Heritage (Forgotten Origins Trilogy Book #2)

Chapter Two

TWO

 

 

I just stand there staring at the Professor for so long, that his smile wavers.  Now that I’m here, I really don’t know how to start the conversation.  The awkward silence continues to draw out and I finally smile back tentatively.  That small gesture is all he needs, and the Professor steps forward, eagerly taking my hand in both of his.

“I know I behaved badly, Alex.  But, please give me a chance to explain.  Come inside and meet Susan, have some tea with us.”  I see his expression soften even further at the mention of his wife, and the last of my trepidation fades.  I allow myself to be led inside, looking out at the woods and smiling briefly first to let Chris know that things are okay.

The house is still as large and open inside as I remember it, but the big stone fireplace sits cold in comparison to the furnace it was the last time.  We go to sit on the over-stuffed leather furniture arranged in front of it and I am glad to be next to the huge wall of A-frame windows.  The Professor obviously understands why I might not trust him, and he chooses to sit in the chair furthest from my own.  I appreciate the space.

Once more, we stare silently at each other.  Professor Hassan drops his gaze, looking at his hands as he nervously toys with the long strands of yarn dangling from the scarf around his neck.  I have a feeling he always wears one, no matter what the weather is like.  Clearing his throat, he pushes at the small glasses perched on his large hooked nose and hangs his head even further.

“There is nothing I can say or do to make up for the way I let you down.  I dishonored your father’s memory and the ways of the Khufu Bast.  I broke our most solemn vow and for that, there is no penance.  I was completely distraught, Alex,” he continues, now meeting my gaze.  “My wife was gone, our world was gone and the sacred mission of the Khufu Bast lost.  What I saw in that virus tested me as a man, and I failed.  It made me question all that I believed and I took the coward’s way out.”  Tears welling in his eyes, he stands with some effort and walks to the fireplace.  Placing his hands on the mantle, he rests his forehead against them.

“I have no right to ask you for forgiveness, Alex,” he says quietly, his back still to me.  Shoulders slumping even further, I hear a soft sob and realize how deep his shame is.  His sorrow pulls at my heart and I know that in order to move forward, I have to do what I think my father would want.  This man was his friend and mentor and, although everything he just said was true, it didn’t mean he was a bad person.  Just human.

“Professor,” I say, crossing the space between us to place a hand on his sagging shoulder.  “What happened was more than anyone could have expected.  There was no way to prepare for that.  I know that you feel like you didn’t do your part in stopping the Holocene virus, but you actually did help.”  At this, he turns to look at me.  His glasses are fogged, sliding down to the end of his red nose.  I can see the look of hope in his dark, intelligent eyes.

“I don’t know how much you remember, but the information you gave us that night was crucial.  I might not have figured it all out without you.”  I might be stretching it a bit, but only a little. The effect this has on him is dramatic.  His shoulders straighten and he sighs heavily as if a huge weight has been lifted from him.  Smiling, he removes his glasses and wipes absently at them with his scarf, reminding me of that dark night not so long ago.

“You are a very gracious child,” he says with admiration.  “So much like your father.”  A door opening grabs both of our attention and we look to the back of the house, through the open country-style kitchen. 

Walking onto the stone tile with a basket full of small carrots is an attractive woman who looks to be in her late fifties.  I recognize her immediately from the painting in the family room as the Professor’s wife, Susan.  Setting the basket down on the kitchen island, she kicks off her crocs and runs both hands through her short, auburn hair.  “You have got to be Alex Mubarak!” Susan exclaims, smoothing down her blouse as she crosses the room with quick, purposeful strides.  Smiling at me, she holds out her hand, reminding me of my Grandma Fisher in Nebraska.  I instantly like her.