“How come? The more you work with her the faster your ankle will heal.”
“It doesn’t even matter,” the girl’s voice says as it cracks audibly. She sounds as if she is about to break into tears. “I’m never going to be able to dance as good again.”
“What? Lilly that’s not true. That’s why I got you the physical therapist and the at-home dance teacher. Lots of dancers suffer injuries that they heal through and then can dance again. You’re no different.”
“You don’t even know about dance, Dad. I’m sorry but you don’t.Momknew about dance, but she isn’t here.”
There is a silence that lingers as neither of them says anything for several seconds. I can’t see what Chad’s reaction is, but I can tell by his silence that what she said cut him deep.
“I know Mom isn’t here Lillybean,” he says in a gentle voice that was softer than anything I’ve ever heard him use before. “ButI am. And I’m going to make sure that you recover just fine and dance as beautifully as before. I’ll be home soon, okay? I love you.”
“I love you too Dad,” she says.
The pain is audible in both of their voices, and I have an entirely new respect for Chad. He may be a tough ass at the office, but not to Lilly. I can see how much he loves his daughter, and I feel bad for thinking that he was being a prick all week. He’strying, it’s just a lot for any one person to deal with.
I grab my purse, which I left sitting on the top of Tori’s desk when I had stopped to talk to her on my way out, and then I quietly slip back out of the office again. On my drive home, I think about Lilly.
I’ve never met the girl, never even seen a picture of her in any of those online articles about Chad, but I feel as if Iknowher in a way that only people who have been through a similar tragedy can understand.
I too, lost my mother at a young age. Not in a car accident, but due to illness. And I can relate to what Lilly is going through to some extent. I know what it feels like to not have even hit your teenage years yet, tocravethe tender guidance of a mother, and to not have it. It’s devastating, and the impact of it has stayed with me my whole life.
I’ve never been able to settle, never thought that I knew exactly where I wanted to be or what I wanted to do, and never felt like I was ever quite confident enough to pursue my dreams head-on. My dad did his best too, just like I can see Chad trying to do. But there isn’t any way to make up for a missing mother. It punches a hole in you that no one can fill.
When I get home, I can’t stop thinking about that poor girl and her busted ankle. I was wrong to think that it wasn’t a big deal because toher, it was everything. And that poor kid had already suffered enough loss. To lose her ability to dance, even temporarily, probably feels insurmountable to a still-grieving twelve-year-old.
I sit down at the table and run my hands over the top of my tubes of paint, lost in thought and barely noticing them until an idea comes to me. I want to do something to help, in the way that I know best.
I take out a canvas and a utility knife and cut it into a tiny piece no larger than the palm of my hand. Then, I start to paint.
The little painting is of a ballerina, dressed up in a gorgeous lilac tutu with pointe shoes that are perfectly arched and angled. She dances on a tiny stage with lights shining down on her in brilliant golden paint. In my mind, this is what Lilly will look like one day. She will be stronger than other dancers because she will have overcome so much to get back onto the stage.
When I am, finished, I look at the miniature painting with satisfaction and leave it on the table to dry overnight.
In the morning, before work, I stop in the village. The woman with all the tiny paintings also has a whole selection of very,verysmall frames. I pop in quickly, pick out an ornate, little gold frame that fits the painting I made for Chad’s daughter, and then head to work. Thankfully I make it there only about three minutes late, which isn’t too bad.
Tori gives me a look of scolding as soon as I come in, which means that Chad is in a bad mood again and has already noticed that I’m late.
I get through the day without incident, and then right before I leave, while Chad is out talking with Tori about an upcoming product launch, I slip into his office and leave the tiny painting on top of his desk with a note that simply reads, “For Lilly”.
The next day, I am fifteen minutes early for work to make up for my previous tardiness. I get there even before Chad arrives and while Tori is still in the kitchenette making a fresh pot of coffee.
I head right into my desk and notice instantly that the miniature painting I left for Lilly is gone. Since it is no longer on his desk, that means that he must have already taken it home. But all day long he doesn’t even mention it.
Work is busy, so busy that I feel as if I am running from one errand to the next, and constantly completing mountains of tasks. Chad is keeping everyone busy, from the few employees that he has working here in this headquarters, to the ones that are still back in DC and those working remotely around the country. I feel like he is purposefully trying to keep everyone on their toes with tight deadlines and impossibly high project loads.
At least it seems to be keeping him productive and less grumpy.
Every night that I get back home, I am much too exhausted after a long and busy day at work to tackle any of the repairs on the cottage. I’ll try again over the weekend, but I really do need to get a handle on some of the larger repairs soon. I have almost enough money now to pay for some of the big repairs, like the floors and the roof, and now it’s a matter of making time to schedule everything. For the moment, the cottage remains in disrepair, but since I am now feeling so at home here in Asheville, and even in my new job, the cottage still feels cozy and adequate for me. It will get fixed up in time.
I’m proud of the work that I’ve been doing in my position for Chad, and all of the things that I’ve been able to multitask and keep up with. Tom was right, I am definitelynotan office person, but at least I know now that Icanbe if needed.
I like Tori and I think that she actually might be one of my first friends here and working for Chad isn’t so bad as long as he’s not moody over something that is going on outside of the office. Ever since the day that the painting disappeared from his desk, he seems to be less angry and upset. I’m sure that it has nothing at all to do with my tiny artwork, but it’s nice to think that it may have helped.
The onlyrealproblem that remains about working for Chad, is that the more time I spend around him, the more that I find myself developing a bit of acrushon him. It’s impossible not to. Even though he tends to be a hard ass at times, I have seen enough of the other side of him now to know that he has a good heart. It might be bruised and buried deep inside his chest, but it’s there.
I attribute his frequently agitated mood to the stress of being a single dad, and running a multi-million-dollar company, and I just try to overlook it as much as possible. Some days are easier than others.
“Take this,” Tori says as she hands me an umbrella sitting inside the office door. “It’s going to pour tonight. Have you ever experienced a mountain storm?”