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She tugs on my arm, her eyes wide and pleading. “Can I come with you? Please?”
I turn away from the kitchen counter and look down at her. “Sweetie, we talked about this. Remember?”
Her little lip juts out, and I already feel myself weakening. Man. I’m going to be in trouble as she gets older if I can’t even hold up to this kind of pressure.
But then again, my daughter has mastered the art of giving me sad puppy-dog eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she practiced it.
“But, Dad. I just want to see her. Please?”
“I know you do, Laila. But Miss Thea still isn’t feeling well. She needs lots of quiet.”
Laila gives me an affronted look. “I can be quiet.” At the skeptical raise of my eyebrows, she explains, “My table group got the most stars all year. And Mrs. Collins never gave stars when kids were being loud.”
Pressing her advantage, she whips a large handmade card from behind her back. “And I made Miss Thea a get-well card. I just want to give it to her. And tell how sorry I am that she got hurt.”
My heart squeezes as I look at the careful printing on the front of the card and the little drawing of a person surrounded by books, who I’m assuming is supposed to be Thea. “It looks really good. When did you make this, sweetie?”
Her chest puffs out adorably. “I’ve been working on it every day since you told me she got hurt. It took a long time because of all the books. And I had to draw Miss Thea a bunch of times cause I kept messing up.”
Well, crap. How can I tell my daughter she can’t give the card she painstakingly made to her favorite librarian?
But as well-behaved as Laila is, she’s still only seven and does have a tendency to yell when she gets excited. And even though Thea is doing much better than she was a few days ago, loud noises are the last thing she needs.
“What about your gran? I thought you’re supposed to make cookies after I drop you off at her house?”
She shrugs dismissively. “We can make cookies next time.”
I make a shocked face at her and clutch my chest in mock astonishment. “Is this my child? Turning down the opportunity to bake cookies?”
“Yes.” Seeming much older than her seven years, Laila pins her hazel gaze on me. “I’ll be quiet. I promise. And I can help you carry the presents you bought. Can I please come?”
Folding like a house of cards in a hurricane, I say, “Let me text Miss Thea and see what she says. But if she’s not feeling well, you’ll have to go to your gran’s.”
While Laila watches me intently, I send a message to Thea.
Hey. Laila is asking to come see you. She made you a card. But if you’re not feeling up to it… she says she’ll be quiet but there’s no guarantee.
Only seconds after the message goes through, she sends her reply.
Of course. I’m feeling much better and would love to see Laila.
Thea may say she’s feeling better, but I’m not entirely convinced. When I saw her yesterday, she was still wincing at the overhead light in the kitchen and the shadows under her eyes were as dark as ever. So, I’ll be keeping a close eye on her.
“Well?” Laila yanks on my sleeve. “Can I come?”
“You can come.” I wince at her exuberant cheer. “But do not do that where you’re there. Got it?”
“Yes.” Wide-eyed again, she nods at me. “I’ll be quiet as a mouse.”
The entire way to Thea’s, Laila non-stop talks about her. About how she can’t wait to see how many books Miss Thea has, what her house looks like, does she have any pets, and will she be willing to share the candy that’s packed into the tote I’m bringing.
“Those gifts are for Miss Thea,” I remind her sternly. “Do not ask her to share them.”
I’m having serious doubts about bringing Laila as we walk up to Thea’s front door. Under normal circumstances, my daughter is well-behaved, but she adores books and the library and story times and Thea is basically like a superhero to her.
But when Thea opens the door for us, Laila goes silent and solemn.
“Hi Ben.” Thea smiles at me before quickly shifting her gaze to Laila. “Laila. I’m so glad you came to keep me company.”
