He smiles. I smile back, because that is the only thing I can do. The only thing we can both do.
At the same time, we both check the clock on the wall. Our time together is almost up. Strange how it seems to go by faster and faster each time I come, just slipping through my hands, like fine grains of sand, and I will never be able to get them back.
When the guard informs us that my dad needs to go back to his cell, I cry. I can usually wait until I get to the car, but not this time. I’m overwhelmed by everything, and letting go of him is hard, much harder than usual, almost as if I will never be seeing him again.
“There, there,” he whispers, kissing my forehead as he lets go of me, not because he wants to, but because he has to. “It’ll be alright. Tell mom I love her.”
“I will,” I snivel through a waterfall of silent tears. I don’t even feel embarrassed. These are my emotions and I’ll be damned if I’ll explain or apologize for them.
I cry some more in the car, finally managing to calm myself down after a few minutes. Mom calls immediately, as if sensing the moment, and I tell her how it was. We end the conversation with I love you’s, as always, and I head back to pick up Marley.
Chapter Sixteen
Dominic
It was early in the morning on Sunday, one of my favorite days, that I realized for the first time ever that my daughter knows and understands much more of life than I originally expected her to.
The smell of pancakes fills the entire kitchen to such an extent that I have to open the window, but Marley doesn’t seem to mind. She is sitting in her usual place, chewing slowly, measuredly, not taking her eyes off me. She doesn’t usually eat like that, especially when I make pancakes for breakfast, something that doesn’t happen very often.
I sit down across from her, with only my cup of coffee in front of me. I’m not much of a breakfast person, and with everything that’s been taking place these days, I feel like I have completely lost my appetite.
She on the other hand, hasn’t. But there’s something about her this morning that’s making me question what’s going on inside that little head of hers.
I smile at her, bringing the cup to my lips and taking a sip. Suddenly, she puts down her half-eaten pancake and looks at me as if she has been forced to carry the heaviest burden in the world. It almost breaks my heart, but there is obviously something she wants to say, to share, and I allow her this moment.
“Dad?” she calls out, pausing.
“Yes, sweetie?” I reply, putting down my cup, so I can fully focus on her.
“Is everything alright?” she asks me this question so unexpectedly that I almost burst out into a chuckle, but I manage to bite my tongue and resist the temptation, because I see that she is completely serious. There is something about her eyes, something I’ve never seen before, almost as if she grew up overnight. It’s impossible, and yet, it’s a sensation I can’t escape.
“Why wouldn’t it be?” I answer her question with another question.
Saying yes would be a lie. It would be a white lie, something to tell her so she wouldn’t be worried, but it would still be a lie, nonetheless.
“Because you look worried,” she tells me in a simple child’s way, which should be obvious in itself.
I smile at her reassuringly. “It’s just work. Nothing you should worry your little self about.”
In my mind, this should be enough for this conversation to end, and we can move on to what we usually talk about, like for example our plans for the day and how much ice cream is she going to be allowed to have. Only, this isn’t how this conversation goes. Everything about his morning is somehow different.
“It’s not just work,” she tells me, tilting her head a little as she speaks. “Something else is bothering you as well.”
“What makes you say that?” I wonder, realizing that I’m still answering her questions with more questions.
“You aren’t smiling as much as usual,” she points out.
“You’re right,” I nod instantly. “You are absolutely right. I should work on that right now.” I widen my lips into a grin that stretches all the way from my left ear to my right. “How’s this?” I ask, still grinning, hoping to make her smile but she remains as pensive as before.
“Not good,” she shakes her little head so that her curls fly all around her face. “That’s not how you usually smile.”
I sigh, pretending to have a difficult time. “Maybe you could tell me a joke?”
“Would that help?” she asks, and again, I’m struck by how smart she is sometimes, maybe not fully understanding the nuances of grown-up relationships but catching a small glimpse into them.
“It absolutely would,” I nod. “Try me.”