She didn’t deserve this responsibility, helping her broke-dick daddy run a house and a ranch and raise her sisters, but still, she had it, and it didn’t seem as if she was going to give it up.
“That sounds perfect. You didn’t have to do that, but it’s very sweet.”
She came over, bare feet padding on the hardwood floor. It sang under her weight, a happy tune in direct opposition to his mood. She sat the paper plate down on the TV tray someone had set up for him. Her bright red hair was in a long, messy braid, her T-shirt was spattered with grease, her shorts were too short, and want lines creased her forehead.
He remembered once upon a time when she used to laugh a lot, but it hadn’t been forever. She was so much like him it hurt.
And she worried.
It about killed him.
“How are your sisters doing?”
“They’re fine. Sarah’s in the attic reading. Rachel’s watching TV—some cartoon on Nick Jr. I fed everybody breakfast. Rachel had cereal. Sarah had toast.”
He smiled at her, hoping to get one in return. “And you, sweetheart? What did you have?”
She didn’t crack a bit. “I had coffee.”
“You are too little for coffee, Rebekkah Ann!”
She rolled her eyes like thrown dice. “Daddy, if I can make the coffee, I can drink the coffee.”
“Don’t you sass me, girl.” He winked at her, trying not to feel like a total loser.
It wasn’t like he’d been lazing about in the bed.
He’d had to take a pain pill at midnight—he allowed himself one a day. Even with the help, the pain had woken him at six, and he’d gotten up, he’d taken a shower, but then he’d had to sit for a while before getting his back brace back on. The worst part was the tired.
Well, the pain was pretty good, but the pain he could handle.
The real thing was how everything seemed to exhaust him.
And he’d been up since six. Now it was eight-thirty, and his babies were up, and his oldest girl was making breakfast and coffee.
“You need help putting your shirt on?” she asked.
He managed a tiny nod. “If you could just help me get the arms in, and then I’ll be ready to come and sit with y’all. Maybe we’ll go out and feed.”
“Somebody came and did it this morning, Daddy. They brought a casserole too for supper. She said I’m doing real good on the house. She said I could be—” Bekka stopped and shook her head.
“What, baby? You could be what?”
She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “It don’t matter, Daddy. We don’t have the money for stuff like Girl Scouts and all. You know that. I know that.”
He couldn’t even shrug because she was right. He didn’t have insurance. He wasn’t working, and everyone knew—you don’t work, you don’t get paid, and what little savings they had was getting eat up. “We’ll figure something out, baby. You know your daddy will always figure something out.”
She smiled at him, nodded, but her eyes were sad because she knew, just like he did, that it was a lie.
If he were honest with himself, and he tried to always be honest with himself, his five-year-old was the only one who wasn’t disappointed in him right now, and that was because she hadn’t learned to be. It would happen.
“Hey, Daddy, you got your whole brace on all by yourself. That’s pretty cool. You couldn’t do that yesterday. You had to get the home health nurse to come and do it.”
His eleven-year-old knew about home health nurses. “Well, the nurse is off today.”
“What about Bart? He comes sometimes.”
Bart came around a lot. The volunteer firefighter was a good man, had a deft hand with horses and an easy smile. He was a sweetheart.
