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We headed toward Main Street to the tune of her conversation. I say hers because I could barely get a word in. I couldn’t figure out how she still had this much energy. I’d thrown her around in the pool for two full hours—enough time that I was exhausted. Granted, I’d done all the work. Chucking a soaking wet four-year-old was, without a doubt, better than arm day. I wondered how she’d wind down—it’d either be a tantrum or a dead fall to the ground.
Whatever it would be, it’d probably happen the second I started the engine of my truck. And then I’d have to drive around for an hour or risk her waking up after a ten-minute nap and ruining her day—and everybody around her, if she had her way.
“Why does Abuela not have hair?” she asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Well,” I started, choosing my words carefully, “Abuela was really sick, and the medicine made her hair fall out. It’s just starting to grow back.”
“Abuela was sick?” Her voice was quiet, worried.
“Yes, but she’s okay now.”
“Will you get sick too?”
I swallowed the knot in my throat. “I hope not, bug.”
“Will Mommy get sick? Will her hair fall out?”
I stopped and knelt down to her level. “You don’t have to worry about any of that, okay? Everyone’s safe.”
“I don’t want you to get sick, Daddy,” she said with such concern, my heart tore open.
Because I could get sick. Mom could get sick again. Even Priscilla had a good chance of it, thanks to me.
“I know. But you know what Abuela always tells me?”
“What?”
“That today is the most important day we will ever live. We can’t spend every today worrying about tomorrow, or we would always be sad, like you are now.”
She nodded. “I don’t like being sad.”
“Me neither. Especially not days like today that I get to spend with you. I’m too happy to be sad.”
She brightened up. “I make you happy?”
“You sure do. Like when you laugh, like this.” I tickled her until she wriggled away from me, then launched herself at me to tickle under my chin.
I laughed from sheer surprise.
“Can we get pokkacicles?” she asked in the sharp change of subject she seemed to favor.
“Get what?”
She rolled her eyes and looked exactly like Presley when she did it. “A pokkacicle, Daddy. You lick it.” Except lick sounded like wick. She stuck her tongue out and licked an imaginary popsicle in case I hadn’t picked up what she was putting down.
“Ah, gotcha.” I stood and offered my hand, which she took. “I thought you wanted pie?”
“I want pie and a pokkacicle.”
“You had three popsicles at Abuela’s. Let’s stick to pie.”
She huffed. “I can have a wollipock?”
“I don’t have a lollipop. Can’t we just have pie?”
“I want booooth,” she whined.
I recognized the signs of impending freakout and scooped her up. “How about we go see Mama and then go watch a show.”
She stilled, watching me with suspicion. “On the iPad?”
“On the iPad.”
With a sigh, she conceded, but added, “Abuela will give me pokkacicle.”
“You’re probably right.”
With another sigh, she leaned into me, tucking her head in the crook of my neck. Her body relaxed, and I wondered if she was going to fall asleep like this and if so, how the hell I was going to keep her asleep without moving her or losing an arm from lack of blood flow.
But first, Presley.
I smiled as I turned to keep on toward Bettie’s, but almost immediately, that smile slid off my face and onto the ground.
Because standing there in front of me on the sidewalk was Marnie.
We stared at each other like idiots, with me shocked too stupid to know how to react and her taking in the sight of me with Priscilla in my arms.
Before either of us found any words, Priscilla sat up.
“Hi, lady. You know my daddy?”
Her face flushed red. “I … Yes.”
“So no stranger! You got a wollipock?”
“I … uh … um, no. But I think I have a … a hard candy.”
Priscilla wiggled like bag of snakes, then went limp so I’d put her down. She ran over to Marnie, who had knelt to put her purse on the ground so she could dig through it.
“Ah! Here it is. Do you like butterscotch?”
Priscilla nodded like a greedy little bobblehead.
Marnie laughed.
I had an out-of-body experience.
She handed the candy over, laughing when Priscilla snatched it and tore at it like a wild animal.
“Here, let me help you,” Marnie offered, taking the candy so she could unwrap it. “Don’t swallow it, okay?”
“Okay,” Priscilla said sloppily around the candy, which took up most of her mouth. “I’m Cilla. Who are you?”
Marnie’s eyes cut to me before meeting Priscilla’s again. She stuck out her hand. “I’m Marnie. It’s nice to meet you.”
Priscilla pumped her hand like a champ. “Nice to meet you,” she echoed, carefully pronouncing each word. “Thank you for candy.”
