“Will you pick me up at the usual time?” she asks, but she knows the answer already.
“Mhm,” I confirm.
My visit always takes place during Marley’s ballet class, and it gives me just enough time to go see my dad for half an hour, then return to pick up Marley and take her home. Her teacher, Olga, was kind enough to stay with her that one time when I got caught in traffic on the way there and assured me that it’s no problem to stay with her if that happens again. I hope it won’t, but it’s good to know there are always people out there you can count on.
“OK then, sweetie,” mom says, as usual. “I’ll be ready when you come.”
“Yes, you know that I have to be back on time for Marley,” I remind her.
“Oh, speaking of Marley,” my mom suddenly remembers. “I made some brownies. I’ll pack a few for you and her.”
“Thanks, mom,” I smile. “Gotta go now. See you later.”
“Bye, sweetie,” she says, then hangs up.
I put the phone back in my pocket and look around. I always feel so bad dragging Marley away from her friends, especially when she’s having such a great time. Luckily, she’s always very understanding. Unusually so, especially for someone her age.
I wait for her to look in my direction, then I wave at her. There is a questioning look in her eyes, then the light of understanding. She turns to her friends, tells them something I can’t hear, proceeds to hug every single one of them, then skips over to me.
“Are we going home?” she asks in that kittenish voice of hers.
“Mhm,” I nod. “You’ve got ballet today, so I need to drop you off.”
We head for the car, and she walks by my side. Suddenly, she lifts her head at me. “Will you be late picking me up?”
“I don’t think so,” I look back at her. “Why?”
She shrugs. “You were late once.”
“But I got the impression you had fun with Olga.”
“I did,” she nods. “I just have more fun with you.”
“I’ll try not to be late today, OK?” I tell her, not wanting to promise something I can’t be one hundred percent certain of. It just wouldn’t be fair.
“OK,” she agrees. “Can we have ice cream afterwards?”
I frown. “I don’t think your dad would approve of ice cream before dinner.”
“He sometimes lets me have ice cream before dinner,” Marley tells me importantly, her little curls flying about her head with every unexpected gush of the wind.
“Does he now?” I wonder, and we both chuckle out loud at the same time.
It is at moments like these when I realize how much alike she and her father truly are. Not only physically, but also in character. I wonder about her mother, but I know it’s not my place to ask. Everyone more or less already knows the story, that Marley’s mother died at the hands of a drunken driver, leaving Dominic alone with both a baby and a multi-billion empire to look after. Now, Marley is already seven, and Dominic’s empire has never been more successful. It seems that he has everything going for him. Then, why is he always such a grump?
We settle in the car, and head to Dominic’s place, to pick up all the stuff we need for ballet class. We play some kid songs and start singing at the same time.
Marley always manages to put me in a good mood, even when I’m subconsciously feeling sad. Every time I visit my dad, it is both a sad and a happy occasion. It is a strange, melancholic mixture of the two. You can’t separate them. Marley manages to soften that weird sensation somehow, with her sweet outlook on the world.
As I allow her to keep singing Old McDonald on her own, I silently pray that she is allowed to live in this blissful bubble for as long as possible.
Chapter Eight
Dominic
“He’s been missing for three days?” I ask, staring out of the window and at the view below.