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In the same tone I said, “Maybe.” Then, aloud, to Tamantha, “Tell Madison her sister should try some of the really old movies about the Titanic. Like Night to Remember and another one named Titanic. Did you know there was a German propaganda film during World War II about the sinking? It told the story of a lone, brave German officer who saved everyone who survived while everyone else panicked from cowardice.”
“That’s not what happened,” Tamantha protested.
“Homework?” Tom asked.
“I’m done. I was working ahead.” The girl is remarkably mature and disciplined about some things, but I guessed this incidence of added devotion offered a preferable alternative to her grandparents.
“Good. But it’s time for bed now.”
She didn’t argue, but she didn’t head down the hall, either. She eyed me.
“You could stay tonight and take me to school in the morning,” she said.
Not a command.
I barely stopped myself from placing my palm on her forehead to know if she was running a fever. Not sure I would have known using that method unless she reached a stove-hot temperature.
At the same time I caught Tom’s tightened mouth, but no heightened worry in his eyes.
That translated to no fever, but, rather, a grandparents hangover.
“I can’t, kiddo. Shadow’s at the town house alone,” I fudged, because he might be, although the odds were against it.
“Iris and Zeb could take care of him overnight.”
“And they do in an emergency,” Tom said. Making it clear this wasn’t an emergency.
“He’s my dog. Not only is he my responsibility to take care of, I want to take care of him.”
A furrow tucked between her brows. Not confusion or worry, but a contraction from the wheels behind it whirring so fast. For a flash, I thought I could see her as a woman my age, with a majorly responsible job — possibly keeping the free world rolling along — and that tuck would appear and with it the comfort of knowing all of us in the free world could rest easy.
“Because that’s the kind of person you are,” she said.
While resisting looking at her father, I felt certain her phrase came from him, and likely in conjunction with the work I did. Journalism and the side-gig with murders.
“That’s right. Like your dad, who does so many things to help people around the county.”
She didn’t say, Yeah, yeah impatiently, but she sped past the concept of her father because she had no sliver of doubt in the bedrock of her certainty that he loved her. But I was a newer commodity. And her grandparents reminded her to doubt.
“Me, too? I’m your responsibility and you want to take care of me?”
Okay, not quite ready to keep the free world rolling along on her own. Maybe by fifth grade. Right now, after the awkward strain of the conversation with her grandparents she needed a little reassurance.
“Absolutely.”
I braced for the then-do-what-I-want argument, with another round of the neighbors can take care of Shadow and they give him more treats anyway, so he loves it there.
Instead, she said. “Okay. Give Shadow a hug for me.”
“Will do.” I gushed with relieved enthusiasm.
“Tell him it’s my hug,” she instructed, not satisfied I took my pledge seriously enough.
“I will.”
“See you tomorrow. Good night.” She hugged me. I hugged back, a demonstration of my skill which I hoped would allay any concerns that I would not represent her well with Shadow. “Good night, Daddy.”
“I’ll be in later.”
