Page 9 of Ice Darling
“Mm-hm. Of course. I understand,” Mom says in a somber tone.
I linger, wondering who she’s talking to. Whatever it’s about, it sounds serious.
“Dad! I washed my hands already!” Gordie yells from the front room.
I return to my daughter and set the box on the counter. After washing my hands and grabbing two plates, I share out the nuggets. Gordie gets six, and I get twelve.
“Orange juice or soda?” Gordie asks, taking two cans out of the fridge and giving me a hopeful stare.
“Water.”
“Booo!”
“That’s healthier for both of us, pumpkin.”
She sighs with her entire chest and then hops on one of the bar stools in front of the island counter.
I slide the plate over to her and smile when she starts eating with gusto. Then I open the fridge and pour us both two glasses of water, which makes me feel a little less guilty about our very unhealthy late-night snack.
“You were awesome tonight, Daddy.”
“Thanks, pumpkin.” My chest warms from the inside out.
After Gordie was born and I got full custody, I debated quitting the sport. Balancing work and daddy responsibilities seemed like an impossible task. But Mom encouraged me to keep going with hockey, even if it was only part-time, and I’m so glad I took her advice. It’s a dream come true to be able to play the game I love with my daughter in the stands.
I swirl a crispy piece of chicken in ketchup and pop it into my mouth. “Did you have fun watching the game with your nanny?”
“Yeah, but she kept coughing and leaving to use the bathroom.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Did she?”
That’s concerning. I hope Miss Truman is alright. She’s been Gordie’s nanny for two years. Thanks to her, I’ve been at ease knowing that someone trustworthy and responsible has my daughter in her care.
“It’s okay because I was with Miss Rebel and Miss April and the cool lady!”
My fingers tighten around the cup. Before, when my daughter would ramble on and on about the “cool lady,” I had no connection to the subject matter. But now…
My body tenses, and my head fills with images of big, vulnerable, cocoa-brown eyes begging me to save her.
“Can we go see her tomorrow?”
I startle, and the nugget that was halfway to my mouth plops back into my plate. “See who?”
Gordie sighs again and shakes her head like I’m the slowest student in the classroom and she’s tired of repeating herself. “The cool lady, Dad.”
My heart hammers against my ribs. “No.”
“But, Dad?—”
“She’s busy.”And I don’t wanna.
“But, Dad, Ihaveto.”
“Gordie, sweetie, I’m going to tell you something that my dad told me. The only thing wehave todo is pay taxes.”
And die.
But I’m not saying that to my six-year-old.
