Page 41 of Baby for Dr. Damaged

“Don’tcallme,”Isay when I stop at the nurses’ desk.

Glenda asks, “Did you just tell me what to do?”

“I mean it, Glenda. I haven’t done anything with my daughter in two weeks, and I’m taking her out to the park,” I say. “Don’t call me.”

Glenda looks me over, her lips pursed and her eyes narrowed. And then she shakes her head and gives a wave of her hand. “Get out of here before someone tries to make you cover a shift. I’m about tired of seeing you. It’s like you never go home these days.”

Relief crashes through me. “Thank you.”

It’s basically her way of saying that she knows I need the time off. I head for the elevator, hoping not to get stopped by anyone on the way there. If I really manage to get through the whole park outing without a call, then I’ll bring something in for Glenda tomorrow.

Lunch or breakfast. Maybe I’ll ask Amanda for her opinion. Either way, it gives me a chance to escape, one that’s very much needed at this point.

It hit me very early this morning that I’m spending so much time in the labs and at appointments with Amanda, that I haven’t been able to spend nearly as much time with Bonnie. My little girl has handled it like a champ, without a single complaint, but I’ve decided that I want to make it up to her.

So instead of having Sandra pick her up at school, I’ve managed to switch shifts around and do that myself.

The look on her face when she spots me in the car is enough to make up for all the effort and favors that went into getting the time off.

“Dad!” Bonnie throws herself at the car, wrenching open the passenger door and climbing into it. She drops her pink, unicorn-covered backpack onto the floor and throws her arms around me in a tight hug.

I wrap an arm around her as well, laughing. “You act like I’ve just come back from war.”

“You never pick me up!” Bonnie drops back into her seat. She closes the door and then dutifully hooks her seat belt in. She’s a good child. Always follows the rules, always mindful. “I didn’t expect you.”

“I told you that we were going to do something together this evening, didn’t I?” I ask her, pulling forward in the slow-moving line of cars.

Bonnie smiles. “I thought we’d watch a movie or something.”

“Or something,” I say, teasingly. “I think that this counts as something, don’t you?” She nods. “I thought that we could go to the park together.”

Eagerly, Bonnie asks, “The one with the lake?”

“That’s the one,” I say, even though I had been thinking about the one with the big slide. That’s fine. I don’t mind a small little change in plans.

On the drive to the park—the one with the lake, Green Lake Park—Bonnie tells me all about what happened at school, the kids that she knows, and her teacher. She spends more time talking about her work in music class than any other class.

Her teacher, Miss Bev, is old, white-haired, and stern, and thinks that Bonnie is the most delightful child that she’s ever seen. The woman is thrilled to finally have a student that’s actually interested in music and not just trying to learn the recorder because it’s a mandatory part of their lesson plan for the year.

When we get to the park, Bonnie is out of the car first. She bounces around to the front and waits next to my door as I get out, practically vibrating in place.

“A little excited?” I ask her.

“Do you think there are going to be ducks?” Bonnie asks, which I take to mean she is very excited.

“There might be ducks,” I tell her. “I bet there are going to be birds too. Maybe we’ll get to hear one of them singing.”

“That would be so cool,” says Bonnie. She takes my hand when I offer it to her, and I lead her out of the parking lot and through the tall wrought iron gate at the entrance to the park.

It’s a lovely place, considering we’re in the middle of an overcrowded city. There’s a sidewalk that runs in a loop around the entire acreage, mostly used by joggers and bikers that are looking for a place away from the cars to exercise, but plenty of people have worn footpaths into the grass and the soil, leading to various places in the park.

We take one of the footpaths to the big lake at the very center of the park. It’s a man-made body of water, but that doesn’t detract from the beauty of it at all. Sunlight glints off the still surface of the water and there is, indeed, a mess of ducks floating in the lake and waddling about in the sand.

I buy a cup of feed for them from a vendor, and spend the next hour with Bonnie, trying to see how close we can get to the waterfowl while they eat. I don’t know the name of the breed, but their feathers are glossy, black and white, glinting almost green in spots when the light hits them just right.

Bonnie is enamored by them. I make a mental note to try and find her a particularly cute stuffed duck the next time that I go to the store—or to ask Sandra to find one for me, considering she does the majority of the shopping for the household.

By the time Bonnie’s starting to grow bored of the ducks, it’s late enough that I can justify buying us both a hot dog from the nearby cart and finding a bench to sit on while we eat it.

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