Chapter 6

The doorbell rang a few minutes before 5:00. Jack was in the living room doing something on his computer so I let him get it. Probably Wanda, afraid of interrupting something.

I was thinking that I needed to warn her that Daddy was coming over at 7:00 and send her down to June's when Daddy came into the kitchen, followed by Jack.

"Hi, Princess."

"Hi, Daddy. I thought you were coming over later."

"Yeah, well. I had to take the car in for service. I figured I could come over early instead of taking a cab home and another one over here later."

I was all set to say something about being rude or not showing any manners when I saw the warning look on Jack's face.

"That's fine, Daddy. I'll just be a few minutes in here. Why don't you wait in the living room with Jack."

I looked at Jack to make sure it was all right and he nodded.

Daddy looked down and mumbled, "OK," then started to turn around.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Princess?"

"Don't I get a hug?"

He brightened up and came over for the hug. He was eager but tentative. I put my arms around him and my mouth right next to his ear.

"A real hug, Daddy."

I felt him let go and he squeezed me tight, like the Daddy I knew.

I let go and eased him away.

"All right. Go on. I'll be out in a few minutes."

Daddy is one of the few people I would send away like that. Not because of what was going on but because that was the way we were. There are things I do and there are things Daddy does. From the time I was big enough to reach the stove, I started making the kitchen my domain. When I was cooking, I was cooking. We had plenty of time to talk when we sat at the table together and ate what I cooked. It wasn't that he wasn't welcome in my kitchen, it was more like he didn't belong. Just like I didn't belong in his operating room.

It was something that just kind of evolved. I think the fact that I messed up what I was making a couple of times because I was paying more attention to our conversation than to my cooking had a lot to do with it. I remember a batch of mashed potatoes that was extremely salty. Of course, these days I could probably have three or four conversations going on at the same time and everything would still come out right.

I felt the soft warmth as Bozo rubbed up against my leg. I bent down and reached around his massive head, scratching his throat.

"What's the matter, Boy? You wanna go see him?"

He just looked up at me.

"Go on." I added "Traitor" under my breath as he shot out of the kitchen.

Bozo being anxious to see Daddy should count for something, but he would probably try to get a burglar to pet him. My dog has no discrimination.

I rinsed off my hands to get the dog off them, then put the last layer of cheese on my lasagna. I normally make it, then put it in the refrigerator for an hour before baking it. That hour in the refrigerator prevents it from getting runny when it's cooked. Daddy was already here, and I didn't want him mad because he had to wait for dinner. But I told him 7:00 and he was almost two hours early. Screw him. I put the Pyrex dish in the refrigerator.

I went into the bathroom, washed my face and redid my lip gloss. As I was looking in the mirror, brushing my hair, I wondered why I was going to so much trouble to look good for my father. Because he's your father, Dummy. And your man's sitting out there with him.

I grabbed a scrunchie and was all set to pull my hair together in back. No, Jack likes my hair like this — brushed till it shines, loose. He likes to put his arm around my shoulders, then run his hand through it. I put the scrunchie back in the drawer, shivering a little as I thought about Jack running his hand through my hair.

I went to the refrigerator, got the apple juice and poured three glasses. I opened the cabinet and found the box of Triscuits I saw when Wanda and I were rearranging the kitchen. There was a block of cheddar cheese that someone must have gotten from Costco in the refrigerator, so I sliced a bunch, put it on a plate with a pile of Triscuits and got three napkins. The whole thing went on a tray that I carried out to the living room.

Jack and Daddy were both on the couch, pretty much at either end. Nobody had killed anybody yet, so I took that to be a good sign.

I had to watch where I was walking because my stupid dog decided I'd brought him a snack and was standing right in my way. Jack stood up and took the tray from me as I nudged the beast out of my way with my right leg.

I'll never forget the day Jackie brought Bozo over to our house. It was the first time his sister and mother had been to our place and they rang the doorbell and told me he was in the car and had something to show me. I'd fallen in love with this black puppy the two times we'd been to the mall, and when I went over to the car, he held this squirming black ball of fuzz up to the open window. I hadn't had him in my arms ten seconds before he wriggled his way out, dropping three or four feet to the ground, shaking it off and starting his exploration of the front lawn.

I was worried that he'd done some damage, but he showed me it didn't bother him a bit as he ran around the yard, his nose to the ground and his tail swinging back and forth. He did the same thing a couple of times that afternoon out back on the cement patio. Before I had a chance to comfort him and check for breakage, he'd be in the pool, paddling like crazy, his head out of the water, his eyes bright.

He was always in the way. The dog's biggest talent seemed to be knowing where people were going to walk and lying there. Sometimes I'd step on his tail or a foot and he'd yelp, but any attempt to check for damage or make it better was usually met by him trying to lick the skin off my face. He was big enough now that he should know better than to be in my way. I'd never kick him, but if I had to shove him out of my way, tough.