Death of an Adept

A ghost of a smile touched Lockhart's ashen lips. "Of course you do - and I won't ask you to promise me anything. But if you're even half the man I think you are, and my daughter has even half the sense I give her credit for, the two of you ought to be able to come to some understanding."

"I'll do my best to justify your faith in me," Adam said, smiling. "And here's my hand on it."

He reached down, enfolding Lockhart's skeletal fingers in a firm, light hold that was more than a handshake. Recognizing the grip of a Master Mason, Lockhart shot Adam a look suddenly luminous with pleasure and surprise.

"You…" he breathed.

Adam nodded, meeting the older man's gaze with steady reassurance. "Yes, I am your brother, sworn in faith. As your brother - and I hope as your friend - I swear that I will do everything in my power to safeguard the welfare and happiness of the daughter you love."

Lockhart's frail hand returned the clasp, tears welling in his eyes, beyond the need to speak. For a long moment, the two men remained thus, in silent affirmation of their common bond.

Then the sound of the door latch broke the spell. Their hands parted only seconds before Ximena and her mother entered the room. Adam rose easily to his feet.

"Oh, there you are, Adam," Ximena said, as she and her mother came to greet her father. "Good morning, Dad. Did you have a good night?"

"Actually, a bit better than most," he assured her with a smile. "Teresita, did you bring me the pictures from Emma's play?"

"I did," Teresa replied, "and I can assure you that our granddaughter performed exactly like an angel!"

While she sat down at her husband's bedside to share the photos, Ximena slipped an arm through Adam's and casually drew him aside.

"It looks as if you and Dad have been finding plenty to talk about," she remarked.

"We continue to discover how much we have in common," Adam said. "He's a fine man. Tell me, is there someplace we can go, away from here? A chapel, maybe?"

Ximena looked at him slightly askance. "There's a meditation room downstairs."

"Then let's excuse ourselves, shall we?" Adam said. "I'd like a few words with you in private."

Chapter Seven

THE meditation room was a tiny, intimate retreat tucked away on the ground floor at the far end of the lobby. Perhaps eight feet by ten, it housed two small pews capable of seating three to four people, a lectern against the far wall, and a stained-glass panel suspended in front of a floor-to-ceiling ivory curtain that filtered the light from a window beyond. The panel, done in blues and rich jewel-tones of gold and crimson, read: The Lord bless thee and keep thee. At the rear of the room, a small shelf held a vase of dried flowers and copies of the Bible and the Torah.

"Good, there's no one here," Ximena said, leading Adam inside and closing the door. "Now, what on earth did my father say to you that made you want to bring me all the way down here to tell me about it?"

Given the tragic ironies of the situation, Adam knew he was going to have to tread delicately. Smiling gently, he drew Ximena to sit beside him in the rear pew.

"He said very little on his own account," he told her. "Mostly, we talked about you. It won't come as any surprise to you to hear that he loves you very much. What you may not realize is the scope of the many aspirations he cherishes on your behalf."

A small, puzzled furrow appeared between Ximena's winged eyebrows.

"I know he's always wanted me to be happy and successful," she said. After a moment's hesitation, she added, "Have I somehow failed to satisfy him on those accounts?"

Adam mentally drew a deep breath. "Let us say that his satisfaction in life won't be complete until he feels that yours is."

Ximena's perplexity deepened. "I'm not sure I understand."

"Then let me see if I can help," Adam said, choosing his words carefully. "Forgive me if, for a moment, I sound like a psychiatrist again.

"Everyone has some notion of what it would take to make him or her perfectly happy. Happiness is frequently denned as that state of contentment which an individual experiences when he or she has satisfied a significant number of personal goals. It's a sense that one's life is in balance - an awareness of personal harmony that comes from living out one's highest aspirations and promises. In short, it's the conscious attainment of wholeness which thereafter becomes the rock upon which the rest of life can confidently be founded. 'Fulfillment' might be an apt one-word descriptor."

He broke off, his dark eyes earnestly searching hers, but she turned her gaze away.

"What are you trying to tell me?" she asked.

"If you feel your life is already complete as it is, then your father needs to be assured of the fact," he replied. "If not, it might set his mind at ease to know that you're at least aware of what you truly want, and have some notion how to go about getting it."