Page 59 of Of Literature and Lattes
Krista stepped past him into the kitchen. “Did you get my texts? You never replied. I have an eight o’clock meeting at headquarters and my parents are still out of town. I hoped Becca could stay with you tonight.”
Jeremy felt his breath release. Becca was exactly who he needed tonight.
“I’d love that.”
Krista had set Becca’s duffel bag on the stainless steel counter and looked around. The movement surprised Jeremy. She was the type to toss the bag, issue the command, then back out the door as fast as she came.
Instead, she had then turned and focused her attention on Jeremy. “What’s wrong?”
“Why would something be wrong?”
“You look... It’s not tired. It’s deflated. Someone let all the air out of your tires.”
Jeremy had forced out a laugh that sounded stilted and stiff to his own ears. He hoped it was good enough to fool Krista. “That’s what a long day at a coffee shop will do to you.”
Her eyes said she didn’t believe him, but she nodded. “You sure this is okay?”
“Absolutely. In fact, I’ve got tomorrow morning off.” He reached for Becca’s hand. “We’ll have a great time, Ladybug.”
“You have tomorrow off?” Krista’s voice took on that tone, almost ferret-like, digging for the truth.
“Things are smoothing out.” He shrugged to give his lie life. “I’m not needed hereeverymoment.”
“That’s... impressive. Okay. I’ll call after my meeting.”
He nodded. She left. And he turned to his daughter. “Do you want to go to the park? It’s not quite dark yet, and I need a little fresh air. What do you say?”
Becca’s ponytail bounced with her excitement.
So that’s what they did. In the last light of the evening, they walked to the park. And rather than sit on the bench and watch her play, Jeremy felt a need, a compulsion, to be as close to his daughter as he could, for as long as he could.
He climbed the playscape with her, crossed the monkey bars behind her, sat halfway down the seesaw to counterbalance her much lighter weight, pumped higher on the swings than she could just to show her how high she could someday fly, and then, warning her not to follow him, he jumped off mid-flight to soar through the air and crash into the grass a full twenty feet away.
“Again, Daddy!” She had raced over and collapsed on his chest in the grass.
“Ugh...” He moaned. “I think I broke my ankle.”
But he hadn’t. It was a little sore, but after a few minutes of wiggling it, he could walk—and he did it again. Five times.
On the sixth soar, Becca disobeyed and attempted a jump. He watched as she flew forward, soaring what felt like forty feet through the air rather than his twenty. Time seemed to stop, and he wondered in a panic if she would ever land.
She did—and she collapsed facedown on the ground.
“Becca!” he yelled, dragging his feet to stop the swing. He couldn’t jump. What if he landed on her?
He scrabbled through the gravel, then across the grass to reach her. He turned her over. Her face was red, but no breath came from her mouth. “Becca. Becca.”
She gulped with a horrible noise, choking on the exhale. “That was awesome.”
“Are you okay?” He sat her up and gently patted her back.
“It stung me,” she exclaimed. “Let’s do it again.”
“No way.” He hugged her close.
And that’s when it happened... Holding her tight in the grass, he remembered. She had light brown hair. She smelled of lavender. He was tall.
They started as flashes. Sights. Smells. Sounds. No context. No story. And as much as he wanted to encourage them, to feed them and let them grow, they frightened him.
