Daddy's Dishonest Little Girl (Wounded Daddies 1)

“Not at all,” I say. I mean it.

“What the Harolds did was wrong on a hundred levels. They weren’t even allowed to sublet the place and the way they left you… Let’s just say they won’t want to use me as a reference, if they ever need one.”

“He tried to get me to sleep with him,” she says haltingly. “I wasn’t even late with the rent or anything, but he came in and said that if I slept with him every month, it would mean I didn’t have to pay. I thought it was creepy and told him there was no way I was doing that. I paid her from then on, just to make sure she got the money. He still looked at me as if he was going to eat me up, every day. She had to notice.” She starts crying again, but soon stops.

I reach forward to wipe the tears from her cheek, but she leans against my hand and sighs before opening her eyes widely and apologizing. “I’m sorry. I’m just shook up. I shouldn’t have lied to you. I’m sorry. I’ll figure something out.”

“No,” I say. “You shouldn’t have lied to me. But no; you won’t figure something out, at least not alone. We’ll figure something out together, and we have at least eight weeks to do it.”

She sits up, a surprised expression on her face. I was about to explain hat a scheduling conflict with the plumber, for the extra bathroom, will delay us, but she isn’t surprised about that.

She says, “You would do that for me? After I lied to you? Why?”

It’s a good question and I have a feeling ‘because you need help and protection and I have a pathological need to rescue’ might not be the best response. ‘Because I desperately want a Little, who will let me be her Daddy and take care of her’ also doesn’t seem appropriate. I end up saying something that is true, but nonetheless not truly representative of my motives.

“Imagine what this world would be if everyone took care of everyone else.”

She looks at me for a moment as though she’s trying to figure out whether I’m being honest. I see the thoughts working across her face and then she says softly, “It would be a wonderful world.”

“I see trees so green, red roses too,” I sing. “I see them bloom for me and you.” Singing is not my strong point, but I think I get one or maybe even two notes in pitch. “And I think to myself, what a wonderful world.”

She looks at me incredulously and then she giggles. It has to be the cutest giggle I’ve ever heard in my entire life and the simple fact that she’s giggling after breaking down is wonderful.

I take a deep breath and she giggles out, “Stop, silly!”

“I see skies so blue and… something, something else!”

She laughs loudly at that and again begs me to stop.

“Something, something, something, something.”

She falls to her side as though I’m tickling her, and tickling her doesn’t seem like a bad idea at all. I resist and instead sing out loud, “And I think to myself what a wonderful woooooooooooorld!”

She laughs and then sits up, still smiling.

“You’re crazy,” she says. I shrug and then she says, “But it would be—no singing, now—it would be a wonderful world, if everyone took care of everyone else.”

“Who takes care of you?” I ask.

She shakes her head. “Nobody does, anymore. Grampa died and Grandma has Alzheimer’s. I visit her every week. Sometimes she remembers me.”

I almost ask her about her parents, but I don’t want to push. Instead, I say, “When are you visiting her next?”

“Why?” Immediately, her walls are up again.

“My mom got Alzheimer’s early. I remember what that was like,” I say. “She’s gone now, but I learned a lot about how to have more of the good moments. I don’t know, if nothing else, I could support you.”

Her eyes open widely again, and I decide I love that look on her. Of course, I’m pretty sure I love every look on her.

“Are you talking about coming with me when I visit? You’d do that, too? But…” She rolls her eyes. “Never mind. If we have this conversation again, it’ll be another concert.”

“Better than a lot of music these days,” I say.

“You act as if that’s a compliment. Screaming goats are better than a lot of music these days.”

She puts her hand on my leg and says, “You’re being so very nice to me. I just want you to know I’ll start looking for a job tomorrow, so we have something to work with.”

I smile, but inside my head I’m ready to explode. The idea that she might not be around, or might move out… well, it suddenly terrifies me.

“Well, what if you work for me for a while. I’m doing this job here, but I also need to get some stuff moved from one storage unit to another; plus, I’m working on three other properties. I could keep you busy for the next few months, and you’ll have some money saved up, when it’s time to make decisions.”

She looks at me as if I’m some kind of hero, and I like the look. “What should I do first?” she asks.

“I have some stuff in the trailer out front of my storage unit. There’s a box of mine and a camp stove in the garage. We’ll need to load up the truck tomorrow, so I can take it all to the new storage unit.”

She looks at me and her expression is surprised, but not wide-eyed. If I didn’t know better, I might almost think she was turned on.