Chapter 8 - The Father Emily Had Imagined
Daniel’s third visit did not go well.
That was probably good.
Perfect meetings were suspicious.
He took Emily to a science museum with Grace following thirty feet behind for the first hour.
Emily talked too much because she was nervous.
Daniel talked too much because he was nervous.
By the time they reached the planetarium, both were tired.
Then Daniel made the mistake.
He bought Emily a sweatshirt without asking.
It cost sixty-four dollars.
Emily looked at the price tag.
“No.”
Daniel blinked.
“You don’t like it?”
“I do.”
“Then—”
“Mom says we don’t buy expensive stuff when we’re moving.”
Daniel glanced at Grace.
Grace did not intervene.
“I can afford it,” he said.
Emily’s face tightened.
“That’s not what I said.”
Daniel stopped.
Grace saw the exact second he understood.
He was trying to answer a problem Emily had not presented.
He put the sweatshirt back.
“Okay.”
Emily looked surprised.
“Okay?”
“Okay.”
They walked on.
An hour later, Emily asked if he wanted a pretzel.
Daniel said yes.
She opened the jar.
Grace had objected to bringing it.
Emily insisted.
She counted three dollars and seventy-five cents onto the counter.
Daniel watched.
“You don’t have to buy mine.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you?”
“Because I want to.”
Daniel accepted the pretzel.
Grace nearly cried over mustard.
At a bench, Emily asked, “Why did you buy our building?”
Daniel looked down.
Grace had answered before.
Emily wanted his answer.
“I thought your mom would need me if I controlled something she needed.”
Emily frowned.
“That’s mean.”
“Yes.”
“Did you know it was mean?”
Daniel hesitated.
“I knew it was manipulative.”
“What’s that?”
Grace almost rescued him.
Daniel said, “It means trying to make somebody choose what you want without asking them directly.”
Emily nodded.
“So mean.”
Daniel laughed.
“Yes.”
Emily ate part of her pretzel.
“Mr. Romano does that.”
Daniel nearly choked.
Grace covered her mouth.
Emily continued, “Mom gets mad at him.”
Daniel wiped mustard from his thumb.
“She should.”
“Did you hate him?”
Daniel looked toward Grace.
Then back at Emily.
“Yes.”
“Do you still?”
He took time.
“Sometimes.”
Emily seemed satisfied by the honesty.
“Why?”
“Because he made a choice that changed my life.”
Emily looked at Grace.
“Like Dad did to you.”
Grace did not answer.
Daniel did.
“Yes.”
The child sat between three adults’ unfinished histories and somehow kept finding the shortest sentence through them.
After the museum, Daniel walked them to the car.
He stopped several feet away.
“Can I hug you?”
Emily looked at Grace.
Grace said, “Your choice.”
Emily thought.
Then hugged Daniel for approximately two seconds.
He held still, arms barely around her.
When she stepped away, he did not pull her back.
Grace noticed.
So did Emily.
In the car, Emily said, “He smells like soap.”
Grace laughed.
“That’s your review?”
“And pretzel.”
“Better.”
Emily looked out the window.
“Can he come see the new apartment?”
Grace had signed the lease the day before.
Move-in was three weeks away.
“I don’t know.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s our home.”
“He’s my dad.”
“Yes.”
“Mr. Romano came to our old home.”
“That was an emergency.”
Emily considered.
“Dad made the emergency.”
“Yes.”
“So maybe he should see what it caused.”
Grace looked at her daughter.
That was not punishment.
Not exactly.
It was consequence.
“Maybe.”
Vincent learned about the new apartment from Emily, not Grace.
That was also probably good.
They were at the diner.
Emily announced, “My room has a west window.”
Vincent put down his coffee.
“Congratulations.”
“We have to paint.”
“Do you?”
“The wall is beige.”
Vincent looked serious.
“Unacceptable.”
Emily grinned.
“Mom says one wall can be purple.”
“Only one?”
“Renting.”
Vincent nodded as if that explained the tragedy.
Grace watched him.
He did not offer painters.
He did not offer furniture.
He did not ask the address.
Progress.
Martha brought pancakes.
Emily said, “Dad is paying support.”
Vincent’s fork stopped.
Grace said, “Emily.”
“What? He is.”
Vincent looked at Grace.
“Formally?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
That was all.
More progress.
Then Emily asked, “Did you ever have a kid?”
The table went still.
Vincent looked at her.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Emily.”
Vincent lifted a hand.
“It’s fine.”
He looked at his coffee.
“I did not build a life where children fit very well.”
Emily nodded.
“Because mafia?”
Grace wanted the floor to open.
Vincent said, “Partly.”
“Do mafia have birthdays?”
“Yes.”
“Do they have grandmas?”
“Yes.”
“Did yours yell at you?”
Vincent’s mouth twitched.
“Constantly.”
Emily smiled.
Grace watched him answer questions no adult in the neighborhood would ask.
It was easy to forget what he was.
That was dangerous too.
Vincent had power.
Real power.
People changed behavior around him.
Police officers knew his name.
Business owners lowered their voices.
Grace did not want Emily to mistake kindness from a powerful man for proof that power itself was safe.
After Emily went to the restroom with Martha, Grace said, “Don’t become her substitute father.”
Vincent looked at her.
“I wasn’t.”
“I know.”
He sat back.
“That sounded like a warning against something I haven’t done.”
“It is.”
“Fair.”
Grace narrowed her eyes.
“Daniel uses that word.”
Vincent looked offended.
“I’ll stop.”
She smiled despite herself.
Then Vincent said, “Grace.”
“What?”
“If Mercer ever stops showing up, I won’t explain it for him.”
Her smile faded.
“That is not your job.”
“I know.”
“But thank you.”
Vincent nodded.
Emily came back carrying two crayons Martha had given her.
She drew on a paper placemat while the adults finished breakfast.
A square house.
Three windows.
A crooked chimney.
Then she added three stick figures.
Grace.
Emily.
Daniel.
Vincent said nothing.
Emily looked at the drawing.
Then added a fourth figure outside the fence.
Grace raised an eyebrow.
“Who is that?”
Emily wrote V over the head.
Vincent stared.
“Why am I outside?”
“You don’t live there.”
“I gathered that.”
“You can visit if Mom says.”
Grace laughed.
Vincent looked at her.
Then at Emily.
“That seems to be the rule.”
Emily colored the door purple.
May you like
Vincent went back to his coffee.
For once, he did not try to move the fence.
