Chapter 12

The next morning I rolled out of bed early for me – Darlia and Cecelia were still eating breakfast. Even when I go into the office – and I knew I wouldn't go in till next week, I'd known it when I woke up – I don't get up that early. My wife and daughter stared at me, and I knew it wasn't because all I had on was a pair of old sweat pants and a dazed early morning face.

Cecelia looked at Darlia, her fork suspended midway between plate and mouth with a little mound of hash browns on it. "Honey, could you please call 911? There's an intruder in the house."

Darlia hopped down from her chair. "It's a good thing there's a phone in the kitchen," she said, "'cause that strange man's in between me and the one in the living room."

"I ain't all that strange," I growled.

"You are completely foreign to me," Cecelia said. "Though you vaguely resemble my husband, you cannot be that man, for he doesn't awaken this early for anything less than multiple nuclear detonations."

I am not a morning person. "Oh, go stuff your jokes in your left ear," I said, and headed for the stove. I was going to make tea, but I needed caffeine quicker than that, and changed my mind. I opened the refrigerator, grabbed a Coke, twisted the cap off, and took a good slug of it. The burn of it – I suppose it's the bubbles that do that – brought tears to my eyes, and I felt a little more awake when I lowered the bottle.

Darlia was standing there looking at me. "Mommy," she called, "that strange man's drinking Daddy's Coke."

"Since your father isn't here, I suppose we might as well let him," Cecelia replied.

I set the Coke on the counter, and in one move turned and snatched Darlia off the floor. I'm not more than middling fit, but I've learned through sheer necessity how to move quickly and how to use speed and leverage to do what others might accomplish with brute strength. I held Darlia close to me and nuzzled her neck. "Am I really so strange, Weightlifter?"

She giggled. "No, you're not. Me an' Mommy was just joking with you."

I was walking as she said this, and as I came around the end of the counter I saw Cecelia throw up her hand. "Darlia Carpenter, your English sometimes rivals your father's for ineptitude. I would ask where you learn such ill constructions, but I'm afraid I don't have to – I'm looking at him."

Darlia giggled again, and I set her down – I don't pick her up much anymore because she's a solid chunk, and starts weighing about 37 tons very quickly. "I'm sorry, Mommy," she said as she walked back to her chair. "I know how to talk right."

"I know you do, honey. I just wish you would more frequently." Cecelia smoothed her hand over Darlia's heavy hair. This morning the girl had combed it straight back off her forehead, and it hung to her waist in gleaming waves. Cecelia's dark hand against that hair gave me such a surge of protective emotion that I thought I was going to drop right there.

Instead I reached across the counter, grabbed my Coke, and walked around the table to my chair. As I sat down I looked at what Cecelia had on – a dark brown blouse with long sleeves buttoned at the wrist. I didn't know what she had on below the waist, but the blouse made up my mind for me. "When you get back from taking Darlia to school, I want you to dress up pretty."

She raised her eyebrows at me as she forked in a bite of egg. "Why?"

I raised my own eyebrows. "Cecelia, knowing how prolix you usually are, I could think you're the intruder." She smiled and waited for me to answer her question, so I did. "'Cause I wanna take you around Old Town today."

"Daddy, can I go to Old Town too?" Darlia loves it down there – especially the Rattlesnake Museum, which I like too.

"Maybe another time, 'Lia," I told her. "Today you gotta go to school."

A momentary look of disappointment crossed her face, and she stabbed a sausage link with her fork a little more forcefully than necessary. "Okay." She lifted the link and took a bite. "You and Mommy have a good time."

I didn't say anything, just looked at her, and she got the point and looked up at me. "Darlia," I said, "you know that Mommy and me take you all sorts of places all the time. You're the only girl at school, at least that I know of, who sometimes gets a whole month off for vacation in the middle of the school year. You've been to California every year of your life, and to Alabama, and you've been more places than a lot of adults. You've got a lot of privileges, and you ought not get peeved just 'cause me an' Mommy are gonna have us a day to ourselves."

"Okay."

"And Darlia, here's something to remember. Mommy and I love each other. Yeah, we love you too, very much, and that's why we spend so much time with you. But we love each other, and sometimes we want – sometimes we need – to have time just for ourselves. Maybe it's a little bit much for you right now, but take it from me – when you're my age you'll know exactly what I'm talking about."

Darlia nodded. "Okay," she said, and it sounded a lot less sullen than it had before. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be a bad girl."

"And you're not, 'Lia. You're a very good girl, and you know that I don't hardly ever have to get after you. It's just that you are a little girl still, and you act like one, and sometimes you need to learn a little bit about growing up."

Cecelia had been eating steadily through this, but now she put down her fork and folded her hands. "Darlia, you are a good girl. You know how easily I become angry, and you know how seldom I have cause to become angry with you. Don't ever believe you're a bad girl, and don't ever let anyone persuade you that you are one."

"But Mommy, sometimes I do bad things."

"Yes, honey, and so does your father, and so do I, and so do Rudy and Sara. So does everyone. We've told you that there's only been one perfect man in history – and He was more than just a man. The thing is that while you sometimes do bad things, your heart is not bad. You are a kind, gentle, sweet, loving, Christian girl, and even if you someday do something truly terrible, I will still love you."