CHAPTER EIGHT
Chrissy
I wake and the feel of the blankets on top of my body… well, they’re just…
I don’t have any real way to explain this. It’s just that this morning is one of those times when I wake up and everything feels absolutely wonderful. I wake up feeling great, as though I am floating in a cloud of complete happiness. I feel warm and comfortable. There is no nagging or pressing issue weighing in my mind.
I’m just here.
I’m just here and I’m just Chrissy.
And everything feels wonderful.
I sigh happily and sleepily and I lift up the blankets and roll from the bed. I feel the coolness of the air conditioning on my bare bottom and I smooth out the big tee shirt I wear as pajamas. I head the shower and twenty minutes or so later, I walk out of the bedroom.
When I get to the kitchen to start coffee, I notice something strange. Roger’s expanding file is on the table. I glance out the kitchen window. I don’t see his car in the driveway so I walk across the kitchen and open the door to the garage. My car is in the garage, not his.
I run to the table and open the file. All of the documents are there, along with the little sticky arrows that say where people need to sign. Holy shit. This is not good.
Daddy is on his way to New York for a deal signing that is important to him and his company and he left his file here. He probably thinks it’s in his briefcase. I panic looking for my phone and then roll my eyes at myself because it’s right by the coffee maker. I dial his number. It rings several times but then goes to voicemail. Of course, it does! He’s either boarding on a plane or parking at the airport. The point is, it’s just my luck I can’t reach him.
I quickly look up flights. I can catch one in an hour. Because it has no layover, it will get to New York only thirty minutes after Daddy’s flight. It isn’t fun to spend the money but this is important to Daddy so I take the hit and buy them. Then, I run to the room and get dressed for the trip. I don’t pack for an overnight trip because my return flight is in the evening.
It takes me almost fifteen minutes to get ready. It will take me twenty to get to the airport. Twenty-five minutes to go through security and hop on the flight isn’t nearly enough time for me to be unstressed about things! I run from the bedroom and round the corner toward the door and run right into Daddy.
Literally.
I run right into him, slamming against his chest with a thud. I fall back and land on my ass like some kind of idiot. I stare up at him and it takes a second to actually register that he’s here. He looks at me and offers his hand, “Are you okay, little girl?”
“What the hell are you doing here?” I shout.
He looks at me in confusion for a second and then his eyes grow dark. “Take my hand and stand up, little girl. Don’t use that tone of voice with me.”
I scramble back and say, “I don’t need your help to stand up for Christ’s sake. You think I can’t do a damned thing on my own?” I get to my feet and say, “I just spend almost seven hundred dollars to get a flight to New York because you left your files here. What the hell are you doing here?” I don’t mean to shout the words. I don’t mean to use the tone I use. I don’t mean to be angry either. I just can’t stop myself, as much as I want to. I don’t know what the hell is going on.
But, as much as I wish I knew how to stop, I don’t.
“Little girl,” he says softly but sternly, ‘that’s enough. You need to take a breath to let your emotions allow you to think about things before you go any further.”
His tone infuriates me. “Oh yeah! You’re the smart and responsible, Daddy, right? I’m just the crazy and emotional idiot little girl! I’m the idiot little girl who was ready to spend five and a half hours on a plane to drop these off for you and then five and a half hours back. That’s the kind of stupid and emotional idiot I am!”
“Little girl,” he says sternly.
“Shut up! Just shut up!” I run from the front room to the bedroom, and I just don’t understand what I’m doing. Why the hell am I going crazy like this? Why in the world can’t I back away from it? What is wrong with me?
My phone chimes and I look. There’s nothing. What the heck? It chimes again and I see Roger’s phone on the nightstand. That explains at least why my call went to voicemail. I groan and walk over to grab his phone and bring it to him.
And I freeze.
It’s Thursday, October 6th.
Thursday.
Daddy’s meeting in New York is on Friday.
October 7th.
I stare at the phone and then fall to the bed, weeping like a baby. What the hell happened? Why did I go so crazy? I cry for about fifteen minutes and when I leave the room, I see Daddy on his chair. I don’t have any idea what to say to him. I just stare and wait for him to look up from his book.
It takes five agonizing minutes for that to happen.
It feels like five years!
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I whisper.
He says something I wouldn’t expect in a million years. He says, “Are you my little girl?”