Page 63 of Tinley's Daddy
“Please sit down and finish your juice.”
She pouted but sat with a harrumph. She grabbed the handle of her Batman cup and sipped her drink. I rescued my bowl and continued to eat. When I was finished, I cleared the table.
“Okay, go grab your stuff.”
She brought her cup to the sink and handed it to me. She headed toward her room.
“Hurry, we’re going to be late,” I yelled after her.
She growled the cutest little puppy dog growl, but she took off.
I followed her and grabbed our bags and stepped outside to pack the car. She came out with her backpack with Clarence, her puppy dog stuffie, peeking up out the back.
“I didn’t get all my clothes.” She stood in the doorway.
“It’s okay.” I shut the trunk of the black sedan I found in the garage. I think it belonged to Chandler. “Someone will bring the rest of our stuff. Or we’ll buy you more stuff.”
She opened her mouth.
“And don’t start telling me how I don’t need to buy you anything. If you have any money hang-ups, little girl, you need to tell me now.”
She climbed into the car. I squared and secured her seat belt.
“I haven’t begun to spoil you.”
“I was just going to say thank you.” She kissed my cheek.
I turned and kissed her back.
“You’re welcome.” I closed her car door and walked around to the driver’s seat. I slid into the car, and we were off.
Tinley’s fidgets increased the closer we got to the city.
“There’s no need to be nervous.” I grabbed her hand before she twisted her fingers into a pretzel. “They already love you.”
“Love me.” She looked up at me. “They don’t even know me.”
“Yeah, well, that’s just the way they are.” I took the turn to get to the bridge. Minutes later, we were in Manhattan.
“New York is magical.” Tinley craned her neck to look at the buildings. “There are so many people around all the time, but most parts of it don’t feel like it.”
“I haven’t spent much time here in the last few years. Only in and out.” I turned on Madison Avenue.
“Do you have your own house in the city?” She pointed at a man walking three dogs in front of us and giggled.
“I have a room at the Quad New York and a room at the main house, which is where we are going.”
“And you live in a hotel in Vegas, too.” She turned to me. “Don’t you want a real home someday?”
“I actually do.” I shrugged.
“Where do you want to live?”
“I like the suburbs of Las Vegas, maybe Arizona.” I turned onto Kyler’s Street. “What about you? Do you miss Pittsburg?”
She shrugged but didn’t answer.
I pulled into a parking space a few houses down from our destination. The townhomes on this street were built in the 1800s and were full of single-family homes.
