Page 2 of Daddy's Unexpected Gift

That tracked. Argene loved to party, much to the detriment of her ability to make smart choices. I had been cleaning up after her for years, dragging her to rehab centers, only to have her run away. I took care of Argene because she managed to do what I had not. She freed herself from the expectations that came with our family name.

Once she turned twenty-one, I washed my hands of her. She broke my heart one too many times, and I now had a business and reputation to protect. She was going to do what she wanted. It was clear that I would never be able to change that. So, I distanced myself, physically and emotionally.

Our parents were long dead. She had missed Dad’s funeral. Apparently, she had been out partying in international waters and missed the helicopter that would have gotten her back to an airport.

Unable to completely cut Argene off, I managed her trust so that she would always have funds, no matter what she got herself into, but I stopped caring whether she went on a bender on a yacht in the Mediterranean or sequestered herself in an Ashram looking for enlightenment. I no longer traveled all over the world dragging her drunken, limp body back to the States to get her sober.

It's not what she wanted. She had been old enough to make her choices, as bad and embarrassing as they might have been. I was pretty sure this was not what she had wanted either, to be a pile of ashes kept in a little box.

The little box was the worst of it. I would make arrangements to scatter her ashes somewhere. The real question was where? Argene had struggled to be a free spirit, but she was trapped by a family and expectations she didn’t know how to live up to.

I’d take her ashes next time I could get a long weekend away. She had always loved Ibiza. Maybe it was the beaches, maybe it was the parties. The last summer before she discovered drugs, we had spent on the Balearic Islands. That had been the last summer Mom had been alive. The last time I think Argene had been truly happy.

“You need me to sign for a package?”

The stern looking woman at the door held a pudgy baby against her hip and a clipboard out to me. “You’re Sterling Alexander?”

“That’s me.” I took the clipboard and scribbled my name next to the arrow indicating an empty line. “Is it take your kid to work day?” I asked, looking at the kid. It was cute, if you like that sort of thing, with big eyes and little lips all puckered up.

I looked around and did not see a box or a bag on the floor. “You have a delivery for me? Is it Argene?”

“No.” She shifted and placed the kid in my arms.

I took the kid, expecting the woman needed to get access to my delivery.

“Her mother was Argene Alexander. You’re her closest relative.”

“What?” I looked at the child in my arms. “What am I supposed to do with a baby?”

“I suggest you feed her and change her diaper.”

2

CECELIA

“Dr. Gareth highly recommended you, Cecelia.”

My gut clenched as I followed my new supervisor down the hallway. I was glad Dr. Gareth gave me a good recommendation, but the fact that Greta Nelson seemed to know who he was, and the tone in her voice indicated the recommendation came with a certain level of expectations, made me super nervous.

This was my first job outside of the writing lab at school. Being a writing tutor had barely been a job. I mostly showed other students how to run their papers through a plagiarism checker and how to use the campus version of Pro Writer Aid. I hadn’t even held a job at a fast-food place.

“You know Dr. G?” I asked.

“We like to hire State graduates. We know they’ve received a proper social services education. Dr. Gareth served as our board president a few years ago. When he’s willing to recommend a recent graduate, we pay attention.”

I guess understanding Dr. G’s eccentric sense of humor had paid off. My aunt had always preferred dry British humor television or obscure science fiction movies. So, that’s what I grew up watching. I got his references when everyone else in class would sit and stare at him and wonder how Lost in Space commentary was considered philosophy. Lost in Space, not so much, but Forbidden Planet was definitely a reference.

Greta walked with rapid determination, a pile of file folders clutched to her chest. She pointed to various places in the office as we continued to walk.

“The ladies’ room is down that way.” She pointed in one direction, and then in another. “Copier and coffee are at the end of that hall.”

We entered a large workspace with two rows of desks, not even cubicle walls separating them. She stopped next to the third desk in the second row. “You’re here.”

I glanced around the workspace. Most of the desks were under piles of papers. Only a few other workers were at their desks. I turned a worried gaze to Ms. Nelson.

“Where is everyone?” I had heard agencies like this one were always underfunded and understaffed, but—I did a quick count—there were twelve desks. Three other people were in the room, and at least two of the desks were clearly used for document storage.

“The rest are out with their clients. You’ll spend most of your time working directly with your assignments.”

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