, Teresa Lockhart would be meeting them at the hospital so that they could all be in attendance together during her husband's morning period of wakefulness. Provisional plans had been made for Ximena and Adam to break away for lunch together out on Fisherman's Wharf, but Adam was well aware how those plans might have to be rewritten at a moment's notice.

While he was finishing his second cup of coffee, Ximena went and fetched the collection of Polaroid photographs from the night before. A whimsical smile played about her lips as she flicked through the stack.

"A penny for your thoughts?'' Adam offered, noticing her expression.

"I suppose I was just… remembering," she said wistfully, jogging the stack of photos into an orderly pile. "Christmas is such a special time for children."

"I know what you mean," Adam agreed. "You may remember that my friend Christopher has two young daughters - incorrigible charmers, the pair of them. I've promised myself the pleasure of shopping for something really special to bring back for them. Something out of the ordinary that wouldn't be available in any of the toy shops back in Scotland."

"I can recommend a good place for you to start," Ximena said. "There's a little shop in the Mission District that does handcrafted wooden toys. I'll be sure to take you there."

"You sound as if you know the place well," Adam said.

"I suppose I do," Ximena said with a small laugh. "Browsing in toy shops has always been a favorite pastime of mine. Having a four-year-old niece is a good excuse to indulge in it."

Adam debated with himself a moment, then decided to speak his mind. "Having children of your own is an even better excuse," he pointed out softly.

Ximena avoided meeting his eyes.

"Yes," she agreed. "I seem to recall my dad saying much the same thing."

She stopped and bit her lip. When she found her voice again, it had the air of one determined to change the subject.

"What was the best Christmas present you ever received as a child?" she asked.

Adam thought before answering. "I'd have to say it was my first pony," he told her. "She was a lovely little dapple-grey who went by the name of Felicity. She was ten years old - twice my age at the time - and my father said she was sensible enough for both of us. The following summer she carried me to my first-ever pony club victory. I still have that rosette somewhere. I suppose it's one of my most treasured childhood mementoes."

He set his cup aside and smiled. "What about you?"

Ximena straightened up in her seat, her gaze reminiscent.

"I think it would have to be the doll's house my father made for me when I was eight. It wasn't just a house, it was a palace. Dad modelled it on one of the Moorish castles he visited in southern Spain. It had arches, and turrets, and trellises - even a facsimile of a fountain in the central courtyard. Needless to say, I was completely enraptured. It wasn't until much later, when I grew up, that I came to understand what a labor of love it was."

"What became of it?" Adam asked. "Is it still in your parents' house?"

Ximena nodded. "Mother's looking after it until Emma's old enough to appreciate it."

Adam cocked an eyebrow at her. "You don't think you might one day have a daughter of your own to pass it on to?''

This time Ximena met his gaze squarely. "I won't deny I haven't fantasized about it now and then," she told him. "But that belongs to a future I can't begin to plan as long as my father needs me. God knows, he devoted himself to my brothers and me when we were small. The least I can do is be here for him now, doing whatever I can to make what life he has left a blessing, not a curse."

The silence that followed was painfully brittle. Ximena drew a deep breath before continuing, her voice suddenly trembling under the stress of her emotions.