Page 55 of Doctorshipped
I make a mental note that her future does not lie in espionage. Or acting.
“Why do you need lettuce?”
“For food.”
Interesting choice of words.
“Food for?”
“Chuck.” The word comes out almost like a whisper, and Fiona won’t look me in the eyes.
Chuck is not a child’s name. It’s the name of a full grown forty-year-old who accommodates his beer-belly by buying pants a size up. Chuck eats bologna sandwiches with mayonnaise for lunch. Two of them. Chuck still lives with his mom, and he binge watches game shows because he works part-time at the grocery check-out and occupies an outdated plaid couch the rest of the day.
“Who is Chuck?” I ask with a bit more volume and emphasis than usual.
“He’s my friend.”
“Your friend.”
“My friend.”
Fiona gets this defiant look where her lips thin out and her chin juts forward. She gestures to the fridge, so I step out of the way. If Chuck plans to eat through my vegetable drawer, then I need to meet this kid. And what boy wants plain lettuce? And why isn’t he getting his after-school snacks at his home? Is his family in need of support? But why lettuce? Chuck no longer looks like a middle-aged mama’s boy. He’s morphed into a child in need of a bath and a solid meal. Lettuce won’t cut it.
“Do you need to give him something else other than lettuce? I could make him a sandwich.”
Fiona laughs. “No, Daddy. A sandwich would not be good for him.”
“Do you want to invite him in?”
“May I?” Fiona’s eyes light up at this prospect.
“You don’t have to. I will.”
I walk toward the door. Fiona dashes in front of me, holding out her arms and blocking me so I can’t take another step.
“Daddy. You have to be super calm and quiet and keep your distance. You don’t want to startle him.”
What on earth?
As confusing as this is, a dead serious look fills Fiona’s face, so I carefully step around her and walk softly toward the back of the house. Then I quietly open the door, moving slowly, checking my face to make sure I’m not scowling.
I look around the yard. There’s no sign of a child or a man who should be gainfully employed.
“Where is he?” I ask over my shoulder.
In a very quiet voice, Fiona says, “You have to wait for him to pop up. That’s why I need the lettuce.”
“Fee. Forgive me. I’m not following.”
“Ooooh! There he is!” Fiona says in an excited whisper.
I look over in the direction of Fiona’s pointing finger. A groundhog’s head pops out of a fresh hole in the back corner of our yard.
“Chuck is a groundhog?”
“Also known as a woodchuck,” Fiona adds. “He loves lettuce. You should see how cute he is when he eats it. He just grabs it in his little paws and nibbles it. That is, if he gets to it before Judy.”
“Judy?” I scrub a hand down my face.
