THAT UNDEVELOPED FLOWER

"NO!"

The normally shy and reserved Geoffrey was adamant. And Catherinehad never seen him quite so upset. "Just tell me why, sweetheart?"

His Mom's confusion was plain to the boy, but he couldn't explainfurther. How could he make her understand? "Just....no, Mom. Can't weleave it at that?"

Pressing her lips together to keep from saying more, Catherinenodded once, abruptly. If that's what he wanted, that's what wouldbe. She wasn't going to force him, for heaven's sake!

When she'd brought up the idea of having their portraits painted,she'd thought he would readily agree. It seemed a perfect gift forWinterfest, one Vincent would treasure. She had an artist friendAbove who had agreed to do the painting and they were due for theirfirst sitting in a few hours. But when she'd told him of her plansand suggested he let her trim his hair, he'd grown sullen. He'dallowed the haircut, but balked at dressing in the clothes she'd setout for him, and in the ensuing -- and highly unusual -- argumentwhich followed, his distress level had risen until he'd literallyshouted at her. She was still amazed that he'd done that. It was thefirst time he had ever screamed his defiance in her face.

Realizing he'd gone too far, Geoffrey closed the distance betweenthem and clumsily hugged her. He was in a somewhat gawky growthstage, when his hands and feet seemed too big for his body, and everygraceful thing about him was lost in the ungainly mass of elbows andknees he seemed to have sprouted. The changes were most apparent inhis face, which was losing the flawless smoothness of childhood. Upclose, Catherine could see the peachfuzz on his upper lip, and ablemish or two peeked out at his hairline. She ached for him, knowinghe was a bit uncomfortable in his own skin these days. Butthis...open rebellion was so out of character, she couldn't imaginewhere it had come from.

In a choked whisper, he managed to blurt out his apology. "I'msorry. But...I just don't want to do this. Please, don't be mad?" Hisvoice cracked, not entirely due to his emotional state. He was goingthrough so many changes these days.

She held him close, rubbing his back until she felt the tensionbegin to leave his body. "Oh, honey, it doesn't matter." She felt himhug her more tightly. Feeling peace had been made, she ventured tosay, "I just wish I knew why you didn't want to sit for theportrait."

At her last comment, he stiffened and pulled away from her. Hiseyes held some unnamed pain as he looked at her hard, then he turnedand ran out of the room.

_ _ _

Catherine had decided to go Above and pose for a portrait anyway.Vincent would still be happy with the gift, even if it was only ofher. But during the sitting, her mind kept probing the dilemma ofGeoffrey's reaction. What was there about sitting for a portrait thatwas so upsetting to him?

She continued to ruminate as she returned to the Hub. Although hewould normally be the first and only person she'd turn to, shecouldn't discuss Geoffrey's odd behavior with Vincent. She'd have toreveal the reason for the argument, and that she wasn't prepared todo. No, it had to be someone else this time. And Catherine knew of noone who had as much experience raising children as Mary. That gentlesoul was almost literally Mother to dozens of orphans who had thrivedin the Tunnels under her loving eye. Her advice would be a godsend.With sudden purpose, she turned and headed for Mary's chamber. Atthis hour of the afternoon, the older woman would likely be catchingup on her mending, which allowed her a chance to get off her feet fora while after a long day caring for the children.

"Mary?" Catherine called out and, receiving the expectedinvitation, she entered the cozy chamber. Its inhabitant was rockingcontentedly in a massive, intricately carved rocking chair, a giftfrom Cullen several Winterfests ago. He had told her that she musthave rocked her way twice around the world in that old rocker ofhers, and she deserved a new one for the next batch of babies whowould need that rhythmic comfort in addition to Mary's warmth andlove to get them to sleep at night. This afternoon she held a dozingyoungster in her lap, and she whispered her greeting to Catherine,looking up at her quizzically.

Catherine knelt by the rocker and stroked the sleeping baby's massof curls as, in a low murmur, she told the older woman why she hadcome. "I have a problem, Mary. One I hope you've seen before and canhelp me with."

"Geoffrey...or Vincent?" Mary asked, with a twinkle in her eye.

"Oh, I think I can handle Vincent these days!" Catherine smiledwarmly as she thought of her beloved, but the smile left her face asshe turned her attention to her immediate problem. "It's GeoffreyI've come to see you about." She paused, sighing, unsure even nowwhat the matter was. "We never fight...I mean, rarely. It's not thatwe never have differences of opinion, but we never...yell at eachother. But today...." She related her tale and its unexpectedoutcome, then sat back on her heels, hoping for Mary's wisdom to makeit all clear to her.

The matriarch of the Tunnels shrugged, and Catherine's heart sank.It seemed her hoped-for easy resolution was not to be. "I don't knowwhat to tell you, child. Sometimes... well, sometimes youngsters needto rebel, to define themselves as separate from their parents. Theymay seem irrational or unreasonable because that's the only way theycan distinguish themselves from their authority figures." Marypaused, then admitted, "But...your Geoffrey never seemed the type ofchild who would need to fight for his individuality."

Catherine reflected, then shook her head. "No, he doesn't need tofight us. He's already got an extraordinary amount of freedom, as allof the children here do. And Vincent and I have always encouraged himto think for himself. He's learning to be his own person. And we'relearning, too -- to let go, bit by bit." She smiled ruefully. "It'shard."

Mary nodded, smiling. "Yes, I know. A part of you mourns for thechild you lose when the adult breaks through."

Catherine sighed. "So...if it's not rebellion, what else couldhave caused his resistance to such a simple request?"

A brief frown flitted across the older woman's brow. "Well...he isat that...awkward stage, my dear. He's all hormones and knobby knees.Not that he's an unattractive child, even with the changes he's goingthrough. In fact..." she smiled, then said, "...he seems to begetting better looking despite it all! But...perhaps he sees himselfas unattractive right now. And as a result, he doesn't want to bememorialized in his current state -- pimples and peachfuzz, youknow."

Catherine considered this. She supposed it was a possibility,although Geoffrey had never been a vain child, and didn't seem to beoverly conscious of his appearance. In fact, despite his gawkinessand his embarrassment when his voice cracked, mostly he seemed to betaking his physical changes in stride, with a quiet confidence sheknew she had lacked at his age. Still, Mary had been through thisstage with so many children, and if she thought this might be thecause....

"You may be right, however...." Just then the child woke andbegan fussing. Catherine lapsed into silence, knowing that the babyneeded Mary's complete attention right now. The older woman shiftedthe youngster on her lap and cooed quietly to her until the criesbecame gurgles of delight. Catherine watched in amazement, wonderingwhat Mary's secret was -- she just had a way with children; they allresponded to her as if she were a combination of Santa Claus and theFairy Godmother. Clearly, the older woman was absorbed in this newtask, and Catherine was loathe to press her to return to theirdiscussion.

She wasn't entirely sure that Mary's explanation solved herdilemma, but she didn't have anything else to go on. Besides, she'dcome for advice, and she'd gotten it. Who was she to contradict thewoman whose counsel she had sought? Expert testimony was supposed tobe relied upon -- whether in court Above or in less formalcircumstances Below. So, instead of arguing the point further, sherose and kissed the older woman on the cheek. "Thank you, Mary. I'lltalk to him about it as soon as I can. Is there anything I can do foryou before I leave?"

Mary looked up at her distractedly, then shook her head. "No,child, nothing. I'm quite content. These quiet afternoons are veryspecial to me, you know."

"Considering what your life is like most of the time, I imagineso! Goodbye...and thank you again."

As she left the cozy chamber, she turned to blow a kiss to her oldfriend, but Mary had obviously already forgotten her. She wasnuzzling the little one in her arms, blissfully unaware of theerstwhile intruder. Catherine shook her head, smiling, and slippedout the entrance unobserved.

_ _ _

"Hey, Sweetcheeks!" A wet sloppy kiss was deposited on theteenager's brow in bold disregard of his assembled friends.

Geoffrey shook his head and rolled his eyes, as if to say, "Whatcan I do with her? She's too old to change."

The other boys laughed. This was an old habit between their paland his Mom. They'd learned long ago that Catherine and Geoffreyshared a special connection which allowed even such outrageousbehavior to go unchallenged. They had come to expect it over theyears -- even to anticipate and enjoy it. Especially because theyknew what would come next....

"Eric. Kipper. Zak." Each received a somewhat more modest kiss intheir turn, for Catherine was always conscious of the children'sfeelings and didn't want any of them to feel left out, unloved, orunappreciated. They had all turned to her at one time or another intheir formative years, relying on her counsel, seeking her help withhomework, crying on her shoulder, sharing secrets. She kept allconfidences, respected all boundaries, and as a result, was adored byall the children Below.

After she'd dispensed her affectionate greetings, she said to herson, "When you guys are done, I'd like a moment with you, honey. Norush."

His buddies emitted a long, drawn-out "Oooohhh!" compellingCatherine to reply archly, "He's not in any trouble, if that's whatyou're hoping!"

As she turned and walked out of his chamber, Eric looked over athis friend and asked, "Do you think you should go talk to her now? Wecan wait."

Geoffrey considered what the conversation might be about andreplied, "Nah. Later's fine. So, anyway, Michael told me about thismovie he saw which sounded so cool...."

_ _ _

"Mom?"

He heard an aggravated voice reply, "I'm in the bedchamber, honey.You can come in."

He found his Mom on her knees before the armoire she used forclothes storage. She had the bottom drawer pulled open and was madlyferreting through the garments there. She looked flushed andfrustrated.

Concerned, he offered, "Can I help?"

As she shoved items back and forth, she exclaimed, "I'm lookingfor...a particular sweater...that Olivia knitted for me....Darn! It'snot here!" She shoved the drawer closed in disgust. "Where could Ihave put it?"

Amused at her predicament, he asked, "Mom...are you looking forthat real pretty blue pullover? The one with the rose embroidered onthe front?"

She smiled in triumph. "That's it! Have you seen it lately?"

He nodded. "I'm pretty sure you left it in the apartment.Remember, last time we went Above to check your mail and messages, wesat out on the balcony and it got kind of warm? You took the sweateroff and laid it on the bed, but I don't think you put it back on whenwe left."

Catherine clapped her hands together. "Yes! Oh, thank you,sweetheart. That would have bothered me for hours, until I finallyfigured it out."

Hopeful, Geoffrey asked, "Is...that all you wanted....?"

Suddenly serious, she replied, "No, it wasn't. There's somethingelse." His Mom rose and plopped onto the bed, scooting back until shecould sit cross-legged against the chamber wall. She patted thepatched quilt beside her. "Come here, sweetheart. We need totalk."

Instead of coming closer, he started to edge out of the chamber."Mom...this isn't a good time. I should...I've gotta be...."

"It's Sunday and you don't 'gotta be' anywhere, Geoffrey." Hergently chiding tone left her voice as she pleaded, "Honey, we need totalk."

Sighing, he reluctantly approached the bed and sat on the edge,half-turned away from her.

"Geoffrey...." Her warning tone urged him to sit closer and faceher. He complied, hunching over his crossed legs in a picture ofdejection.

Catherine watched him for a moment. What could have caused him tobecome so uncomfortable so quickly? She resolved to get it out ofhim, if at all possible. Best to just jump right in. "I went Aboveyesterday and sat for the portrait."

He raised his head and shook it, beginning to protest, but sheheld up her hand to silence him.

"It's OK, honey, I'm not going to ask you to go with me again. Youmade it clear it's...not something you want to do."

He subsided, his shoulders slumping again, and he avoided hereyes.

Leaning toward him, she put her hand on his knee and squeezed it."Can you...can you tell me why?"

He didn't look up or reply.

Stymied, after a moment she asked, "If you have another idea for agift for your Dad...or if ...oh, I don't know, Geoffrey! I'm tryingto understand, but I can't!" Her frustration was causing her voice torise. Deliberately, she took a deep breath to calm herself, then,anxious not to hurt him, continued in a softer voice. "Are you....areyou...embarrassed because you're...breaking out? Or because...you'restarting to grow a mustache? You know...the artist can...paint aroundthose things if...." He stiffened and she saw that her questions hadoffended him.

"You....you think I'm...ugly?!" He was mortified. His Momwas...ashamed of the way he looked?

Shocked by the stunned look on his face, knowing she'd put itthere by her inartfully chosen words, Catherine tried to explain."Oh, God...no, Geoffrey! I'm just trying to figure out what reasonyou might have for.... We had that awful argument, and I don'tunderstand.... I couldn't imagine why you wouldn't want to be in afamily portrait.... When I talked to Mary, she thought...."Catherine's sentences all trailed to an end. She'd made a completemess of what she'd hoped would be a gentle inquiry. Now she hadinsulted and hurt her son, and she was no closer to understanding hismotivations than before. And what was worse, she didn't know how tomake it better.

She reached for him then, desperately, but he evaded her grasp andgroped his way off the bed, sudden tears blinding him. He ran fromthe bedchamber, out of their common room, down the access tunnel andaway.

_ _ _

Vincent entered his old chamber -- now used as a classroom -- togather some materials for a class. Intent on his mission, he did notimmediately notice his son sitting in the semi-darkness against thefar chamber wall, head hanging down. Now, in the deep gloom, hecaught sight of him...and noticed the dejected slump of theteenager's shoulders.

"Geoffrey?"

Vincent's gentle inquiry roused him from his misery. He looked upand found his Dad staring in surprise at him.

In a flat voice, he replied, "Hi, Dad. Need something?"

Automatically, Vincent began to respond, "I came in to retrievesome textbooks for...." He stopped, concerned at this unexpected andunusual encounter. "Geoffrey, what is it? What's wrong?"

At first, the youngster didn't think he could reply. But finally,utterly miserable, he managed to mutter bitterly,"Mom...Mom...thinks...I'm ugly."

Astonished, Vincent approached the boy and sat beside him on thecold stone floor. "That cannot be, Geoffrey, surely."

The flustered Geoffrey put one hand over his eyes, hiding his facefrom his Dad's sympathetic stare. "We argued...and later she...sheasked me if I was 'embarrassed' about my...about how I look thesedays."

Baffled, Vincent asked, "In what context did this...question ofyour Mother's come up?"

Suddenly realizing he would spill the beans about his Mom'sWinterfest surprise if he responded, Geoffrey bit his lip, wishinghe'd just kept his mouth shut to start with. Unfortunately, his Dadnow knew that something was obviously troubling him, and he could beamazingly persistent when it came to his son's happiness. Sometimes,he thought grimly, concerned parents can make life more complicatedthan it already is.

Not wanting to lie, instead Geoffrey asked the question which hadbeen on his mind since he'd left his Mom. "Why would she ask that ifshe didn't think there was something wrong with the way I look?"

Vincent wasn't sure exactly why his Bondmate was discussing suchan irrelevant matter as Geoffrey's appearance. He knew she felt as hedid -- that their son was growing into a fine young man. He had everyquality in which a parent could take pride. What did it matter toanyone -- least of all his parents -- what he looked like?

Despite the strangeness of the boy's question, there was one thingof which he was positive. "Geoffrey," he responded firmly, "If yourMother thinks there is nothing 'wrong' with the way Ilook...certainly she could not think there is anything 'wrong' withyou."

Geoffrey looked up, startled by the comparison. He had to admitthat his Dad had a point -- not that he thought his Dad was ugly inany way, but he was unusual-looking...and he knew it had never madethe least bit of difference to his Mom. In fact, she usually had thatgoofy adoring look on her face whenever she even glanced his way --as though she thought he was the most good-looking guy in the knownuniverse.

And as for himself, well...she did always called him her"beautiful boy" -- and there was that ridiculous but endearingnickname "Sweetcheeks." That one had started years ago as she wastelling him all the things she loved about him -- and ended by sayinghe had the sweetest cheeks she'd ever seen. In fact, she'd used thatendearment just today.

He began to color as he realized that his reaction to herquestions about his looks had upset her. She had tried to explainherself but he had cut her off, too hurt to listen. Now he began toconsider his Mom's comments in a more rational, less emotional way.She had said something about speaking to Mary. Maybe she could helphim understand what his Mom had been trying to say.

Vincent was silent, assessing his son's response to his remarkabout "looks." Watching the play of emotions on the youngster's face,he realized the boy was working things out for himself. Vincentdidn't want to intrude on that process. So he waited patiently, untilfinally Geoffrey glanced down at his hands and said enigmatically,"Thanks, Dad. I...think I need to go see Mary."

Vincent nodded and reached out to capture the boy's shoulder withone powerful hand, giving it a brief, encouraging squeeze. Hisparental concern warred with his desire for his son to stand on hisown. He would prefer to continue the conversation, to help Geoffreythrough whatever was causing him misery. But plainly the boy had hisown plan for dealing with this situation. It would perhaps be best tolet him try to resolve matters on his own first. Besides, Geoffreyknew his Father would be available to talk further if counsel wasneeded.

Geoffrey accepted his Dad's physical assurance gratefully,wordlessly, then he rose and left the chamber.

Wondering about Catherine's odd question and reflecting upon thepleasures and pains of parenthood, Vincent sat for a long whilebefore rising to his feet and collecting the books he sought.

_ _ _

Hesitantly, the youngster stammered, "Mary...could you tellme...what did you and Mom talk about?"

When the boy had tracked her down coming out of the laundrychamber, he'd immediately relieved her of the large basket of freshlywashed baby clothes she'd been taking back to her own chamber to sortand mend. He had deposited the burden on her bed and then assistedher in checking the clothing and setting aside the items which neededattention. Between them, they had made quick work of the pile oflaundry, and the neatly folded stacks within the old wicker basketwere testament to their efforts.

All of this had been accomplished with a minimum of conversation.Yet Geoffrey's question did not take the older woman by surprise.Mary had been content to wait for the boy to come to the point of hisvisit. After all these years, she knew her children so well. Now,finally, he had managed to blurt it out.

Looking up into the youngster's earnest brown eyes -- when had hegrown so tall? -- she replied, "She came to me because shewas...concerned about an argument the two of you had. She was...well,she said you two had never exchanged such harsh words, and she askedfor my advice."

He bent his head in shame, then sat on Mary's bed, eyes focusingon the contents of the basket instead of the older woman's face. Heidly stroked the laundry with one hand while he thought of what tosay. "Mom didn't exchange any harsh words, Mary -- it was only me,"he admitted. "I felt terrible afterwards."

Mary caressed his thick brown hair, combing back the lustrouscurls which had tumbled across his forehead. "Do you know why you didthat, child? That's what we were trying to puzzle out."

Instead of explaining himself, he told her what she already knew."She wanted me...wanted us...to sit for a portrait. For a gift. ForDad. For Winterfest."

"Yes?" she murmured encouragingly.

More of the story she had already heard came out. "I...I didn'twant to. That's why we...fought."

Patiently, she probed further. "And why didn't you want to?"

He snorted, still stung by the implication of his Mom's questions."Not because I thought I was ugly."

"Why, whoever said you were?" Mary was horrified.

He could barely admit it, it hurt so much, but he finally managedone strangled word: "Mom." Desperate for another woman's opinion, heasked hesitantly, "Am I?" His voice was just above a whisper, but itheld all the trepidation and supplication in his heart.

Taking his chin in her cupped hand, she lifted his face and forcedhim to see the truth in her eyes. "No, Geoffrey, you are not ugly.You are far from it. And that's not just my opinion. Your Motherfeels that way, too." She tenderly brushed away the tears which hadbegun to trail down his cheeks, then reached out to hug him againsther. She let his quiet weeping subside before she asked, "Why did yousay your Mother thinks you're ugly?"

His voice was muffled against her skirts as he replied,"Because...she told me so."

Letting go of him in her surprise, she remarked, "No, you can'thave heard her correctly. What exactly did she say?"

Geoffrey looked up at her. She could see he was trying to recallhis Mother's exact words. Eventually, he said, "We were talking aboutwhy I wouldn't sit for that portrait. She asked if I was embarrassedabout...about my...about the way I looked...." He really couldn't gointo it further. It was all so humiliating.

"Oh, my goodness!" The light dawned in Mary's mind. "Oh, Geoffrey,honey, I'm so sorry. She never would have asked you thatquestion...if it wasn't for something I said to her."

Aghast, he stood up suddenly. "What?!"

Since she was standing in front of him, she was able to get holdof his arms before he would have fled from her. "Sit down, please,child. There has been an awful misunderstanding." When she wascertain he wouldn't bolt, she continued, a bit abashed, "Your Mothercame to me confused. She really wanted to have that portrait painted,you see, and it hurt her that you wouldn't agree to it. But shedidn't ask me how to convince you to go with her, she just needed tounderstand why you wouldn't. I began to mention a couple ofpossibilities -- reasons why young men your age might defy a parent'srequest -- one being that you were acting out in order to establishyourself as your own person. You know, rebelling."

Geoffrey stared at her in frank astonishment. "Rebelling? Againstwhat? Mom's the best."

Seeing that he was willing to listen, she relaxed her grip on hisarms just a little, one hand lifting to pat his cheek. "We rejectedthat idea immediately." She smiled. "We both knew you had no need torebel against her."

Her face took on an apologetic look. "The next suggestion I madewas what...apparently caused this terrible muddle. We began todiscuss it, but we got interrupted and never returned to the subject.The way it was left between us, perhaps she thought that was myopinion. It truly wasn't, but I never got the chance to explainthat."

Taking a deep breath, she plunged ahead. "I mentioned to yourMother that...perhaps you didn't want to pose now...while youwere...between a boy and a man." Flustered at such frank talk, Marylowered her gaze, finding the laundry basket easier to look at thanthe face of the youngster before her. Speaking to his Mother abouthim was one thing, but speaking to him of the same things....

Resolutely, she finished her thought. He had to understand whatwas in her heart. "I was about to add that you are much tooself-possessed a young man to think such a silly thing, and thattherefore it had to be something else altogether...something youperhaps were not comfortable talking to her about. But I never did.So your Mother left here thinking that I believed...that you wereupset about your appearance." Tears stood in her eyes as she beggedhis forgiveness. "I'm so sorry, child."

So, Mom never thought I was ugly at all, Geoffrey realized. Anddear, sweet Mary -- Mary, who wouldn't hurt a fly -- she didn'teither. No one did. But everyone...including me...thought someoneelse did. And now Mary's upset, and Mom's upset....and I got Vincentall worried.... Aloud, he said only, "Please don't cry, Mary. Iunderstand now." He hugged the distressed woman warmly, stroking herback in an attempt to calm her. As he did so, he thought back on thewhole confusing day...and started to smile. It was so ridiculous,once he thought about it -- all these loving, concerned adultsgetting hopelessly mixed up trying to figure him out. Suddenly, hebegan to laugh.

Mary, surprised, risked a glance at him. He was almost convulsingin laughter now. She smiled herself, although confused. "So...youaren't...angry with me?"

Wiping his eyes, he gradually got control of himself and assuredher, "No way. You are the most wonderful.... I love you, Mary." Hehugged the astonished woman again, hard, then lifted her easily inhis arms and swung her around once before setting her back on herfeet.

Completely bewildered now, Mary smoothed her skirt and patted herhair, flustered by the strange turn of events. "Well! Geoffrey,child...I...I love you, too!" She had a bemused smile on her face ashe ran out of her chamber. Somehow, she sensed that everything wasfine now, but she couldn't say exactly why.

_ _ _

Coming to the heart of his disturbing conversation with their son,Vincent advised Catherine, "He told me that you said...that heis...ugly."

"Oh, no! Oh, Vincent, how could it all have gotten so out ofhand?" His Bondmate's distress was clear, but she would not explainherself further.

Vincent was mystified. Catherine had never failed to share herconcerns about Geoffrey with him before. But she would tell himnothing of her disagreement with their son, nor of why the boythought she had disparaged his appearance.

They both turned as they heard the sound of pounding footsteps inthe tunnel outside their common chamber. Someone was running hardtoward them. All at once, Geoffrey popped into view, grabbed the sideof the entry, pulled himself to a stop and swung inside all in onemovement. Breathlessly, he demanded, "Mom! We've gotta talk."

Startled, she threw a wild-eyed glance at her Bondmate, thenstammered, "Of...of course. But I...."

Geoffrey raised a hand to hush her. "Not here." He, too, glancedat Vincent. "I'm sorry, Dad. Alone."

Vincent nodded, unsure what was occurring. "Perhaps...the two ofyou should go to your chamber, Geoffrey?"

"Great idea! C'mon, Mom!" Grasping her hand firmly, the teenagerherded his Mother out of the chamber ahead of him, then tugged herwith him in great haste, not relinquishing her hand until he hadseated her on his own bed. "Sit quietly, please," he commanded.

Stunned, Catherine just nodded. Clearly, whatever was going onhere, her son was in charge.

Hands on hips, he looked down into his Mother's beloved face, theworry clearly etched on her brow. He had to smooth those cares away,and right now. "Mom...first of all...I love you."

She smiled and he could see the lines of her face relax.

"I just talked to Mary. She...explained everything. She felt sobad, and she was so sweet about it...but I understand now, about whyyou said what you did. I'm sorry I jumped to conclusions. I mean, Iknow I'm...well, I'm not your cute little boy anymore...."

Unable to let such a disparaging comment stand uncorrected,Catherine disobeyed a direct order and contradicted him, outraged."Who says?"

He grinned. "It's OK, Mom."

Gathering steam now, she overrode his dismissal. "No, it's not!You're my beautiful boy. I won't hear you say you're not!"

Geoffrey gently placed an index finger against her lips,effectively silencing her. Trying to suppress his amusement, hepressed his point. "It's OK, really. I kinda...don't want to beconsidered 'cute'...or 'little'...or a 'boy' anymore, if you knowwhat I mean."

Catherine's maternal dander subsided as she realized he wasn'tputting himself down, just forcing her to see him as he was -- a sonon the brink of manhood. With some chagrin, she remarked, "OK. Sorry.Go on."

Laughing openly now, he said, "You should have seen your face justnow! A lioness protecting her cub couldn't look fiercer! It's...well,it's nice to know."

She grumbled good-naturedly at him, pleased that he was pleased.

Then his eyes turned solemn and he began his apology...and hislong-delayed explanation. "Anyway...I'm sorry. About everything --about yelling, about not telling you why I didn't want to be in thatpicture...about getting upset today.... Here's the thing. You calledit a 'family portrait' and...well...the more I thought about it, themore I didn't like the idea. It isn't a 'family' portrait. Dad's notin it. I got to thinking how he'd feel, left out and all. Here weare, going Above and sitting for a friend of yours. When we give thepainting to Dad, won't it be like rubbing his nose in it, that hecan't go Above, like he's not a real part of the family? I just don'twant to hurt him like that."

Catherine sat quietly, absorbing the well-meaning concern of herson for his Father. She knew that Vincent would treasure a portraitof the two of them -- and not feel left out. She and her own Motherhad sat for just such a portrait as a gift for her Dad several yearsbefore her Mother's untimely death, and it had been one of her Dad'smost prized possessions ever since. In fact, that memory was, inpart, what had spurred her to arrange for the gift which was causingher son such turmoil.

"Geoffrey, sweetheart...." She sighed, her eyes bright with tears."I have to thank you for being so concerned about your Dad'sfeelings. But...will you trust me to know that this gift would givehim great pleasure -- and no pain? It would be from the two of us --of the two of us -- and he will understand and accept it assuch."

"Really?" He seemed unconvinced. But looking into her eyes, he sawthe calm conviction shining there, and he was, finally, reassured. Heplopped onto the bed beside her and leaned into her shoulder, happyand relieved.

Catherine wrapped an arm around his shoulder, giving him acompanionable squeeze. She thought back on what had apparentlystarted this whole misunderstanding. "Perhaps I made a mistake in howI referred to it, making you think it was something which it isn't.You're right that it isn't a 'family' portrait, but...if you like wecan ask Elizabeth to do one of those for us on one of her blankwalls? She's always looking for new ideas."

He nodded enthusiastically. "I'd really likethat...and...maybe...." He looked at her hopefully. "Maybe Dad would,too?"

"I'm sure of it," she confirmed. "But...we'll ask afterWinterfest, OK? Let's give him our gift first?"

"Sure!"

She nodded her head once, to show the decision was now made. Thenshe reached up to tenderly stroke his face, feeling the short wiryhairs which poked out intermittently along his cheek. "You know...youtruly are my beautiful boy." She adored him, and she let that factcommunicate itself through her fingertips.

Finally, Catherine rose and looked compellingly into his gentle,honest eyes. "Please, honey, next time you feel strongly thatsomething I'm doing is wrong...tell me. Don't stew about it and makeme guess? I know that sometimes I can be stubborn...." They bothsmiled in acknowledgment of that bit of truth. "But sit me down andforce me to listen if you have to, OK?! It's always better to laythings out in the open and deal with them calmly and rationally,explain our differing feelings and go from there."

He nodded, shy now in the face of his Mom's frankness andacceptance. He hugged her tightly around the waist, relieved thattheir brief estrangement was over.

They clung to each other in silent mutual apology and support fora moment more, then Catherine raised her head from his shoulder and,with a wry smile on her lips, advised him, "Now, you've got to helpme figure out something."

He looked quizzically at her. "What?"

"How to talk ourselves out of this situation your Father stumbledinto!"