Page 36 of Executive Decision

“And on my last nerve,” Kristy said. “The eulogy was lovely, by the way. You did great.”

“Thanks,” I said as the baby fussed.

“You have to weave back and forth.” Kristy demonstrated. “Alternate with a bounce or two.”

“Good to know.”

When my mother got surprise pregnant with Chloe, I was in college at Northwestern. On weekend visits, I’d play with my baby sister and mostly ignore the worst parts of parenting. Watching Chloe grow was fun, but this was unfiltered babyhood. Kristy didn’t sugarcoat anything.

“I came to pay my respects, but the baby is… complicating matters.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “What if I took her for a walk? You could get some food and a drink and pay your respects?”

“That would be amazing. Here is a binky. Find me if she starts going ballistic,” Kristy said.

She handed me the pacifier, and I plopped it into Laurie’s mouth. The baby happily sucked away as I wandered the halls until I heard a crash from the hallway. David’s study door was cracked slightly. I opened the door to find Daphne on the floor, picking up a stack of books. I stepped in to help.

“I’m an idiot. I meant to move these and… well, here we are.”

She looked up at me, confused.

“Did you have a baby, Cal?”

I laughed. “It’s Kristy’s daughter, not mine. She was overwhelmed, and the baby wanted to take a walk, so we did.”

“God, she’s perfect,” Daphne cooed, standing.

“You’re not an idiot,” I said. “Go, sit. Where do you want them?”

“You cannot pick up books and?—”

“Take the baby.” I sensed it might calm her. “Go. Sit.”

Daphne complied, scooping Laurie up, and sitting by the window. “You can put them just anywhere. These are the ones I want to read.”

I watched her effortlessly bounce the baby before staring again at the collapsed stack.

I held up a book. “You want to read about Soviet jet aircraft?”

She snickered. “Okay, no. It was one of Dad’s faves. If I don’t steal a few things that remind me of him, I never will get that… I dunno… feeling back.”

She played with the baby’s chubby hands. “Do you think my life is a joke?”

“I don’t. Nor do I envy you. The media attention has to be killing you, Daphne. I’m sorry.”

She smiled slightly. “You remember I don’t much care for crying on cue, huh?”

I sat by her. “I am well aware. How are you holding up?”

“I cannot even deal with Dad’s death yet. I am too focused on what is happening with my husband.”

“What is that?” I asked.

“He returned to London—to destroy our house and just about anything in it that reminds me of Dad. So… here we are.”

Confused, I turned. Tears welled in her eyes.

“I’m… I’m sorry?”

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