Chapter 5

Saturday was wonderful. We were busy with real chores. Sia was full of bright smiles and hugs and, amazing me, accepted her chores with only minimal complaints. Occasionally she’d stop by for a chaste kiss, her lips so soft and warm. I took those moments to inhale her scent deeply and hug her rather fiercely. Just wonderful.

The afternoon was taken with a slog to the supermarket, battling though snowdrifts. Sia had bribed me to drop her off at the local mall to meet up with her friends, assuring me, “Don’t worry, Dad, I won’t buy anything and Lara’s mom will drive me home.” Her rather intense smooch successfully bribed me.

By three-thirty I was back home, puttering around applying silicone sealant around the window frames in the living room. Music played softly, a lazy jazz, Nat King Cole’s smooth, rich voice filling the room. I enjoyed humming along as I made a mess of the weather sealant.

Anticipation is a strange emotion, I decided. It’s full of mystery and imagination, expectation, the thrill of the unknown. I anticipated so much. There were so many new feelings coursing through me, so many new experiences to come. I wondered what Sia would look like in panties and bra, my imagination very active. Did her clothes hide unseen curves? She was a late bloomer, most of her friends well along in adolescence. She’d inherited it from her mother; that same willowy figure, small bust, petite stature - fourteen years old and not quite five feet tall. True, her five feet had as much sass as any five-nine woman, maybe more.

I wondered what type of bra and panties she had. In the last two years, she’d assumed the laundry duty so I really had no idea, but my imagination was very active.

My mind moseyed down the road of intimacy and I tried to picture my adolescent girl. Would she have a small or large pubic bush? Would her areolae be dark pink, almost dusky brown like her mother’s or pale? Did she have small nipples or large?

A vision of her butt in jeans came to mind and I wondered how glorious it would look in skimpy panties. Reaching down, I adjusted the erection that had started to form. I imagined kissing each buttock and caressing them. Damn! I had to stop. My jeans were becoming uncomfortable.

To distract myself, I stopped caulking the windows and turned to the television for a decent documentary.

Mid way through learning about how Lucky Luciano - considered the father of organized crime - had brought a business approach to the Cosa Nostra, creating the first commission of Dons, a skill I quite admired, the phone rang.

“You’re late,” I said as soon as I answered it.

“Mr. Hicks?” a calm, youngish voice asked.

“Yes. Who’s this?”

“I’m Constable Peters. I’m calling to let you know your daughter, Sia, has been involved in an accident.”

The floor dropped out of my world. Sounds from the television seemed to fade away. An image of Sia at five years old materialized. My heart rate spiked, breathing became immediately difficult.

“Mr. Hicks? Are you still there?”

“Yeah,” I managed to respond, my voice sounding rough even to me. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

“She’s fine. Mrs. Landers car was involved in an altercation with another speeding driver. She and her daughter Lara are with your daughter at the hospital. Perhaps you’d like to head on over there.”

You’re fucking right I’d like! “I’ll be right there,” I growled.

In our small town, the hospital was a one floor sprawling ranch style. The pickup skidded into a parking spot sideways taking up the space of two. I didn’t give a fuck. Heart racing, fear hounding me, I ran straight into the emergency entrance to find Sia sitting in a green plastic chair in the waiting room; Mrs. Landers sitting on one side, Lara on the other.

“Jesus, Sia,” I exclaimed, seeing one ankle bandaged and another bandage over her blue eye. “What the Hell happened?”

“Hi, Dad!” Sia greeted me, smiling brightly. “We had an accident!”

Mrs. Landers stood up from the seat next to Sia as I approached. My anxiety was still ratcheted up.

“Hello, Mr. Hicks,” she said, smiling slightly, an apologetic expression on her face, and extending her hand towards me.

I shook it briefly trying to peer around her at my daughter who now seemed to be in deep conversation with Lara.

“What happened? Are you and Lara all right?” I asked distractedly, relieved when I heard Sia’s peal of laughter.

“We’re fine. Some idiot T-boned us and shoved us into a telephone pole. Sia hit her head on the window rather hard, but we’re still trying to figure out how she twisted her ankle.”

“Huh. Glad you’re both fine,” I muttered. “Excuse me.”

I stepped around her and approached my daughter. Bright eyes excited by the events looked up at me. She smiled.

“Look!” she instructed, pointing at her foot. “It’s so swollen I can’t fit it in my sneaker.”

Kneeling, I took her bandaged foot and ankle, inspecting it, holding it gently. True it didn’t look life threatening but she was my little girl. Any injury was a worry.

“Does it hurt?” I asked.

“Yup. But they told me I could take a painkiller for it later.” A glint appeared in her eyes. “They cut my sneaker to remove it. Maybe you should buy me a new pair.”

Before I could refuse, Dr. Anston, a lady about my age, arrived.

“How are you feeling, Sia?” she asked.

“Sore but fine.”

“That’s good. Mr. Hicks, could I have a word?”

We stepped away, Sia immediately in a deep, animated conversation with Lara.

In a slightly more serious tone of voice, with her back to my daughter, Dr. Anston said, “Mr. Hicks, your daughter suffered a mild concussion.” Noticing my wince she continued quickly, “It’s nothing serious but she was somewhat disoriented when they brought her in. We haven’t given her a painkiller for her sprained ankle because we want to make sure she’s okay.” She paused and studied me with intelligent dark brown eyes. “Normally we’d keep her in overnight for observation, but in my judgment she’s fine. You should check on her every couple of hours tonight just to be sure. If there’s no change by tomorrow morning, feel free to give her some Extra Strength Tylenol.”

I glanced at Sia and then back at Dr Anston. “You sure?”

She smiled in reassurance. “Quite sure.”

“Thank you.”

Dr. Anston nodded and left.

Half an hour later, Sia struggled with crutches as she made her way into our house. She’d refused my offer to carry her informing me, “Dad! I can do this myself.”

It was seven-twenty and pitch dark. Despite her objection, Sia reluctantly changed into pajamas and hobbled to the couch. I offered dinner.

“I’m not that hungry,” she informed me.

“I’ll make you soup and a sandwich. Okay?” She seemed a bit tired. Then again, after the adrenaline rush from an accident, I wasn’t surprised.

“Kay.”

However, by the time I was back with her meal, Sia had slouched down on the couch. She spooned the beef barley soup - her favorite - with little enthusiasm and, before even half of it was consumed, her eyelids started drooping.

She must have been exhausted. She didn’t complain when I picked her up and carried her to her room, just snuggled against me.

With a kiss on her forehead, she mumbled something and was asleep before I closed her door.

Back in the living room, I sipped a pale ale and tried to calm down. There are terrible things that happen to people. There had been some traumatic things I’d experienced in my life, but none, not one, had hit me as hard as hearing my daughter had been hurt. It wasn’t just a fatherly reaction. I’d felt terror. I’d seen a world without Sia in it and the barren emptiness was horrifying.

Like almost every father, I wished I could suffer for her. That was normal. I silently thanked a God I didn’t really believe in for Sia not being hurt even worse.

It took me a couple of hours to finally relax. Like Sia, adrenaline had done its work. I was ready for bed. Remembering Dr. Anston’s advice, I dropped by to check on her.

Sia’s room was dark, only a shadowed mound under a feather quilt indicating where she slept. I eased over to her, bent, and whispered, “How’re you feeling?”

She was asleep. No response. Shaking her shoulder gently, I tried again. No response. This time I shook hard, relieved when she stirred.

“Da. Sh tha you?”

Why was she slurring? “It’s me. How are you feeling, honey? I asked.

“Hea hurs,” she mumbled.

“What?” I asked, trying to understand her.

My daughter didn’t respond. Nothing. It was as if she’d drifted back to sleep. I thought that was good, at first. But the more I thought about it the more worried I became. Switching the bedside lamp on, a soft yellow glow brought Sia’s face into view. I shook her without a response. She was very pale. Prying an eyelid up, I felt like I’d been electrocuted. Her pupil was dilated. Fuck!

Without thought, I gathered her up, quilt and all. Without pausing to call for an ambulance, I ran for the pickup. I swore at it when it debated whether or not to start. “Start you useless piece of...”. The engine coughed into life. Streets passed in a blur. Were slurring and dilated eyes conditions Dr. Anston had warned me about? Why couldn’t I remember?

Wrestling the sodding Ford out of a skid, one eye on Sia, I turned into the hospital and slammed to a halt at the emergency entrance.

The next few hours were somewhat jumbled. Sia had been wrestled away from me. I’d been deliberately excluded from the exam. A sudden flurry of activity erupted; Sia being carted out of the emergency room on her examining bed.

I tried to follow only to be forcefully redirected. My life fell apart as I waited, my mind playing dark and terrifying games, what if...

One hour after arriving, a kind nurse informed me emergency surgery was needed to relieve the swelling of Sia’s brain. Another agonizing hour passed before Dr. Anston emerged in her blue scrubs. Her smile was as tired as she looked.

I jumped up. Before I could open my mouth, Dr. Anston spoke, her hand rising, palm up.

“Your daughter is fine. She’s under anesthetic right now and resting. Before you ask, we removed a small piece of her cranium to relieve the pressure on her brain...”

I just about wept at the thought.

Dr. Anston continued, “ ... and it was successful.”

“How do you know?” I asked with far too much force. “You said she’d be fine last time!”

Dr. Anston studied me with her dark brown eyes. I could see she forgave my rudeness. “Sia’s eyes are responding to light, dilating properly. That indicates the pressure has subsided. I’m not telling you she’ll be fully recovered in the morning, but she will be well.”

“Sorry. Thanks. I mean ... I didn’t mean to be ... Can I see her?”