“I appreciate that.”
“Of course, I was calling to congratulate you, but I also wanted to let you know I’ll be in Dallas next week. Would you like to get together?”
I peek around the corner of the house before I answer, like my family can actually hear me with all the noise they make. I pull my head back and lean against the side wall. “Yes, I’d love that.”
“Great, I’ll touch base and let you know when I’ll be there. And, Jordie, I love you so much.”
Closing my eyes, I smile and say, “I love you too, Mom.”
After disconnecting, I pocket my phone and return to my family with mixed feelings and secrets in my heart.
Because they can never, under any circumstances, find out I’ve been in contact with our mother for the past six months.
CHAPTER NINE
Apples and trouble
Phoenix
“Daddyyyyyy!”
I smile as I straighten my tie in the mirror. For being so tiny, my daughter is awfully loud.
“Coming,” I call back, leaving my room in my shirtsleeves, pants, and tie. I’ll put my suit jacket on before I leave for work. “Where are you, Reecie?” I ask, entering her room and finding it empty.
“On the potty!” she bellows, and I chuckle as I cross her pink-and-purple polka-dot rug and find her in the bathroom.
“What’s up, gremlin?”
My beautiful little girl blows out a breath so exasperated, you’d think she’d been asked to solve the national deficit. “I’m trying to poopy, but it won’t come out.” She turns her round blue eyes up to me. “Will you rub my tummy?”
“Of course, baby,” I tell her, kneeling beside the toilet and placing my hand on her belly. Then I rub small, firm circles until her pooping endeavors are successful.
“Thank you, Daddy. You’re the best daddy in the whole world,” she tells me as we stand side by side and wash our hands in the dual sinks, Reece on a small stool so she can reach.
I smile at her in the mirror and try not to cry. Her sweetnessoverwhelms me, and she has no idea how much her simple words do for my heart. As a single father, I’m constantly second-guessing myself on every decision I make.
“And you’re the best gremlin in the world,” I say before blowing a kiss at her. “I’ll make you some oatmeal for breakfast. It has lots of fiber, and that helps soften up everything in your stomach and make it easier to go to the bathroom.”
“Can I have some honey on my oatmeal?” she asks, her nose scrunching a little.
“Sure, baby girl. And I’ll cut you up some strawberries. They have a lot of fiber too.” I scroll through my mind to remember the vegetables Reece’s pediatrician recommended. “What veggie do you want for lunch? Carrots or broccoli?”
“Ummm.” We dry our hands as she contemplates this most important decision. “What about cauliflower? Does it have fiver?”
“Fiber,” I correct. “And yes. Cauliflower is very good for you. I’ll tell Gracie to make you some.”
Gracie is our chef. I can cook, but she does come in to make lunches for Reece and Lorraine and to meal prep for our dinner.
While my daughter gets dressed, I go downstairs to prepare her breakfast. As I’m cutting the strawberries, I yell up the stairs, “Reece! Breakfast!”
I listen for the sound of footsteps, but when I don’t hear her, I place her plate on the table and go upstairs to find out why she’s being so quiet. That’s never a good sign. That assumption is proven correct when I find my four-year-old in my bedroom, kneeling on the floor beside the nightstand, steadily drawing on the pale wood-plank wall.
“Reece Annette Hale! What are you doing?”
She looks up with giant blue eyes full of innocence, though she’s anything but. “I was drawing something for you.”
My eyes drop to the graffiti, and I let out a sigh, shoving a hand through my hair. Two stick figures, one large and one small, that are apparently supposed to be her and me, decorate the wood. Beneath that, in her childlike scrawl, she’d written: I luv Daddy.
