My heart speeds and hurts, because Mia is three, and she has no fucking clue what her life is anymore. Her mother is a junkie currently doing time in a rehab facility against her wishes. Her father is a homicide cop who works insane hours and is rarely home. And I’m just a woman who comes and goes and has no answers for the inquisitive little girl.
While Mia is gone, I take out my phone and jump to my text screen to type.
Find a therapist for Mia. Today! She’s so freakin’ confused, Fletch. Find her someone to talk to before she makes herself sick wondering.
I send my message and push up to cross the living room, then just a few minutes later, Mia emerges again, entirely dressed and ready for her day.
She’s only three, but she’s had ample experience taking care of herself while her mother has been preoccupied with a needle and men.
“I’m ready!”
Replacing the frowny toddler from a few minutes ago, Mia skips by the couch to collect her toy, then she comes to the kitchen and plops down so hard,mybutt hurts in sympathy. But I watch in fascination as Mia pulls on her boots and fastens the Velcro straps on her own.
Her hair is tidier than before. Not brushed properly, but not hanging in her eyes. I assume, if I inspect her mouth, I’d find that her teeth won’t have been brushed either.
But we’re going out to eat, so who cares?
“Do you know where you’d like to go for food?” I cross to the door and wait with my hand extended. “Do you have a favorite place?”
“Nuh-uh.” Shoving to her feet, Mia snags her stuffed toy and bolts across to meet me. “Do you have afav-retplace?”
“The restaurant across from my work does good eggs.” Passing through the apartment door, I make sure the locks snick before turning us to head down the stairs. “Would you like to walk there? Then I can bring you to the station and plop you in the nursery before I start work.”
“Sure,” she answers quickly, except she pronounces it likeshaw. “Do they do hotdogs on a stick?”
I snort and keep my steps slow so she can keep up. “I’m not sure. But I’ll ask, and if they do, maybe I’ll bring you one this afternoon.”
In my pocket, my phone trills loud enough to make me startle in the otherwise silence. It’s still early. The sun isn’t yet up, and the other residents of Fletch’s building are trying to sleep.
Taking my cell out and spying the name on my screen, I wait just a few more seconds until we reach the bottom steps and exit the building before answering. “Yes, Charlie Fletcher?”
Beside me, Mia’s hand spasms in mine as she jerks her head up to watch me, while on the other end of the line, Fletch asks, “What the hell happened?”
“Nothing happened.”
“You texted and said my daughter needs a fucking therapist, Delicious.Somethinghappened.”
“She’s curious,” I grit out. “She’s insanely confused.” Then I look down at Mia. “I can’t say any more. Little ears are listening. Here.”
“Wha—”
I pass the phone to Mia and continue toward our destination while she fumbles the device and brings it to her ear.
“Daddy? Oh, hi, Daddy! Where are you?”
Mia goes silent for a moment as she listens to his response. I assume his answer is ‘I’m at work.’
“Minka was at home when I woke up!” Her smile grows larger, and on every third or so step, she skips. “Ifoughtit was a boogeyman or sumfin. But I came out and saw it was just Minka!”
Well, that’s good, honey.
“We’re going out to get breakfast now. She said I can’t have a hotdog on a stick.” Pouting, she adds, “She said no.”
“I said it wouldn’t be a good idea,” I cut in with a laugh. “I think you’ll feel a bit yucky all day if you do. But we’ll have eggs now, and I’ll get the corndog this afternoon.”
“She said she’ll get me a hotdog on a stick this afternoon,” she reports helpfully. “Daddy? What’s this afternoon? Is that the day before today, or the day after today?”
That’s the day we’re in right now, my precious little gumdrop.