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He took the bear, grateful for the change in his daughter, and followed her to the TV. Cartoon characters he’d never seen before who seemed to live under the water flashed on the screen. How weird was that? He edged down beside her on the sofa. “So, tell me about this show. Who is SpongeBob?”
Relief whirled around him as he listened to her animated description of what seemed to be a bunch of characters making Krabby Patties while hurling insults at each other and throwing things. But he really didn’t care about the storyline as long as Emma seemed content and was not crying. For now, he was happy to sit with her, watch her as she pointed and laughed at the antics of the characters.
It would seem that the program ran four episodes back-to-back each day after school, according to the onscreen guide.
Carefully he eased back on the sofa, hoping that Emma might snuggle next to him for a few minutes. Before long, she glanced at him, her gaze shifting to his lap. He took that to mean she wanted him to hold her. When he opened his arms, she climbed onto his lap, and not too long after, she fell asleep on his shoulder.
What should he do now? Would she sleep until her bedtime, then stay awake half the night crying for Lisa, or worse, her mother? He didn’t have any idea and it frightened him. All he could be sure of was that, for now, things were quiet.
A little later, she awoke suddenly, rubbed her eyes. “I’m hungry,” she said, sitting up straight and staring at him.
“What would you like to eat?” he asked.
“Tomato soup and crackers,” she said, sliding off his lap and heading to the kitchen, dragging Blackie the bear behind her.
“Can I have some, too?” he asked, following her to the kitchen.
She raised her arms up to him. “Yes. But only four crackers,” she said, holding up four fingers as he lifted her into his arms.
“Do you help Lisa make dinner?”
“Yes. I sit there.” She pointed to the stool closest to the kitchen sink.
“Want to sit there now?” he asked.
“Yes.”
He was pleased to make her dinner and watch as she slurped the soup. He didn’t realize that little kids liked soup, but his daughter certainly did. Upstairs, he ran a bath and helped Emma into it. He sat on the floor beside the tub and watched as she splashed and played with plastic fish and other assorted creatures.
Wanting to get her to bed so he could relax for a while, he held out a towel to Emma. “I think it’s time to get out of the tub, don’t you?”
For a minute, her lips formed a pout and he held his breath.
Please don’t cry. Please.
“Yes!” Emma’s face lit up with a smile. He scooped her up and started down the hall to her bedroom.
“We’ll get you into your pajamas, and then I’ll read you a story,” he said.
She pointed to her mother’s room as they reached the door. Oh. No. “You want to go in there?” he asked, preparing himself for the onslaught of tears he was certain would erupt if they went into Deidre’s room. “Are you sure you don’t want to get your pajamas on now? We could look in your mother’s room later.”
Emma gave her head a vigorous shake sending damp curls cascading over her face.
“Okay.” He carried her into the room, the evening sky spreading shades of pink and gold across the cream-colored duvet.
Emma pointed to the mantel over the fireplace.
“Mommy’s photo. You want to look at that,” he said, dreading what would happen next.
Emma reached toward the mantel, picking up the photo of him next to the one of Deidre. “Daddy,” she said, hugging it close, her thumb making its way into her mouth, but not before she smiled into his face.
His heart slowed to a steady thump as he held her tight in his arms. His life seemed to stand still as he met his daughter’s gaze. An emotion he couldn’t name swamped him, and he knew only that he’d never felt it before. “Yes. Daddy,” he said, as tears of joy ran unfettered down his face.
