“Thank you.” Paul set Josie on the exam table.
Josie fiddled with her white undershirt. “When can I have a new mommy?”
“Not for a long time.” Paul straightened the blue hair bow that flopped onto Josie’s forehead.
Her big brown eyes glowed. “Where can I get one?”
“It doesn’t work that way. Daddy would have to meet a woman—a woman who doesn’t have a husband—and we would have to fall in love.”
Josie swung her legs. “She should be pretty and nice, and she should read me stories.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” He gave her a little smile.
“Like Miss Gee-jard!”
With effort, Paul suppressed his groan and grimace, and he refolded Josie’s blue dress lying on top of her slip and shoes. “Miss Girard is not an option.”
Josie’s face scrunched up. “Op-shun?”
How much explanation was needed to help her understand? “I like Miss Girard as a friend, but we don’t love each other like a husband and wife.”
Josie’s mouth slipped into a pout. “But I like her.”
“That’s why I take you to Children’s Hour.”
Her face reddened, and she kicked the exam table. “I want her to live in our house. She can sleep in my room.”
It definitely didn’t work that way. Paul grabbed one flailing foot. “No kicking.”
“But she came to our house.” Her voice rose in a whine. “I wanted to show her my room, but Madame Coudray took me away. It isn’t fair.”
He grasped the other foot. “Don’t argue with Madame Coudray. She knows best.”
“But I want Miss Gee-jard to live in our house. She likes my stories. You don’t!” She glared at him.
Paul planted his hands on the exam table on either side of his daughter and pinned her with his gaze. “Josephine Simone Aubrey, that is enough.”
Josie’s eyes widened and flooded. Her chin quivered.
His chest collapsed in on itself, and he pulled her into his arms and patted her back as she sobbed into his shoulder. Big, heavy sobs of a child who needed a story-loving mommy instead of a number-loving daddy. “I’m sorry, marshmallow. I know more about cars than about stories. But I do like your stories. I do. More importantly, I love you.”
The door opened, and Dr. Bentley Young entered with his white coat matching his wreath of white-blond hair. “There now, Miss Josephine. I promise. No needles or shots today.”
Without looking at his former friend, Paul set his sniffling girl on the table and dried her face with his handkerchief.
“I see Josephine is four years and four months. How is her health?”
Paul settled into a chair in the corner. “Fine. A few colds. The usual bumps and bruises.”
“Good.” Bentley smiled at Josie. “Bumps and bruises mean you’re playing outside in the fresh air. Now, this is my special light. I’ll use it to look in your ears and eyes and mouth.”
After Bentley showed Josie how his light worked, he conducted his exam with a soothing, cheerful manner. He listened to her heart and lungs, tickled her belly and made her giggle, and checked her reflexes and made her giggle even more.
Then Bentley leaned against the table and looked Paul in the eye for the first time. “How is her diet, Mr. Aubrey?”
“She gets her full ration, plus my cook brings cheese and meat from the country.”
The doctor scanned his clipboard. “She’s small for her age, but nothing to be concerned about. And she shows no signs of deficiencies. She’s in better health than most children in France these days.”
