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Rip Redux Part 7
Wow, sorry, I didn't realize how long it's been since I posted Ripley, what with Lucas busting in, and the other things clamoring for attention. Geez. Yer Mother's work is never done.
*g*
The Talented Miss Ripley
A post-mpreg fiction:
Fandom: SV
Pairing: hmm….
Rating:2
what went before
Don't hurt me--it's all coming together into a harmonious and happy whole. Yes. Really. It's me--would I lie to you?
thanks![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
ladydey
Ripley decided she wasn’t going to tell either one of her parents that she’d heard the tapes. She figured Poppa didn’t know about them and she figured Dad wouldn’t want her to have listened to them yet…silly boy. He shouldn’t have hidden them in the penthouse.
Her resolve lasted one week.
“Poppa…who used to have that room I’m in now?”
Lex looked over his shoulder. “What?” He stood in front of his closet, with his suit coat halfway on the hanger. “That’s an odd thing to ask.” He looked…confused, she thought. He hung the coat up and sat in the leather barrel chair in his closet. He frowned thoughtfully, touched his chin as he did, and she unconsciously copied him. “Well, you are right, someone did have it before you. Your dad had the room—a long time ago.” He smiled wistfully, and she wanted to squeeze him. “A long time ago.”
He removed his shoes and slid in cedar shoetrees, put them n their shelf. He spent some time taking off his tie, cufflinks, putting everything oh so carefully back in its place…fine. She was just as patient as…as…she was very patient. She could wait.
He slipped on a pair of house shoes and she followed him out of the closet. Just as she was about to prod him again, he said, “Why do you ask, sweetheart?”
“I found a recorder in the closet--”
“Oh!” He sounded so surprised that Ripley stopped. She glanced and saw—he was surprised she *found* them, not surprised they were there. Well, it wasn’t as if they were cleverly hidden….
“You knew about the tapes?” she asked and he blushed a Poppa blush, two little spots on his cheeks and his ears turned pinker—somebody had been snooping.
He only nodded and turned her towards the dining room with a warm hand on her shoulder. The table was set, and covered dishes were waiting. During the week it was all formal, at the dining room table, linens and silverware and china---she kind of preferred weekends, junk food at the bar in the kitchen and the staff off, just the two of them to eat what ever she wanted and talk about whatever she wanted--anything but work.
They sat, and Ripley watched Poppa scrutinize his dish for…attackers, assassins, who knew. He decided it was safe and began to eat, and she did too. He was so different than Dad—Dad loved to eat, and greeted food like a dear friend. Poppa ate to live, and seemed to find her enjoyment of a meal all the spice he needed.
“Poppa, can I ask, what happened? You-–he seemed to be so much in love.”
“No. You may not.”
She sat back, shocked. Poppa never did that. He always explained first—or explained as he refused. He looked…angry. “Why not?” burst out of her mouth. Damn!
“Because I said so,” he answered and pushed his chair back. He stood and walked out of the room.
She stared after him, mouth open. Who was that? Who the heck was *that* guy? Oh no—he wasn’t getting away with that! She jumped up and threw her napkin on her plate, dashed after him.
He was standing in front of a bookshelf in his office; arms crossed and to all appearances, deeply absorbed in the books there.
“Poppa…Tell me what happened, please.” She swallowed hard, begged forgiveness for what she was about to do and asked him, “Was it because he’s alien? Like me? Did you fall out of love with him because of that?”
He turned to her, and the look on his face—for a thousand years; she’d have to work to forget it….
“No—God no, never. I love you--not in spite of the fact, it’s a part of you I love, and a part of him—I never stopped loving.” and Rip kind of knew he wasn’t talking to her. Again, she wanted to beat herself but, *all’s fair* she told herself, *the ends justify the means*, she tried to tell herself.
“Than…why did you leave him?”
He pulled himself together. “That’s not your concern.”
She crossed the room, suddenly a million miles of oriental carpet. She gripped his sleeve, yanked on it. “Tell me. You always want the truth from me, don’t I deserve the same?”
“You’re twelve,” he said quietly, “I decide what you need to know.”
“Daddy will tell me if I ask.” She gave him his own look back, green eyes locked on his. *You want twelve, I’ll act like twelve*, she thought. Poppa was staring down at her, face blank and eyes like a thunderstorm.
“I don’t think so.” He moved back slowly, so that his sleeve eased out of her fingers, and she couldn’t bring herself to hang on—what if he snatched his arm away? She knew she was pushing him, harder than ever before, pushing into areas that she was beginning to feel were dangerous, but she had to know—especially now—she had to know.
“If he did…” and she hadn’t planned for her voice to come out in a whisper….
He looked at her, and a stranger might have interpreted his expression as cold disinterest. “Than that would be his right. I wouldn’t…interfere.”
She breathed deeply, and leaped off the edge. “So-oo…it was something that *you* did.” His chin jerked up a fraction and he smiled, a cold twitch that only went as far as the corners of his mouth. She pushed on. “It’s obvious, you know, it’s the look, the look you get when you blame yourself,” she said, in the lecture mode she’d learned from him. “Like the time I broke that hideous vase at the Gold’s luncheon. Which by the way was *so* totally a fake.”
His eyes warmed, but he said, “If I’d been paying the proper attention it never would have happened. And the fact that the vase was so poor a copy a ten year old could see it has no bearing on the matter.”
She shook her head. “I’m exceptional. Tell me. I want to know.”
He moved to the curtains framing a hell of an expensive view of Metropolis. He crossed his hands behind his ramrod straight back. “Do you?” he said gently. Maybe you should know. You’re a very mature young woman.” He turned back to her and his face was so blank it frightened her—she couldn’t read him at all.
“All right, but you need to understand everything, you need to know how you were conceived. Or I should say how we think you were…”
*Oh yuck, no* She made a face. “I’ve already had the birds and bees lecture, thankyouverymuch.” Ha. She was making headway—she threw herself back on the huge club chair that was his favorite.
“As it pertains to humans, yes.” He held up a hand in a stilling motion and paged Dr. Chang. “It’s a little different for your dad—your birth-father.” He refused to say more until Dr. Chang arrived.
She waited with as much patience as she could muster. This was good—they were getting to the real business now.
******
“That, you see, that’s how your father conceived, and gave birth. To you.” He beamed at her and patted her hand, and she was sure he didn’t see that she was a little pale and queasy. “As for you, my dear, we can assume that the process will be earth-normal. We are ninety-nine per cent positive. Yes.” He beamed at her as he bustled about, packing up charts and diagrams that Rip refused to look at again. He hugged her quickly and trotted out of the room, passing Lex on his way back into the office. “Don’t forget, Lex—you have a physical coming up very soon. Remind him, my dear,” and he was off to the lab again.
“Poppa, that was informative in a traumatizing way,” she said, expecting him to smile.
He looked at her without an answering trace of humor, and said, “Ask your question if you like.”
Just like that, the desire was gone. She didn’t want to ask. It was bad; it had to be bad…she felt like a little kid, in bed at night in the dark and waiting for the monster under her bed to snatch her away. “What. Happened, Poppa?”
“Dr. Chang told you that an egg donor contributed to your conception. That’s what he knows. The donor was someone your father knew.”
“Who? Do I know her?” She felt a wave of ice sweep over her—who—
“She’s dead. She never knew about you.”
She narrowed her eyes at her father. “We’re off track—or are we?”
“She’s dead because of me,” he said, and looked as if he’d been run through for a moment, and then she could see him pulling himself together bit by bit.
“You--” She stopped and looked at him, really looked and she didn’t know this man, this man was…frightening.
“Your father left because I killed her. She was…dangerous, untrustworthy. She would have been a danger--”
“You killed her! Oh my god, you killed someone.” Her mother…she felt like she was being gutted, like someone was trying to pull her heart out. Poppa. No. This was all wrong. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
His cheek jerked and it was supposed to be a smile, it came from a million miles away, and—and it hurt so much. Tears flooded her eyes. He took a step forward and she jerked back. Away.
He made a soft noise and stopped. Put his hands in his pocket. “I’ll call your father.”
She nodded and went to sit in the foyer. He came back, hovered near her, not touching, not speaking, just waited until Daddy came. It was only a few minutes before Daddy was there, and he picked her up and hugged her, and held her head in his hands.
Poppa said, “I had to. She wanted…she needed to know. She asked me.”
“Lex…Lex. I never would have. You know.”
“Be a good girl for your father, sweetheart.”
Daddy picked her up and ran fast—faster than anything and they were home—her other home, with all her stuff around her, and the blanket Grandma made and. She was asleep in her bed in seconds and she heard voices and thought Daddy’s friend is here? Darkness swallowed her and she was happy to fall.
*****
“Lex, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, but you shouldn’t have—“
*What was I supposed to do? Someday she’d know. Who better than from me?*
“But she’s just a kid—she’ll never understand. She doesn’t know…”
*Clark, age is no indicator—she could have been grown, a mother—the reaction would have been the same. She’s her father’s daughter, thank god. She’s a good person, a decent person. I can’t teach her that. And now, I can’t be anything to her—she needs her father.*
“You—you’re still a jerk, Lex! You’re still such an asshole!
*I know Clark. I know.*
“No, that’s not what I mean, I mean—oh shit. She’ll be back. I promise you, she’ll be back in a day or two. She loves you. She loves you so much—and you deserve it. You’re a wonderful father.”
*I’m not. *
“You are, you are her father, her best friend, and she loves you like—like crazy—don’t turn away.”
*Clark—I can’t talk any more. I’ll call tomorrow.*
“Don’t worry. Please. Don’t worry. It’ll be better--” Clark listened to the dial tone for a long minute, before going into lay down with Rip.”
******
“Dad said she wasn’t a good person. He said you did what you had to. He said you did it to protect us. I’m thinking about it. I know you. You wouldn’t do something to hurt us.”
*Whatever you decide. But I’d like it…if you came back. I love you.*
“I know. I mean, I really do know that. Bye.”
******
She stared up at the stars they’d never gotten around to peeling off the ceiling. Her shoes were in a corner; there was a bag of takeout on her nightstand. A movie played to the audience of a stuffed monster and a huge ratty unicorn on her bed. She was on the floor, thinking.
Okay. She got why Dad left. He was a deeply…black and white person. Things were good, or they were bad. Poppa was a deeply…gray person. There were circumstances, and situations and events and actions that all had to be weighed and examined before a decision could be made…once you made it though, it was imperative to act on it—it was duty. Yeah, that was Poppa—duty. Daddy too…just…different.
She got up and padded over to her bedroom door and down the hallway to Dad’s studio. He was working on the book. Pictures were tacked all over the wall—people from all over the country, doing everyday things…her favorite, a pudgy old lady with a beehive hairdo and a homemade angel pin stuck on her uniform--a waitress-- smiled into the camera. Her squinty eyes glowed behind her ugly glasses and Rip though she was really…nice looking, friendly. Like you’d want to have her wait on you because she’d be nice and treat you like family.
There were tons of other pictures, fireman and construction workers, linemen and cooks, just people that dad interviewed, and wrote about. Everyday people. She watched for a while, watched him typing and frowning, listened to the weird little noises he didn’t know he made. After a while, she went back to her room.
In the morning, Dad made eggs and bacon and pancakes, and she knew they’d taste just like Grandma’s. Dad was a good cook. He was a good housecleaner too, because Grandma had made sure of that. He wasn’t an everything in its place guy like Pop, there was personal stuff dropped here and there and he never used the coat closet but it was clean and comfortable.
Poppa would have a fit. She grinned a little, sighed.
Dad set her plate in front of her with a kiss, and poured himself a mug of coffee and gulped it, burning hot, right down. He poured another mug and checked out the fridge, making a grocery list as he chatted about what he had to do that day, and his latest himbo. Not that she’d ever say it out loud. But Dad had suck taste in guys.
“Dad…Dad!”
“Hunh?” He turned to her and smiled. “What is it, Rip?”
She told Dad she wanted to go back. She needed to go back. He looked relieved, and really happy.
“Oh good, that’s great—not for me. It’s just…he does really need you. I’m so glad you…you made up your mind.”
“I’m not the only one he needs.”
Dad looked so sad. “Oh, I don’t think…” He blocked her view of his face with the mug. “Once maybe, but not anymore. It’s been a long time. I was just a kid then, I’m different now. Not the kind of person he’d want…anyway, let’s call him and let him know you want to come home. But…But not today, hunh? I’ll take you to school and after—we can see a movie, maybe?” He looked hopeful, his eyebrows climbed to his hairline. He swept back the wild strands of hair that always seemed to stick out one way or another. He must make his stylist cry, she thought. She tilted her head and stared at him, watching his face. He gave her a sweet little smile, and she closed her eyes and concentrated. He asked quietly, “What do you hear?”
She said, “I hear the fridge, and the stove cooling…I hear your heart. And…your tummy,” she grinned and he chuckled.
“What else?”
“The elevator door is opening in the lobby…Oh…ooooo. I think I hear the neighbors being naughty--” she lied.
“That’s enough!” he yelped and clapped his huge hands over her ears. She grinned, her eyes crinkling and her nose wrinkling a bit, and Dad got a soft look on his face. Sure. She knew she looked like Poppa when she smiled. She sighed to herself. Idiots. Poor dumb idiots.
*g*
The Talented Miss Ripley
A post-mpreg fiction:
Fandom: SV
Pairing: hmm….
Rating:2
what went before
Don't hurt me--it's all coming together into a harmonious and happy whole. Yes. Really. It's me--would I lie to you?
thanks
ladydeyRipley decided she wasn’t going to tell either one of her parents that she’d heard the tapes. She figured Poppa didn’t know about them and she figured Dad wouldn’t want her to have listened to them yet…silly boy. He shouldn’t have hidden them in the penthouse.
Her resolve lasted one week.
“Poppa…who used to have that room I’m in now?”
Lex looked over his shoulder. “What?” He stood in front of his closet, with his suit coat halfway on the hanger. “That’s an odd thing to ask.” He looked…confused, she thought. He hung the coat up and sat in the leather barrel chair in his closet. He frowned thoughtfully, touched his chin as he did, and she unconsciously copied him. “Well, you are right, someone did have it before you. Your dad had the room—a long time ago.” He smiled wistfully, and she wanted to squeeze him. “A long time ago.”
He removed his shoes and slid in cedar shoetrees, put them n their shelf. He spent some time taking off his tie, cufflinks, putting everything oh so carefully back in its place…fine. She was just as patient as…as…she was very patient. She could wait.
He slipped on a pair of house shoes and she followed him out of the closet. Just as she was about to prod him again, he said, “Why do you ask, sweetheart?”
“I found a recorder in the closet--”
“Oh!” He sounded so surprised that Ripley stopped. She glanced and saw—he was surprised she *found* them, not surprised they were there. Well, it wasn’t as if they were cleverly hidden….
“You knew about the tapes?” she asked and he blushed a Poppa blush, two little spots on his cheeks and his ears turned pinker—somebody had been snooping.
He only nodded and turned her towards the dining room with a warm hand on her shoulder. The table was set, and covered dishes were waiting. During the week it was all formal, at the dining room table, linens and silverware and china---she kind of preferred weekends, junk food at the bar in the kitchen and the staff off, just the two of them to eat what ever she wanted and talk about whatever she wanted--anything but work.
They sat, and Ripley watched Poppa scrutinize his dish for…attackers, assassins, who knew. He decided it was safe and began to eat, and she did too. He was so different than Dad—Dad loved to eat, and greeted food like a dear friend. Poppa ate to live, and seemed to find her enjoyment of a meal all the spice he needed.
“Poppa, can I ask, what happened? You-–he seemed to be so much in love.”
“No. You may not.”
She sat back, shocked. Poppa never did that. He always explained first—or explained as he refused. He looked…angry. “Why not?” burst out of her mouth. Damn!
“Because I said so,” he answered and pushed his chair back. He stood and walked out of the room.
She stared after him, mouth open. Who was that? Who the heck was *that* guy? Oh no—he wasn’t getting away with that! She jumped up and threw her napkin on her plate, dashed after him.
He was standing in front of a bookshelf in his office; arms crossed and to all appearances, deeply absorbed in the books there.
“Poppa…Tell me what happened, please.” She swallowed hard, begged forgiveness for what she was about to do and asked him, “Was it because he’s alien? Like me? Did you fall out of love with him because of that?”
He turned to her, and the look on his face—for a thousand years; she’d have to work to forget it….
“No—God no, never. I love you--not in spite of the fact, it’s a part of you I love, and a part of him—I never stopped loving.” and Rip kind of knew he wasn’t talking to her. Again, she wanted to beat herself but, *all’s fair* she told herself, *the ends justify the means*, she tried to tell herself.
“Than…why did you leave him?”
He pulled himself together. “That’s not your concern.”
She crossed the room, suddenly a million miles of oriental carpet. She gripped his sleeve, yanked on it. “Tell me. You always want the truth from me, don’t I deserve the same?”
“You’re twelve,” he said quietly, “I decide what you need to know.”
“Daddy will tell me if I ask.” She gave him his own look back, green eyes locked on his. *You want twelve, I’ll act like twelve*, she thought. Poppa was staring down at her, face blank and eyes like a thunderstorm.
“I don’t think so.” He moved back slowly, so that his sleeve eased out of her fingers, and she couldn’t bring herself to hang on—what if he snatched his arm away? She knew she was pushing him, harder than ever before, pushing into areas that she was beginning to feel were dangerous, but she had to know—especially now—she had to know.
“If he did…” and she hadn’t planned for her voice to come out in a whisper….
He looked at her, and a stranger might have interpreted his expression as cold disinterest. “Than that would be his right. I wouldn’t…interfere.”
She breathed deeply, and leaped off the edge. “So-oo…it was something that *you* did.” His chin jerked up a fraction and he smiled, a cold twitch that only went as far as the corners of his mouth. She pushed on. “It’s obvious, you know, it’s the look, the look you get when you blame yourself,” she said, in the lecture mode she’d learned from him. “Like the time I broke that hideous vase at the Gold’s luncheon. Which by the way was *so* totally a fake.”
His eyes warmed, but he said, “If I’d been paying the proper attention it never would have happened. And the fact that the vase was so poor a copy a ten year old could see it has no bearing on the matter.”
She shook her head. “I’m exceptional. Tell me. I want to know.”
He moved to the curtains framing a hell of an expensive view of Metropolis. He crossed his hands behind his ramrod straight back. “Do you?” he said gently. Maybe you should know. You’re a very mature young woman.” He turned back to her and his face was so blank it frightened her—she couldn’t read him at all.
“All right, but you need to understand everything, you need to know how you were conceived. Or I should say how we think you were…”
*Oh yuck, no* She made a face. “I’ve already had the birds and bees lecture, thankyouverymuch.” Ha. She was making headway—she threw herself back on the huge club chair that was his favorite.
“As it pertains to humans, yes.” He held up a hand in a stilling motion and paged Dr. Chang. “It’s a little different for your dad—your birth-father.” He refused to say more until Dr. Chang arrived.
She waited with as much patience as she could muster. This was good—they were getting to the real business now.
******
“That, you see, that’s how your father conceived, and gave birth. To you.” He beamed at her and patted her hand, and she was sure he didn’t see that she was a little pale and queasy. “As for you, my dear, we can assume that the process will be earth-normal. We are ninety-nine per cent positive. Yes.” He beamed at her as he bustled about, packing up charts and diagrams that Rip refused to look at again. He hugged her quickly and trotted out of the room, passing Lex on his way back into the office. “Don’t forget, Lex—you have a physical coming up very soon. Remind him, my dear,” and he was off to the lab again.
“Poppa, that was informative in a traumatizing way,” she said, expecting him to smile.
He looked at her without an answering trace of humor, and said, “Ask your question if you like.”
Just like that, the desire was gone. She didn’t want to ask. It was bad; it had to be bad…she felt like a little kid, in bed at night in the dark and waiting for the monster under her bed to snatch her away. “What. Happened, Poppa?”
“Dr. Chang told you that an egg donor contributed to your conception. That’s what he knows. The donor was someone your father knew.”
“Who? Do I know her?” She felt a wave of ice sweep over her—who—
“She’s dead. She never knew about you.”
She narrowed her eyes at her father. “We’re off track—or are we?”
“She’s dead because of me,” he said, and looked as if he’d been run through for a moment, and then she could see him pulling himself together bit by bit.
“You--” She stopped and looked at him, really looked and she didn’t know this man, this man was…frightening.
“Your father left because I killed her. She was…dangerous, untrustworthy. She would have been a danger--”
“You killed her! Oh my god, you killed someone.” Her mother…she felt like she was being gutted, like someone was trying to pull her heart out. Poppa. No. This was all wrong. He couldn’t. Wouldn’t.
His cheek jerked and it was supposed to be a smile, it came from a million miles away, and—and it hurt so much. Tears flooded her eyes. He took a step forward and she jerked back. Away.
He made a soft noise and stopped. Put his hands in his pocket. “I’ll call your father.”
She nodded and went to sit in the foyer. He came back, hovered near her, not touching, not speaking, just waited until Daddy came. It was only a few minutes before Daddy was there, and he picked her up and hugged her, and held her head in his hands.
Poppa said, “I had to. She wanted…she needed to know. She asked me.”
“Lex…Lex. I never would have. You know.”
“Be a good girl for your father, sweetheart.”
Daddy picked her up and ran fast—faster than anything and they were home—her other home, with all her stuff around her, and the blanket Grandma made and. She was asleep in her bed in seconds and she heard voices and thought Daddy’s friend is here? Darkness swallowed her and she was happy to fall.
*****
“Lex, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, but you shouldn’t have—“
*What was I supposed to do? Someday she’d know. Who better than from me?*
“But she’s just a kid—she’ll never understand. She doesn’t know…”
*Clark, age is no indicator—she could have been grown, a mother—the reaction would have been the same. She’s her father’s daughter, thank god. She’s a good person, a decent person. I can’t teach her that. And now, I can’t be anything to her—she needs her father.*
“You—you’re still a jerk, Lex! You’re still such an asshole!
*I know Clark. I know.*
“No, that’s not what I mean, I mean—oh shit. She’ll be back. I promise you, she’ll be back in a day or two. She loves you. She loves you so much—and you deserve it. You’re a wonderful father.”
*I’m not. *
“You are, you are her father, her best friend, and she loves you like—like crazy—don’t turn away.”
*Clark—I can’t talk any more. I’ll call tomorrow.*
“Don’t worry. Please. Don’t worry. It’ll be better--” Clark listened to the dial tone for a long minute, before going into lay down with Rip.”
******
“Dad said she wasn’t a good person. He said you did what you had to. He said you did it to protect us. I’m thinking about it. I know you. You wouldn’t do something to hurt us.”
*Whatever you decide. But I’d like it…if you came back. I love you.*
“I know. I mean, I really do know that. Bye.”
******
She stared up at the stars they’d never gotten around to peeling off the ceiling. Her shoes were in a corner; there was a bag of takeout on her nightstand. A movie played to the audience of a stuffed monster and a huge ratty unicorn on her bed. She was on the floor, thinking.
Okay. She got why Dad left. He was a deeply…black and white person. Things were good, or they were bad. Poppa was a deeply…gray person. There were circumstances, and situations and events and actions that all had to be weighed and examined before a decision could be made…once you made it though, it was imperative to act on it—it was duty. Yeah, that was Poppa—duty. Daddy too…just…different.
She got up and padded over to her bedroom door and down the hallway to Dad’s studio. He was working on the book. Pictures were tacked all over the wall—people from all over the country, doing everyday things…her favorite, a pudgy old lady with a beehive hairdo and a homemade angel pin stuck on her uniform--a waitress-- smiled into the camera. Her squinty eyes glowed behind her ugly glasses and Rip though she was really…nice looking, friendly. Like you’d want to have her wait on you because she’d be nice and treat you like family.
There were tons of other pictures, fireman and construction workers, linemen and cooks, just people that dad interviewed, and wrote about. Everyday people. She watched for a while, watched him typing and frowning, listened to the weird little noises he didn’t know he made. After a while, she went back to her room.
In the morning, Dad made eggs and bacon and pancakes, and she knew they’d taste just like Grandma’s. Dad was a good cook. He was a good housecleaner too, because Grandma had made sure of that. He wasn’t an everything in its place guy like Pop, there was personal stuff dropped here and there and he never used the coat closet but it was clean and comfortable.
Poppa would have a fit. She grinned a little, sighed.
Dad set her plate in front of her with a kiss, and poured himself a mug of coffee and gulped it, burning hot, right down. He poured another mug and checked out the fridge, making a grocery list as he chatted about what he had to do that day, and his latest himbo. Not that she’d ever say it out loud. But Dad had suck taste in guys.
“Dad…Dad!”
“Hunh?” He turned to her and smiled. “What is it, Rip?”
She told Dad she wanted to go back. She needed to go back. He looked relieved, and really happy.
“Oh good, that’s great—not for me. It’s just…he does really need you. I’m so glad you…you made up your mind.”
“I’m not the only one he needs.”
Dad looked so sad. “Oh, I don’t think…” He blocked her view of his face with the mug. “Once maybe, but not anymore. It’s been a long time. I was just a kid then, I’m different now. Not the kind of person he’d want…anyway, let’s call him and let him know you want to come home. But…But not today, hunh? I’ll take you to school and after—we can see a movie, maybe?” He looked hopeful, his eyebrows climbed to his hairline. He swept back the wild strands of hair that always seemed to stick out one way or another. He must make his stylist cry, she thought. She tilted her head and stared at him, watching his face. He gave her a sweet little smile, and she closed her eyes and concentrated. He asked quietly, “What do you hear?”
She said, “I hear the fridge, and the stove cooling…I hear your heart. And…your tummy,” she grinned and he chuckled.
“What else?”
“The elevator door is opening in the lobby…Oh…ooooo. I think I hear the neighbors being naughty--” she lied.
“That’s enough!” he yelped and clapped his huge hands over her ears. She grinned, her eyes crinkling and her nose wrinkling a bit, and Dad got a soft look on his face. Sure. She knew she looked like Poppa when she smiled. She sighed to herself. Idiots. Poor dumb idiots.
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*hug*
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