Author: Danilise
Email: [email protected]
Disclaimer: Roswell, its characters and situations, are owned
by the WB. No infringement intended.
Author's Note: This story is the part of an evolving future
storyline that currently includes (in order):
"Decisions," "Looking In," "Christmas
Envy," "From Another Place," "Husbands and
Fathers," "Claudia and Nicole," "Stars,"
"Going Home," "The Ethics Lesson,"
"Redefining Terms," "Beginnings," "First
Date," "A Quality Heart," "In Every
Ending," "Birth," and "Joshua and the
Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day." More stories may
be forthcoming.
A Quality Heart
Claudia flung herself face-down on her bed and buried her face
in her pillow. It felt so horrible, like her heart was
splintering in her chest, splintering into millions of tiny
pieces that she would never be able to gather up and put back
together again. Like Humpty Dumpty.
She groaned at her childish analogy and rolled over to stare at
the ceiling, still clutching her pillow to her chest as if it
could ward off all the bad vibes that her Aunt Maria swore
floated around in the air after anything bad happened.
"Why did he do it, Puckatigga?" she asked the stuffed
white rabbit sitting on her dresser.
"Why did who do what?"
She jumped at the sound of her father’s voice. She looked up
to see him hesitating halfway over the threshold into her
bedroom. "I saw you race through the living room on your way
up here," he explained when he saw the question in her eyes.
He came over to sit on the end of her bed, then reached over to
gently wipe away the tear tracks on her cheeks. "And I
thought I should check on my little girl."
"Oh, Dad…." Claudia’s face crumbled. "It
hurts so much...."
Her father gathered her into the safety of his arms, and she
sobbed into his shoulder. She felt his hand smoothing the back of
her hair, and instantly she felt like a little girl again, when
there had been no hurt big enough that her father couldn’t
make it go away.
But she wasn’t a little girl anymore.
Scrubbing at the tears on her cheeks, hiccuping a little, she
pulled out of her father’s arms and sat back against the
headboard. She tried to laugh but it faltered into another weepy
hiccup. "Sorry about that," she said, gesturing towards
his now-wet sweater. "It’s been a rough week."
"I can see that." Her father gave her a soft,
encouraging smile and waited for her to tell him what was wrong.
She searched for the words to tell him because he had always been
the first person she poured out her troubles to, even more than
her mom. "Dad," she began hesitantly, "Why are
guys such jerks?" She laugh-hiccuped again. "I mean,
since you’re a guy and all."
Her father grinned. "Thanks for clearing that up." He
studied her face for a minute before asking, "What brought
this on?"
"I told you. A bad week. Really bad." She took a deep
breath and re-tucked her hair behind her ears. She glanced
quickly at her father then got up from the bed. To avoid meeting
his eyes, she toyed with the various hair clips and little
knick-knacks on her dresser. "Okay. Here’s a different
question for you. What was it like for you and Mom? I mean, you
fell in love so young. You knew you were soulmates when you were
my age, sixteen. What was it like?"
She stole another look at her father in the dresser mirror. She
could tell that he was feeling uncomfortable, as if it had been
the last question he’d expected. Well, she admitted to
herself, it was kind of a mom-type question. But she was really
interested in her father’s answer. His answer could help
clarify her earlier question about guys being jerks. Not that she
thought her father was a jerk. She thought just the opposite. Her
father was the standard she used to size up every boy she’d
ever met.
Her father’s sigh reminded her that he hadn’t answered
her question yet. She moved away from the dresser and sat back
down beside him on the end of the bed. "How will I know what
it’s like?" she jogged him.
"To be in love?"
She nodded.
He sighed again and looked down at his loosely-clasped hands.
"You just do. It’s hard to describe. Love is more
enduring that just passion, but it is passionate. The passion
part of love makes you feel dizzy, like pleasant vertigo. The
love part of love is always growing, changing, expanding to fill
every corner of your soul." He stopped, looking a little
embarrassed. Then he laughed. "It’s a bit like an
addiction to another person. A good addiction. It’s knowing
that you need that person with you always."
"I understand," Claudia said, thinking over what he’d
said. "I’ll just know."
Her father nodded. "Yeah. You’ll just know." He
tilted his head and looked at her carefully. Then he said gently,
"Sweetie. I know it doesn’t seem like this right now,
but this feeling will go away. Most hearts of quality are broken
on one or two or three occasions in a lifetime. Then they mend.
And once mended, they’re often stronger than they were
before they were broken."
She smiled at how her father knew her well enough to say the one
thing that could be remotely comforting. She blinked back the
tears that were again stinging the back of her eyes and asked,
"Did you ever have your heart broken, Dad?"
Her father was suddenly very still. When he finally replied, his
tone was pensive and his expression unreadable. "It was my
own fault. Something I did to myself. I hurt your mother in high
school. Because I was afraid of how I felt, of how she felt. Of a
lot of different things. I told her I needed to take a step back
to regain my balance." He smiled wryly. "I guess I was
a jerk. But your mother forgave me, helped me see that I could
rely on the others around me, that I didn’t need to be
everything to everyone all the time. But I think I had to get
drunk before I really understood what she was saying."
Claudia laughed out loud. It was hard to imagine her calm,
gentle, pediatrician father drunk.
Her father’s own laugh was sheepish. Then he was serious
again. "I guess my point is, Claudia, that your mother
definitely has a heart of quality."
Claudia giggled at the sappy expression on her father’s
face. Sometimes her parents were too much even for her. Even
though her parents’ relationship was the kind of fairy-tale
love story that every girl dreamed about.
"So," she said, feeling that she needed to state the
next natural conclusion, "If I have a heart of quality like
Mom, this is going to happen occasionally, this horrible feeling.
But it’ll go away. I won’t feel like this forever. And
I will be a stronger person for it."
Her father looked relieved. "Yeah. That’s exactly what
I was trying to say." He squeezed her shoulders in a quick
half-hug. "But if I were you, would still talk to your mom
about this stuff when she gets back from your Aunt Maria’s
house. Your mom’ll probably do a better job of answering
your questions. Especially the ones about guys being jerks."
Claudia laughed again and hugged her father back. "You did
fine, Dad. I do think I understand. And I’ll be okay."
She smiled at him shyly. "I mean, I must have a heart of
quality, too. Considering who my parents are and all."
He looked startled for a second, then he grinned. "You’re
good, kid. Really good. You’ll be okay." He got up from
the bed. "So. What about some hot chocolate or something?
Although I should warn you that hot chocolate is pretty much all
I can make in terms of hot comfort beverages, so your choices are
pretty limited until your mother gets home."
"Hot chocolate’s fine, Dad." She hooked her arm
into his, and together they walked downstairs to the kitchen to
share two cups of hot chocolate while waiting for her mother to
come home.