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.
