Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 467(@200wpm)___ 374(@250wpm)___ 311(@300wpm)
Sadie Bisset.
There had been something about her from the very beginning. She was a knockout, but I’m not referring to her obvious good looks. There was something oddly familiar about her. I could never figure it out. Now that strange air of familiarity made sense. Even though I didn’t know her, in an indirect way, she knew me. And she certainly knew Birdie.
Her pretending to be the dog trainer was asinine, though. There was no doubt about that. But everything else? I still didn’t know what to make of it.
In some ways, what she’d done for my daughter was endearing, and in other ways, a little insane. But the more I processed that email, the more I did believe Sadie meant no ill will, that her intentions had been good. And there was no way she was making this story up, because she simply knew too much. Everything she mentioned that Birdie had said matched up. It was a relief to know that the dog-trainer act hadn’t been malicious. Because of my own anger, I’d given her no chance to explain herself that day. Not knowing who the hell she was and where she’d come from had been haunting me, made worse by the fact that I blamed myself for my poor judgment. Now, at least, everything made sense.
When it hit me, I started to laugh deliriously. The socks.
The fucking socks.
The next morning, I did something I rarely did. I made pancakes. Or I tried to make pancakes. Saturday was Magdalene’s day off, which meant Birdie’s breakfast normally consisted of whatever sugary cereal she’d pull from the closet. Cookie Crisp was her favorite.
But today I vowed to give my daughter a proper breakfast and to have a chat with her when she got up.
Birdie had slept later than usual. She walked into the kitchen rubbing her eyes, her blonde hair a knotted mess.
I flipped the pancake using just the pan to turn it over. “Morning, sunshine.”
Her little voice was groggy. “Daddy . . . are you cooking?”
“I sure am.”
“Are you sure you should be using the stove?”
That made me laugh. My little girl officially had no faith in her father’s cooking skills. But I’d really given her no reason to.
“Hey, now. Your dad is a restaurateur. I know a thing or two about food.”
“You know how to burn it.” She giggled.
I quickly flipped the pancake I’d been making around again to hide the somewhat overdone side. Then I plated it with the good side up before handing it to her.
“Does this pancake look burned to you?”
“No.” She laughed. “Thank you for making it, Daddy.”
“You’re welcome, sweetheart. I’m making plenty more, too. Go grab the syrup and whipped cream.”
After Birdie sat down, I made two more pancakes before grabbing myself a mug of coffee. Then I took a seat across from my daughter. She ate quietly and seemed to be enjoying the flapjacks. Her mother used to make them into Mickey Mouse heads. I was afraid to even attempt that.
Resting my chin in my hand, I said, “Hey . . . I know it seems like I’m always busy. But I want you to know that I’m never too busy for you. If you’re ever worried about something, there’s nothing you can’t tell me. I want to know what you’re thinking. Promise me you’ll come to me if something is ever bothering you.”
Her chewing slowed as she looked up at me with her big eyes. “Okay.”
“You mean that?”
She resumed devouring the pancake. “Yes,” she said with her mouth full.
After a minute of watching her eat in silence, I tilted my head. “Anything bothering you in this moment that you want to talk to me about?”
She lifted her milk and swallowed it all down in several gulps, then wiped the top of her lip with her sleeve. “No, Daddy,” she finally said.
I’d been hoping that she would open up to me about her concerns regarding Sadie. Then I would have had the opportunity to assure her that the situation wasn’t her fault. But she said nothing. I realized that despite her assurance that she’d tell me what was bothering her, she still had no intention of opening up to me. And that gutted me. But you can’t change old habits overnight. In that moment, I vowed to be more on top of things moving forward, to not let her drift away from me any more than she already had.
“Thank you for making me pancakes.”
“My pleasure, baby girl.”
She got up and put her plate in the sink before running some water over it.
“Where are you going?” I asked.
“To play in my room.”
I frowned but didn’t fight it. “Alright.”
As she was about to head down the hall, I stopped her.
“Hey . . . I’ll let you play for a half hour. But how about we take Marmaduke to the park after? Toss around a ball with him.”