I laugh. Kailee has this sort of dramatic, theatrical way about her. It’s hilarious to see in someone so young. Every day she says something that just cracks me up.
I pour coffee in my thermos—just coffee—and we leave the house. I can shower at the station.
2
I Didn’t See It Coming
Kailee’sin the passenger seat of my pickup, her tiny body strapped down by a seatbelt. We’re chatting. Just a few miles to gramma’s now. I hate to say it but I’m looking forward to dropping her off. My head’s killing me. It’ll be nice to have those thirty minutes to myself, the radio, and that first cigarette of the morning—nothing quite like it.
“Daddy?”
“Baby, I’m gonna need you to chew, swallow, andthenask me your question.
Kailee makes quick work of the powdered donut, and then resumes her inquiry. “Why is the new boy so tall?”
“Who’s the new boy, honey?”
“His name’s Jeremy.”
“This is a new student at your school?”
“Yup. He’s from Buffalo, New York.
“Jeremy from Buffalo, New York,” I mutter, as I come to a stop sign. In my rearview mirror I notice a pesky little sedan—I think it’s a Saturn—that’s been nipping at my heels for the last half mile or so. This guy better stop tailgating me.
“Sweetie,” I say, “can you pass daddy a donut?”
“You want the boring kind?”
“It’s not boring, it’s just plain, and yes, please.”
Kailee reaches into the white paper bag and pulls out a cake donut. I dip it in my coffee—I’ve got the thermos between my thighs—and take a bite. Delicious. I love the way the donut instantly sucks up the coffee and gets soggy. I take another bite, every cell in my body humming with appreciation for the sustenance, and I listen to my daughter talk.
“The teacher asked him how the drive was because he told the class his mom and dad drove all the way to Chicago and he said—um—and he said it waslong, and he said it just like that—he said,lonnngggg—and everybody was laughing and even Miss Lambrick thought it was funny.”
“What about you?”
“Whataboutme?”
“Did you think it was funny?”
I glance over at Kailee whose face is scrunched up in thoughts. After a beat, she says, “I don’t remember,” and shrugs. She’s staring serenely out the window now, which is only open a crack. A few strands of her hair are caught up in the wind. She looks wistful, full of wisdom, like a miniature adult—and, as usual, heartbreakingly adorable. It’s a grey, damp morning in February. The air is salty and heavy, and it feels like on this day nothing could possibly go wrong.
“Do you like this boy?” My eyes are back on the road—well, the road and my rearview mirror. The Saturn is still in my orbit. He needs to back off or I’m gonna start going 15 mph, see how he likes it.
Kailee giggles. “I don’t know. I don’t even know him.”
I smile even as I fight back a wave of nausea. Cast another quick glance in Kailee’s direction. She’s looking into her lap and playing with her fingers—kids can find enjoyment in almost anything, I tell ya. She’s thinking and I get the feeling it’s about this Jeremy. I’ve got the window down and the air rushing in makes me more aware of the sweat that’s beading on my temple. Good. Sweating the booze out. My old sergeant used to say that sweating was the key to getting over a night of heavy drinking.
My hearts racing. I really do need to cut back on the hard stuff. Stick with beer. I’ll be a beer man from now on. But there is the beer gut, which could be a concern. I’m used to staying in shape. The Army will do that to you. I’m in my thirties now, and getting a little more pudge around the middle. It’s the drinking, and the late-night frozen pizzas. It’s not like I don’t know what the problem is. And I’m gonna get my act together. Start getting up early again to do calisthenics and meditate. Try to get a head-start on my anxiety before the day really gets going. I’ve always been that type—I can mess around for a while and let things slide, but when it’s time to get down to business, I’ll bust my ass and do what needs doing.
Yeah, I’m fine. I’ve just been in a funk lately. That’s all.
What an ugly day. Dirty snow in piles lines the streets. Chicago looks like an ash-tray this time of year.
I just need that cigarette. And those thirty minutes to clear my head.
* * *
