He lifted her so high she had to stand on pointe. Anything to get closer, to look at him, touch him, kiss him.
Paul burrowed in her neck. “You saved her. You saved my little girl.”
“Oh, Paul, I have to tell you.” She settled down to her heels and pulled back. Her chest ached, but she had to be honest. “I promised never to be separated from her, but I put her in a lifeboat and—”
“Mom told me.” He tugged her close again with a soft smile. “I went to the house first. She told me you sacrificed your seat to a pregnant widow. Then you—my plucky, generous, beautiful ballerina bookseller—you stayed alive on that sinking ship.”
The admiration in Paul’s eyes washed away all worries and doubts.
“I love you more than ever,” he said, his voice rough. “I’ll always be grateful for how you took care of my girl. Our girl.”
Then he blinked and gazed around. “Where is she? Mom said you were both—”
“She’s playing in the storeroom.”
The record had stopped, the needle bouncing as the turntable spun.
Josie stood inside the storeroom door, still and staring, a too-big costume puddled about her feet.
Paul squeezed Lucie’s waist, released her, and approached his daughter. “Hello, jelly bean.”
A tiny gasping sob.
Paul ran to her, lifted her in his arms, and kissed her. “My little girl. My little girl.”
Lucie’s vision blurred, and she pressed her hand over her mouth.
“Daddy? It’s you?”
“Yes, it’s me. I’m home. I’m here.”
Josie clung to his neck. “You’re here.”
Paul rocked her in a circle. “Tell me a story. Tell me about Feenee and her magical wings and her colorful hair and her horn.”
Josie gave a wet little giggle. “Daddy?”
Paul pressed his nose to hers. “I was bored on my trip, but you know what I did? I read your stories. You kept me company, kept me happy. Because you’re so creative and clever.”
Josie hunched her shoulders and giggled.
Lucie’s smile wobbled behind her hand, wet with tears. Only a year before, he hadn’t known what to do with his creative daughter. Now he knew.
Paul’s expression sobered. He beckoned Lucie over, then gazed at Josie. “You should also know Feenee saved my life.”
“She did?” Her tiny nose wrinkled. “How?”
Lucie wrapped her hand around Paul’s arm in his gray suit. “Yes, how?”
“By giving your Feenee stories to a rock-monster, Daddy was able to get away from that rock-monster.”
Lucie’s breath caught, and she hugged his arm tight.
Paul gave her a significant, I’ll-tell-you-later look. They both had stories to exchange, but not in front of the child.
With a long sigh, Paul turned to Josie again. “I’m afraid that means I lost your stories. I’m so sorry.”
Josie shrugged one shoulder. “I wrote those when I was four. Tomorrow I’ll be five, and I’ll write better stories.”
