The boy following her home was about fifteen, Sarah's age, wearing dirty, wrinkled camos that should've been in the laundry days ago. His lank, dark hair hung over his face and down to his chin. Definitely a loser in David's mind.
The wild barking of the dog down the street heralded Sarah's arrival. David tensed, prepared to move at the first sign of trouble. There she was, trudging up the hill. He hated her look of defeat; the way she put one foot in front of the other, muttering to herself, kicking at the weeds growing through the broken sidewalk. Her misery, but all his fault.
Hell, Anne, what have I done to your beautiful daughter? Two years was not enough time to get to know her. She's become someone you wouldn't recognize, wearing those god-awful clothes, and the way she paints her face white, with dark circles around her eyes, dark lipstick, and black nail polish. What's that all about? She’d cut her long blonde hair too short, and colored it green, for God's sake.
She had him completely baffled. His own up-bringing as an only child raised in wealth, more by tutors than continually absent parents, was piss-poor preparation for single-parenthood, and thirty-five was too late to start, especially with a daughter who was virtually a stranger to him.
Sarah sensed the boy's presence, David was sure of it, because she'd stop at intervals, and look around, wary and ready to run. Big city fears, honed to a sharp edge by necessity, and carried as baggage to a new place, were hard to forget. Even in a town as small and old-world as Eureka Springs.
Damn, it's hot.
Greedily, he drank from his glass and watched Sarah approach. Though autumn nights in the south tended to be cool, the daytime heat and humidity held on relentlessly.
The boy moved, keeping pace with her, but remained hidden.
If he touches her, I'll kill him. She's had too much pain in her life to deserve this.
Sarah stopped across the street to talk to the neighbor's dog, an ugly mix of Australian Shepherd and beagle, but beautiful to his soft-hearted daughter. The ruckus of his barking didn't deter her from pulling a treat from the pocket of her sweater and giving it to the dog through the fancy wrought-iron fence, one like all those fronting the old-style houses on the street.
She turned, saw him, waved, and headed over.
Where the hell did she get that ratty old sweater?
It sagged from her shoulders and hung to her knees.
"Hi, David."
They'd agreed on first names when she fought his marriage to her mother. 'Dad' was not an option then, nor had it become one with Anne's death.
"Welcome home. New cookies in the kitchen."
"What kind?"
"Macadamia Cranberry," he said, waiting for her to roll her eyes heavenward, playing her part in this daily game. He acknowledged her response with a grin. She always asked for 'normal' cookies, but he liked to experiment. So routinely, she expressed dismay when he presented her with something 'weird,' as she liked to call them.
Cooking was the only thing for which he'd ever developed a real passion. From a young age his obsession grew under the tutelage of the family chef who responded to the loneliness of a boy abandoned to staff by his globetrotting, absentee parents. Chef Don Leone, David recalled with affection. He thrived on the attention Don gave him and basked in the chef's praise when he got it right. When his father found out, aghast at the thought of a genius IQ being wasted on learning something so mundane, he fired the chef, but failed to quell his son's interest.
By the time David joined her in the kitchen, Sarah had poured two glasses of milk and arranged their snack on a plate. He smiled acceptance at this small gesture of hospitality. Their relationship had barely moved from the 'armed truce' stage, fostered by his marriage to her mother only two years ago, so he trod lightly.
Reaching for a cookie before he sat down, he glanced out the window. The boy still stood across the street.
Damned kid. Might as well get right to it.
"Sarah, there's something we need to talk about. I've noticed a boy about your age watching you walk home every afternoon. He has me worried, the way he sneaks behind the bushes, obviously not wanting you to know he's there. Do you know who it is?"
She appeared unconcerned. "Yeah, I've seen him. Logan somebody. I think he lives down the street. He's in my sophomore English class—a real tool. I see him every day in the cafeteria. He eats at a table with a girl and two other boys. I think they're his only friends." Shrugging noncommittally, she added, "He's harmless."
"How can you be sure? He lurks behind bushes. That's not normal."
"For him it is. He's the class geek. Nobody talks to him. Chill." She eyed him, assessing. "You're over-reacting again."
Again? When had I over-reacted?
"Well, nevertheless, I'm keeping an eye out for him." He reached for another cookie, noticing that Sarah had three. They weren't so weird after all. "Other than that, how was your day?"
The despondent way she slumped in her chair; her frown, while she played with some cookie crumbs on the table, foretold the tenor of her report.
She looked at him, resigned. "It sucked, just like it did yesterday and the day before, and the day before that. These kids don't like me. I don't fit in, no matter how I try."
"I'm sorry, kiddo. You'll make new friends. I know it will get better."
He cringed, mentally, at the false note in his voice. He knew how she felt. He'd been rejected in his youth because he was smarter than everybody else, so he knew it didn't get better.
"No, it won't. I'm the local newbie."
He raised an eyebrow and waited for the translation.
"The newcomer. Even though it's just the first year of high school, the kids in my classes already know each other. They grew up together in the only grade school in town. I'm an outsider."
Her voice resonated anger and bitterness. "It sure didn't help coming here after school started, either. All the groups were set and everybody knew who they were going to hang with. I hate it and it's all my fault."
Her fault?
It pained him to hear the tears in her voice. "How do you figure that? I'm the one who decided we should move here."
She rolled her eyes. "If I hadn't given you the 4-1-1 about the kids at my old school using weed and how their parents didn't care, we'd still be in Chicago, instead of this dumb old town. I didn't know you'd flame like that." Her voice turned plaintive. "Geez. Where do we go next? Patagonia? Because, for sure, there’s drugs there too."
Only the sound of cookie crunching broke the silence, until David, thinking maybe it was time for honesty, said, "Sarah, I'm sorry this isn't working for you. I know you didn't approve when I married your mom, and the few months before she became ill weren't enough for you and I to get to know each other. I'm new at this father business, and I'm going to make mistakes."
She looked at him. Fear mingled with tears in her eyes. He felt like the lowest kind of worm, but he sensed her distress wasn't all due to being the new kid in school.
"Something else is going on here. What? Just tell me. I won't say anything. I'll just listen."
Her voice was low and halting as she began. "One of the reasons I hate this place is it's just us here, alone. I mean, neither of us have other family." She stared at her plate, arranging crumbs in a neat pile.
"So how does that matter?" He waited, watching her tension build until it all came out in a rush.
"Well, you're a really good-looking guy and you make a lot of money, and women chase you, even though you don't seem to notice."
That was the last thing he expected to hear. "Yeah, so? We don't have a money problem. How is that bad?"
Her look of despair at his inability to understand frustrated him, but he kept silent, knowing there was more.
"Like I said, you're a great looking guy, real hot. It'll be the same here. You'll find someone and get married again."
He winced. Apparently, this wasn't 'home' yet, and the picture she painted of him and the future embarrassed him. He'd never needed women. In fact, his lack of interest in women and sex had given him plenty of moments of self-doubt when he was younger. Part of that he blamed on not having friends his own age to talk to; accelerated classes made him ten years younger than everybody else; tutors didn't count. And as he matured, he was more interested in stocks and bonds.
Sarah paused, mashing the cookie crumbs furiously with her thumb, until finally, she exploded with, "When you get married again, I won't have no to go."
Whoa! Hold on here! What maggot was curling in her brain?
"What do you mean, you have no place to go?" She thought he'd get rid of her? When had he ever given her reason to think that? It was damned insulting, but this was not the time to lose his temper. This might be the key to her hostility. He prayed it would be so. "Sarah, I think you'd better explain that last remark."
He waited while she gathered her thoughts, appalled as her eyes filled with tears.
Her hands fisted on the table; she rushed into it. "I don't have anybody, like relatives and all that, and I'm not really your kid because I'm not adopted, but that's because I didn't want you to at first. But now, if you leave, I'll be alone and what will happen to me?"
The burst of emotion stunned him. In her distress, she stood and moved back against the wall, her arms wrapped around her middle. The panic on her face made him frantic to reassure her. He hoped they'd done some bonding during the time Anne suffered with the lethal form of cancer that killed her in a few months. Apparently not. They'd comforted each other. He'd held her when she cried; when they both cried, they held each other. Was it too much if he held her now? He never knew how welcome he was in this truce they'd fashioned. Her misery spurred him to action.
"Oh God, Sarah." Going to her, he folded his arms around her. "I'm so sorry. I had no idea this was on your mind." He looked at her face while she clung to him. Using his t-shirt tail, the only thing he had, he tenderly wiped some of the smeared makeup off her cheeks. "Listen to me. You are my daughter, emotionally and unconditionally, now and forever, regardless of legalities. If adoption will make you feel more secure, I'll put my lawyer on it. I'm already your legal guardian so there can't be that much more to it. I made a promise, a sacred commitment, to your mother to care for you, and I will always be here, beside you, no matter what happens or where we go."
She stared at him, listening intently. He meant every word. She had become important to him. Her happiness mattered to him, a lot.
"Your mother was the first woman I'd ever considered marrying. Neither the time nor the woman seemed right before I met Anne. Maybe it will be again. But, believe this: you are my daughter and I am as committed to you as any father could be. There will never be another woman in my life until you and I agree. I promise that. You understand?"
The fear was still there, in her eyes. He tried again.
"Sarah, another woman is not something you have to worry about for a long while. I cared for your mother. I still miss her." Guilt ate at him. He wasn't sure he was capable of deep love. He never loved Anne deeply. He'd been at a point in his career where he needed a visible wife to attend conventions and serve as hostess at company functions. Anne was a comfortable companion, financially secure as a high-end real estate broker, but willing to make time for him. She didn't need help parenting her daughter, and he wasn't interested in playing father, so he didn't get involved. They were a good fit. Recalling it now, it seemed cold, but it had worked well.
There was something else; he could see it in Sarah's eyes. She glanced at him, wary, perhaps afraid to speak, and backed away from him. He waited. It came in a rush, spit from her mouth like a vile thing.
"I was glad when Mom died." Her voice caught on the effort to stay the tears. "She had so much pain, and she was so sick. I loved her
so
much, but I was still glad. How could I feel that way? I mean, glad like that?"
David sorted through her words carefully. This was a defining moment in his relationship with his daughter. She was still a child, but so near to being grown-up.
"Sometimes," he began tentatively, "with awful illnesses like cancer, the grieving begins when the diagnosis comes. You and I grieved for months before her death, so it's natural that we felt relief when it was over."
"You too?"
"Yes, me too. So don't feel guilty if there's more relief than grief now. Mom will always be with us and it's okay to miss her, but it's okay to be happy, too."
She smiled at him through her tears and hugged him. "Thanks, Dad. I thought something was wrong with me. You're the first dad I've ever known, but so far, I think you're the best."
She'd called him 'dad.' Emotion overwhelmed him. Fatherhood was a lifetime obligation he was only beginning to understand. He tried to make light of it by saying, with a smile, "Well, good. I'm glad we got that settled." He stood and placed his plate and glass in the sink. "Well, gotta get ready. I'm working tonight."
Sarah was smiling now. "You must really like that job. Why do you work? You don't need the money."
He shrugged. "Consider it my hobby." There was a ring of truth in that statement. He'd no time for hobbies as a child. There were always tutors and studies. "It's only a few nights a week. Gets me out of the house, and close to something I like to do. I like being around a restaurant kitchen. I've always wanted to be a chef, but I never had the chance to try." That was an understatement. His parents would have had him in therapy at the merest suggestion. "Besides, I earn plenty of money. I can afford to indulge myself."