Puck Daddy

My brows furrow. I’m not expecting that to be the first thing out of his mouth. It’s obvious he didn’t call to ask how I’m doing. He just wants to know how much I’ll be sending him.

“Tristan says he’ll be paying me $10,000 per month, because I’m not that experienced. His words, not mine. Isn’t that incredible? The other nanny was getting—”

“When will he pay you?”

I clear my throat, standing outside the hotel. I’m putting this conversation down to Dad being stressed, because he doesn’t sound like himself. It’s not like him to cut to the chase and ask me about money. Something’s wrong. I steel myself to ask what’s happened, because I don’t think he’s in the mood for small talk. But, I have the right to know before I divulge more. “Dad, what’s happened?”

He sighs, and the ornery quality in his tone is gone. “The bank’s closing down the store, Faith. I’m…”

I feel as if my heart’s thumping out of control, waiting for him to say more. But he lets whatever he was going to say drift off.

The store. The one he started up when Mom retired from hockey, so they’d both have something to work on together. I can’t believe he didn’t talk to me about this earlier. Why leave it until today? When it’s too late?

I feel weak as I stand with the phone in my hand. I can’t let him hear weakness in my voice. I’ve got to stay strong, at least for him.

“The thing is, the house will be gone, too, if we don’t get the money,” he adds, and I can tell it’s hard for him to admit.

I don’t say anything immediately. I’m still trying to calm down enough to prevent myself from ripping into him for not telling me. He had the nerve to treat me as if I was some whore when I left the house, pimping myself out to get ahead. Now, he’s calling me for money.

“How much do you need, and when?” I’m almost afraid to know the answer.

He hesitates. “Five thousand by the end of the month.”

I nearly choke as he says the words. Five thousand is not a small amount to families like ours. It occurs to me that it might not be as big of a deal to Tristan, but that’s besides the point. I didn’t start this job to take money from him.

“That’ll save the store? And the house, too?”

“That’s what the bank manager says.”

“Fine. You’ll have it before then.” I just hope I can pull it off.

He asks, “But, that’s only two weeks away. Are you sure you can get it to me by then? I’ve tried Henry, Will, and everyone else I can think of. They managed to come up with about two thousand.”

“So, that means there’s still five thousand owing after you’ve put their money towards the debt?” I really don’t like the idea of him owing that kind of cash to anyone else.

He sighs, sheepish. “Yes.”

“Oh, Dad.” I’m not scolding him, and thankfully he doesn’t take it that way.

All this time, I’ve been coming over to the house, checking in on him daily, and he never said a word to me. I knew the store was at risk; it didn’t take a genius to figure that out.

But the house, too? I didn’t have a clue. I knew things were bad when he sold his car, but I’d convinced myself he was keeping the store going by a thread. But, that thread had snapped a while ago, it seems.

My college fund went toward Mom’s medical bills to keep her alive as long as possible. When she passed away, I thought we were in the clear, paid in full.

It hits me like a freight train. He lied to me back then, and has been continuing to lie until right now. The financial problems started way back then, not only a matter of months ago, like I’d been led to believe. I’d just been too busy wallowing in grief to notice.

“All this time, I thought it was just the store you were having problems with,” I said, defeated. “Not the house, too. I opened some of the bills, Dad. But, I never once saw a notice from the bank.”

He doesn’t try to defend himself. Instead, he clears his throat. “I should’ve been honest with you a long time ago, Faith.”

I don’t have time to be sentimental. I need to get to the kids. I should have been there nearly five minutes ago. “Yeah, you should have. But, Dad, I have to go. I’ll be in touch.” I hang up, not waiting for him to reply. I’m too busy fighting back the tears to hear anything else he has to say.

I head toward the play area where the kids are. That’s where I want to be right now. Where I need to be.

I’ll deal with Dad later. But, unlike him, it won’t be over the phone. It’ll be face to face. Then, he can remind me about how naïve I am, and I’ll just laugh, because it seems to me that he’s the one who’s had his head stuck in the sand, believing that all his financial worries would just go away, not me.

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