---

---

---

---

This story is a continuation of A Question of Balance. Thus far: Three women, centuries old and practitioners of Draihoidel, the old arts, had come along side a girl in desperate need of understanding and encouragement. Each had taken the form of mortals to influence three souls close to the girl. The fourth member of the group, the girl’s brother had been a practitioner of the old arts for only a few days. The women have returned to help the family once again, along with others that need the healing that only love can provide...

---

Previously

“Diane...honey?” Trudy gasped even as her wife continued to kiss and fondle and caress. Diane paused, her hand on Trudy’s cheek, softly wiping away her tears.

“Yes?”

“I’m beginning to feel something...down there...it’s not like a touch...an aura? A warmth? I don’t know, but I think...Hold, me honey.” She continued to cry as Diane kissed her face over and over, almost in reverence.

“Honey?” Trudy spoke once again; a lilt that almost laughed.

Diane would always treaure the sound of Trudy’s voice, but that moment became a moment in time where they felt as close as they ever had. Trudy still wept, but the look of joy on her face beamed brighter as she said softly,”

“Honey....Dr. Levine called today....we’re...we’re going to be....Mommies.”

---

At the Lambert home…

“How’s Marnie doing?”

“She’s fine…Dr. Levine said that she has been taking her vitamins and everything should be okay. She’s a very healthy girl.” Trudy smiled and wheeled over to the kitchen table and poured herself some coffee. Diane sat down a moment later and did the same before continuing, a look of sadness crossing her face.

“I’m…”

“Stop…”

“But…”

“Diane…we knew that it was a long shot any other way. Besides, this way we get to help the girl out and we can be parents. I know you want to have children, but it isn’t meant to be.

“I feel guilty.” Diane put her hand to her face. “Like somehow I betrayed myself.”

“What…because you wanted to use what God gave you before this? It’s not a bad thing…just a different thing. That’s part of who you were…who you are, since that part of you…the person…is part of the person I love. You feel ashamed because you wanted to and now feel ashamed because we can’t? Don’t feel ashamed of where you came from, who you are…anything! Diane is who she is today because Don helped make her that way…now the two of you are together; finally a whole person instead of two halfs. So it’s all good, honey.” Trudy rubbed Diane’s arm.

“So…what do you say we go into the livingroom with our coffee and sit down on the couch and start thinking about names?” Trudy smiled and grabbed her cup and wheeled quickly into the living room, followed close behind by Diane. She lifted Trudy out of her chair and the two sat on the couch.

“I love you,” Diane said as she kissed Trudy, her hands touching Trudy’s hair and face gently.

“Easy girl...” Trudy protested. She pointed to the baby name book on the couch.

“Besides, we’ve got nine or so months…no hurry,” Trudy said, touching Diane’s face.

“That’s just what I was going to say,” Diane laughed and tossed the book onto the chair in the corner before kissing her wife again.

And oh, how we laugh
But maybe we should crawl
And ask to be excused
We shout loudly
Have answers to it all
Oh, but we have been refused

---

Also previously…

“I’m hoping and praying for you, Aunt Breena. I haven’t prayed since fourth grade, but seeing Mom and seeing all the great things that have happened has sorta made me rethink some things, you know. I want you to know that Patty and I and Mom, of course, are believing for you.” He leaned close and kissed her affectionately on the cheek.

“That we are, dear sister!” Janey McCarthy, now Siobhan the Merciful of the Women of Draehoidel, walked into the living room. Mike looked up, expecting her to be in some character or even more so, perhaps a long and flowing green velvet dress with a circlet in her hair. She was, of course, wearing none of the accoutrements of her newly adopted craft, preferring instead jeans and a forest green sweatshirt with ‘Villanova’ emblazoned on the front. She was eating an apple and leaning against the kitchen doorway.

“I need your help, Janey,” Breena looked up and tears began to well up in her eyes. Janey nodded, and said calmly,

“Aye, sis…I suppose you do. And you’ll get it, but not in any way you’re expecting. We can’t do anything but nudge folks…prod them a bit to take action where it’s needed or to be merciful…” She paused, remembering how her own conversion helped her to see the need for mercy and kindness.

“So what can you help me with?” Breena looked almost like a panicky girl going to the prom, which fit well with Janey’s next comment,

“I, dear Breena, am going to help you find a dress!”

A bit later…

“Are you not goin’ to help me, Janey?” Breena sat on the bed staring at the green pullover she was wearing.

“I am helping you, Breena. We’ve narrowed it down to the claret a-line of mine…as if I’ll ever be wearin’ it again.” She laughed and Breena gasped a brief sob.

“And what would be troublin’ you now, dear sister?” Janey said as she pulled a forest green dress out of Breena’s closet.

“This is a nice one…I should know; I gave it to you for your birthday a couple of years ago…still has the price tag on it. I don’t suppose you can exchange it now, so you might as well wear it, dear.” She laughed until she saw that Breena had started to cry.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“You…you’re goin’ to go away when this is all over, and I’ll be left alone again. It will feel just like you died all over, and I can’t bear to think of that.” Breena said haltingingly.

“Now, now…shu…shuu….shuu…” She pulled close to Breena and kissed her.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere…least wise not for a while. We’ve got lots of work for us all around this place…so many hurtin’ souls and sad folks. I’ll be poppin’ in from time to time; maybe like this…” She pointed to her jeans and sneakers,

“And maybe like this,” she said as she pointed to the mirror on the closet across from Breena’s bed, revealing Breena’s image sitting next to a boy of about seven or so.

“Or this,” she repeated, pointing once again to the mirror where Breena sat with an Asian woman of about forty.”

“We never run out of work because folks never run out of pain and sadness.”

“Why can’t you just change me…make me into a real woman?” Breena shook her head as she looked down at herself; literally and figuratively. She lifted her head and saw Janey’s expression had changed from whimsical to sad and caring.

“My dear sweet girl; I can’t because of a few things. The first is that I don’t have that much power…yet. I have to learn the craft, dear, before I get so much responsibility…earnin’ my wings like that Clarence fellow in that movie, you know?” Breena nodded, blinking back tears.

“Second, we’re permitted but only a bit of intervention, so to speak. Like I said, we can nudge and suggest and hint to other folks who really do the heavy liftin’, you know? Maybe cajole and shove when necessary, but we help others help themselves or help their friends or family or even folks they don’t care for, you understand?” Breena nodded once again, but still felt lost and almost hopeless. It would take more than a new dress to bring some promise into any relationship, if it ever got that far.

“But here’s the most important thing to remember, Breena.” She said ‘Breena ‘with the most affection she had ever used since her brother came back home as her sister; feeling a bit guilty over neglecting this part of the sibling with whom she shared a childhood. Breena put her head down and looked up, anticipating another prohibition or regulation that threatened to prevent any action on Janey’s part. Janey kissed her again and hugged her, perhaps as tight a hug as she’d ever had, saying,

“You have to remember, Breena…no matter what, you’re already a real woman; as real as any woman I’ve ever met…” Janey paused and tears came to her own eyes as she finished,

“And the finest woman I’ve ever known…ever.” With that she pulled Breena closer and hugged her as the two sobbed, feeling perhaps for the first time really connected, sister to sister. A few moments passed before Janey stood up and smiled, pulling Breena to her feet, saying,

“Now, dear sister, get those jeans and pullover off….Let’s just see how sexy you can look in that green number, aye?” Breena looked at the closet nervously before taking off her pullover, saying anxiously,

“Aye…”

---

The Olympus Diner…Saturday evening…

Paul sat across from Breena in the booth; they were in the far corner of the diner and the lighting was low, but not low enough to calm Breena’s anxiety. Paul was wearing a tan cord jacket over a blue button-down shirt and jeans. Brenna had settled on the green dress along with a white cardigan. A tall red haired girl of about nineteen or so came up to the booth and smiled at the two.

“Hi, I’m Marcie, I’ll be your waitress tonight; can I get you somethin’ to drink?”

“Diet Coke for me, please, and..?” He looked at Breena who looked back at him nervously and put her head down.

“The same,” she said, nearly in a whisper.

“I’ll be right back,” Marcie said and was gone.

“I’m very glad you decided to come tonight.” Paul said with a smile. Breena looked at him and smiled weakly. Her face grew warm and she could feel a bit of a quiver in her lips.

“We can go to another restaurant if you like if….” Paul shrugged his shoulders and sighed.

“If we go out again, that is.” He laughed softly and Breena turned her head slightly toward the window.

“There’s a really good Chinese restaurant over on 4th Street.”

“I’ve not had Chinese in a while.” Breena said.

“Well, consider that for our next date, if I may presume.”

“Presume all you want,” she thought to herself. This was the first date ever for Breena, if you didn’t count the time Sean took out Moira Connelly when ‘he’ was thirteen. She thought about the prospects of seeing Paul again and her face grew red and her lip quivered even more.

“Now, if you don’t care for Chinese, there’s a really good pizza place not far from your house. Do you like Italian?” He smiled warmly and he put his hand out. He pulled it back quickly, but not before his hand brushed hers. She shrugged and shook her head before blurting out,

“I’m a transsexual.” She bit her lower lip softly and began to shake. Paul tilted his head slightly and smiled; almost as if he hadn’t heard her.

“What did you say?” His voice was soft and had no hint of the accusation she expected. She kept her head lowered and said softly,

“I like Italian.”

“Before that,” he said with a soft laugh; not mean but almost playful and certainly warm and accepting. She lifted her head slightly and revealed the tears that had begun to well in her eyes.

“I’m…I’m a transsexual.” She lowered her head onced more as the waitress came with their drinks. As she put them on the table she noticed Breena had lowered her head and turned her face toward the window once again. Paul shook his head slightly and Marcie said,

“I’ll give you two some more time, okay?” With that she walked away.

“Breena, look up at me, please?” He was tempted to cup her chin softly, but even that gesture would have been intimidating. A moment later she lifted her head, revealing a tear stained face.

“Listen, please, okay? I’m not like that.” Paul said it softly with a hint of regret in his voice.

“That’s why I’m crying, Mr. Giambrone. I expect you’ll be takin’ me home now. May I have a ride home, please?”

“Why go home…what do you mean?” He asked.

“You’re not like that…I understand. Not used to datin’ girls like me, aye?? Well…I’m sorry.” She put her head down once again.

“No…not that way…I’m sorry…here.” This time he did cup her chin, gently as he had first intended. Apart from the brief brush of his hand against her fingers moments before, it was the first time any man had ever touched her.

“You know I was married?”

“Yes, Michael told me.”

“She died a few years ago…cancer…it was quick.” He sighed and it was his turn to look away at the window. She reached out and touched his hand; not in a ‘date-to-date’ way, but as the woman who raised two children with virtually no help and a lot of love and kindess.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” Even still, she became nervous once again and withdrew her hand quickly.

“Would you like to see a picture of her?” He was reaching for his wallet even as he asked the question. Pulling a photo out of a clear pocket he held it out in his palm as a display.

“This was taken on our second anniversary.” He smiled and her eyes widened.

“Michael said your wife came from the old country….Dublin?” Breena looked back at the picture. Paul Giambrone was hugging his wife at the side as they both smiled at the camera. Her features were soft and pretty and her skin was dark as was her hair.

“Her father was an engineer from Nigeria; her mother was a chemist in Dublin. They met at university and fell in love. He was killed in a car accident when she was seven. Katy and her mom came to the States when she was about twelve.” Breena sighed. How could she even think of wanting a widower who had lovely wife?

“She’s very pretty. Again, I am so sorry for your loss,” Breena repeated herself as she stared at the photo.

“She had never really dealt with rejection until she came here. She was still trying to cope with the loss of her father, and then she never fit in, rejected by two sets of heritages in a strange culture. I met her in college, and she still bore some ‘scars.’

“I don’t understand.” Paul knew she would have added ‘how does this apply to me,’ if she wasn’t looking at the dinnerware on the table.

“We’re all different, Breena. All of us. Some of us are different on the inside. Some of us are different on the outside. Some of us are different both ways. Which makes us all the same, I suppose.”

“I don’t understand.” Breena had started to cry; still somewhat over her own hurts, but also for the loss this man still felt. And she felt so small and insecure; as if she didn’t matter when placed side by side with this woman; an ideal she would never achieve.

“What I’m trying to say, Breena, is it doesn’t matter to me.” He looked out the window, almost seeking something more than the distraction of moments ago.

“You’re a lot like her.” Breena tilted her head and her eyes widened in question.

“She was someone who…maybe because of her insecurity, but only a little bit…she placed everyone’s needs above her own. And she used to act put out even as she sought to help more and more. Like you, from what Michael told me.” She blushed as she wiped her face with her sweater sleeve.

“And she was pretty like you as well.” The pink in her cheeks grew red and very warm and she started to cry.

“Breena…I already knew.” He smiled but there was sadness in his eyes.

“What do you mean, you already knew.” She shuddered and it was almost as she had shrunk as she lowered in the booth.

“Michael told me after you agreed to see me.” Her face tightened, more out of shame than anger until he continued,

“He wanted me to know because I was going to find out, and he didn’t want you to feel embarrassed if turned you away after I found out. He was trying to spare your feelings.’’

“And this is what he calls sparing my feelings. When were you going to tell me?” She said with a tinge of anger in her voice, but her head was down, almost ashamed.

“After dinner tonight, I was planning on asking you out on another date, but…” He paused. She looked up and frowned in fear

“But now that you’ve met me? Well, I’ll be askin’ you to take me home so as I don’t embarrass you any more, Mister Paul Giambrone!”

“You don’t understand. And you don’t know me. If I was at all worried or ashamed of you, we wouldn’t have been sitting here in the first place, Breena. I knew and I asked you out anyway…doesn’t that mean something?” He stopped.

“No…I suppose it doesn’t. I see the same look of shame in your eyes that Katy wore even up to the day she died. You don’t have anything to be ashamed of. You’re a very nice person, Breena McCarthy, and I’m sorry you have been hurt and feel this way. You deserved more than what you’ve gotten, but I can’t change that other than to let you know I know ‘what’ you are and it doesn’t make a damn bit of difference to me.”

Paul was more than a bit angry, but it wasn’t at her. He lowered his tone and leaned closer, once again cupping her chin. Leaning over he said softly,

“And I suppose there’s only one way to show you just what I mean.” He stood up and leaned over the table and kissed her, not hard or erotic or sexual, but still a boy to girl kiss; Breena’s first ever. She smiled weakly before bursting into tears.

Paul sat down and held her hands in his, rubbing them gently. She looked up and blinked back some tears and looked straight at him; her eyes questioning whether or not what just took place had actually happened. A moment later she sighed and bit her lip once again as his hand touched her cheeks sofly, brushing away some stray tears. Marcie came back and Paul turned to her. She smiled and looked at Breena before saying in a near whisper.

“Take all the time you like; just wave when you’re ready to order, okay?” Paul nodded and Marcie, or rather Fiona turned around and walked back to the kitchen, breathing out a relieved sigh.

Girl Child
You're dancing with the stream
Growing with the silver trees
Your young questions
You ask me what it means
Oh, but I am not at ease

Next: How about that?

---

Broken Wings
Words and Music by
Dougie MacLean
As performed by Cherish the Ladies
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=El5FBBAM160