Great job, Morgan.
As I round the corner of the house to rinse off my feet and legs, I halt—even my breath arrests in my chest. There’s no sign of Gabe, but Gracelyn, with her back to me, shrugs off her shirt and shimmies out of her jeans, shoving them into a plastic bag, pausing just long enough to peek through the grass plants and squint up at the window to my bedroom and the one right below it. She’s checking to see if anyone is watching her.
I really shouldn’t be watching her, but I fear if I move one inch, she might hear me. With her shoes and purse in one hand and the plastic bag in her other hand, she scurries up the stairs, but at the last second she makes one more glance over her shoulder. At. Me.
Lunging for the hose, I move my gaze to my sand-covered feet, hoping she didn’t notice me staring at her. Making quick moves with the hose, I get ninety percent of the sand off my feet and legs before disappearing to the front porch to dry off, feeling guilty. She caught me staring at her. I’m not one hundred percent sure, but there’s a ninety-nine percent chance I’ll have trouble looking her in the eye again.
*
“She’s here!” Morgan squeals, glued to the window as I work on my book from the sofa.
“Maybe you should wait until you’re invited over before you barge in on them.”
“Daaad … I’m just going to see Gabe. I’ll play it cool around Hunter.”
“Hunter?”
Eye roll. “Yes. That’s Mr. Hans’s granddaughter’s name. She’s thirteen.”
“I don’t like you going over there just to get your fix of screen time and games. I wish you and Gabe would find something to do like … play Frisbee.”
She deflates on a long sigh. “I know, Dad. I know you wish that.” The door closes behind her.
“I’ve already lost her,” I mumble to myself while getting back to my book.
I anticipate a couple hours of alone time before dragging her home for dinner. To my surprise, she barges through the door less than twenty minutes later.
“Mr. Hans and Hunter are going to get tacos for dinner. They invited me to go. Can I go? Please please please can I go?” Her words fly out of her mouth, leaving her breathless.
“Thought you were spending time with Gabe.” I sit up and cap my pen.
“He’s spending the night with a friend. Mr. Hans said you could go too, but I said you were busy working on your book.”
“So I don’t need to eat?” I cock my head at her.
“Fine … you can go too. Whatevs …”
I shake my head. “Go. Have fun. I could use some time away from you anyway.”
She gives me a crooked smile.
“I still love you.” I wink.
She runs over to me and tackles me with the biggest hug, catching me so off guard I have to fight back the tears.
“I love you, Daddy.”
This is why I don’t ever need anyone but her. Even if it’s once every few months, a hug and an “I love you, Daddy” is all I will ever need.
“Have fun.” I kiss her cheek before she slips back on her shoes and vanishes out the door. So much for vetting Mr. Hans. I grin at just how far I’ve come with her. It’s hard to let her go, inch by inch, but it’s unfair to hold her back. I won’t be her anchor when she needs to soar.
I cut up some cheese and turkey sausage and arrange it on a plate with crackers. Dinner for one. The screen door whines when I open it to eat my dinner on the deck, watching the sunset. As I bend to sit in the padded rocking chair, movement to my right catches my attention.
Gracelyn, sitting on Mr. Hans’s porch swing with her legs outstretched and a glass of wine in her hand, lifts the glass and smiles at me.
I catch myself wetting my lips, just like Morgan said I do, right before smiling at Gracelyn. She doesn’t say anything, so neither do I. Over the next ten or so minutes, I focus on my cheesy dinner while my sharp peripheral vision tracks her slow movements, the swing swaying like the way her white sundress flutters in the slight breeze.
Just as I convince myself I should be friendly and invite her over, she makes her way to my deck.
“No tacos?” She grins, climbing the stairs in her bare feet, toenails painted black like half of her hair, her wine glass in one hand and the bottle in her other hand.
“Nah. I think Morgan wanted to go without me.”
Gracelyn eases into the chair beside me, bringing her citrusy scent with her. I’m not sure if it’s a perfume, lotion, or shampoo, but she always smells like sweet orange and maybe grapefruit.