Page 189 of Cook

“You need to eat,” I said.

“Do I?” He dragged his eye down me. His dirty thoughts were apparent.

“You requested lasagna,” I said.

“Now I’m hungry for something else.”

My cheeks burned. “I’m not sure this is a good time,” I said, then added in a whisper, “Daddy.” Then I glanced down.

“That’s my good girl, but...” He dug into his front pocket. “I have something for you.”

“For me?”

He held out an envelope to me, and I took it. He had placed his food on the counter and now watched me openly. My heart thundered as I tried to school my features. Why had he gotten me something? I didn’t have anything for him. My hands trembled as I searched the nondescript envelope for a clue.

“Open it, baby girl,” ordered Cook, smirking.

I ripped open the envelope, spurred into action by him. Two pieces of paper were snuggly fit inside. I took out the colored piece ofpaper first and forgot how to breathe. I read my name on the check several times and counted the excessive zeros.

“Cook, what is this?” My words shook.

“Read the letter, nizhóní,” he said.

I hesitated, but he added, “Baby girl?”

He was my daddy. I did his bidding.

Holding the check between my fingers, I read the letter from Alain Fitzpatrick, curator at Art Avenue in Phoenix.

Dear Maddie Flemming,

It is with great honor that I offer you an advance for a gallery show to be scheduled next spring. Upon your acceptance into this show, please contact us to schedule the time frame.

Kind regards,

Alain Fitzpatrick

Curator, Art Avenue

I stared at the letterand read it again to make sure I understood. My hands trembled. My vision went bleary as tears burned my eyes.

Looking up at Cook, I asked, “What’s a curator?”

“The main guy at this art gallery. You liked his display at the festival, remember? He had the black and whites with the splashes of rainbow color.”

I gulped in a gasp. “And a gallery show?”

“A display of your photos,” said Cook, pushing a stray hair over my shoulder. “For the public.”

“My photos? On public display? And they are paying me for it?”

He plucked the check out of my hand. “Like a rock star, apparently.”

“You did this?” I asked, still fumbling to understand.

He shrugged like it was no big deal when it meant the literal world to me.

“Oh, Daddy.” I didn’t give a shit if everyone heard me call himthat as I thrust myself into his arms. He gathered me up, and I backed him against the counter, kissing him, even though I felt him wince.

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