Chapter 28

After we ate Cecelia and I washed the dishes, while Darlia returned to her book. It didn't take long to do the dishes – three plates, five forks, three platters, one bowl, one spatula, one pair of tongs, and two skillets was the sum total. Since I'd put soapy water in one skillet, and Cecelia had done the same with the other, they weren't as bad as they might have been.

When we were done Cecelia went to her computer and started doing something, I didn't know what – perhaps finessing our financial stuff so that we didn't get any richer, that being her main goal these days. I peeked out the bay window. It was sunny again, and if the branches of the trees were any indication, calm as well. I went to the back door and out, pulling it to behind me and standing for a moment on back steps. My bare feet registered definite cold, standing on the concrete, but otherwise it wasn't a bad day at all. I went back inside.

In the living room I sat on the coffee table. "Darlia," I asked, "would you like to go for a walk?"

"Okay!"

"Then you'll need to dress warm, okay?"

"Yeah!"

She got up and ran to her room, taking her book with her. I went into our bedroom to grab a pair of socks and tuck my shirt in. While I was there I brushed my teeth and combed my hair, and trimmed my mustache, which was getting a bit shaggy even for my taste. When I got back to the living room Darlia was there putting on her shoes, an pair of Dora the Explorer tennies with velcro fasteners. I barely know who Dora is, but Gacela had a pair and Darlia, who generally doesn't pay fashion much more mind than I do, had asked for a pair in imitation of her friend.

I put my coat and hat on, and Darlia picked up her parka from the sofa where she'd tossed it, and shrugged it on. She ran the zipper up and looked at me. "Will I need the hood?"

"I don't think so, Weightlifter. But if your ears get cold you can put it up."

"Okay."

She went to give Cecelia a kiss, and I followed. Cecelia was engrossed in whatever she was doing on the computer, and seemed a bit distant, but I was used to that. Her talent and training are in some sort of esoteric financial field, which I wouldn't understand if she explained it, and when she gets involved in it she loses sight of the outer world.

Outside it was even warmer than it had been when I'd checked, or so it seemed to me. The sun was in the south, of course, thanks to the season, and the light was thinner than it would have been at the same time of day in the summer. But for winter it wasn't half shabby.

Darlia and I went on down to Indian School and then turned east, toward the mountains. The main bulk of the Sandias is northeast of the city, but the southern reaches of the range were ahead of us as we walked. We crossed Wyoming with the light, holding hands out of habit – and it's not a bad habit to form. Even an intelligent and sensible nine-year-old girl can forget where she is and run out into traffic; with her hand in mine that wasn't going to happen. After a while we came to Moon, and crossed that as well. Snow Park was right there, and we went into it. Back during the summer our church had thrown a picnic in the park; right now it wouldn't have worked, but then no one ever said winter was picnic season.

We angled across the grass, walking slowly. We'd let go of each other's hands once we were the park, but instead of running ahead as I expected she might, Darlia had stayed with me. I glanced down at her, and she was walking with her face forward, a somber expression there. It wasn't, but her head gave the impression that it was bowed.

"You okay, 'Lia?" I asked.

"I don't know, Daddy."

"Well, is something wrong?"

She thought a minute, and then apparently came to a decision. "I think so Daddy. I think something is wrong with you."

"With me?" I could hear the disbelief in my voice.

"Daddy, you're always mad at Mommy these days. And even when you're not mad it feels like you're not happy."

"Well, a friend of mine died, you know that. Of course I'm not happy."

"I know that. But..." Nine-year-olds can't express themselves the way adults can, and she was having trouble saying what she wanted to say. "It's like you don't want to be happy anymore."

I stopped. "I don't want to be happy? What kind of nonsense is that?"

She stopped too, facing me, her eyes shiny with unshed tears. "Daddy, I'm not trying to be nonsense! I'm sad because you're sad, and it feels like you like being sad. I didn't make it up!"

I stared over her head at the far side of the park. "If it's not your mother jumping down my throat it's you. Did she tell you what to say?"

"No!"

"You don't need to shout, Darlia."

"But you don't believe me!"