Page 2 of SEAL'S Baby Surprise
Her voice shakes me from my thoughts. “Hey, Judy-rudy,” I say, holding her close and giving her a kiss on the head. “What would you like for breakfast?”
“Ice cream,” she says promptly. Her eyes glitter, mischief clear in her intentions.
“Ice cream!” I open my eyes wide, sitting up in the van’s little bed, opting to take a tactical approach to this battle. “Would you consent to maybe some waffles under that ice cream?”
“Maybe,” she grins at me, with a gap-toothed smile. Julia is six and had recently shed her top two teeth. It gives her a whimsical smile, but she knows how to work it.
“With, perhaps, a side of orange juice, bacon, and a couple of eggs?” I tease.
She pouts. “But then I won’t have room for ice cream, and I really want some. Please, Daddy?”
“One egg, and orange juice,” I bargain, knowing that she doesn’t care all that much for bacon — a mystery I have a hard time fathoming. “One waffle with a scoop of ice cream on top. And you have to shower and get dressed first.”
“Okay,” she says.
I start the shower for her. The van has a tiny one, with an oversized tank, since two people showering requires a lot of water. That gives me time to fire up the gas grill, start some bacon and eggs — I like bacon, even if my kid doesn’t — and start the waffle iron heating up.
By the time Julia emerges, dressed in jean shorts and a crop-top t-shirt with the logo “Daddy’s favorite girl” across the front of it, I have a plate with one egg, one waffle, and a scoop of her favorite Very Berry ice cream on top of the waffle.
She eats the ice cream first, of course. But she also eats the waffle, the egg, and drinks the juice. It is a small victory because my little princess has been well on her way to some real eating disorders.
I finish my breakfast while she is eating and start on cleanup. While I am doing that, Betty and Bobby, twins who live two vansover come by. “We’re going to Mother Hubbard’s,” Betty says. “Can Julia walk with us?”
The twins are ten, and very responsible. I feel safe letting them walk with Julia. “I’ll watch from here,” I say.
The three youngsters spin, bob, and tumble their way to Mother Hubbard’s Homeschool. As far as I know, it doesn’t have any official standing, but since it is summer, I don’t have to worry about accreditation.
Come fall, that will be another problem entirely.
Today, however, it’s not important. What matters is that going there, playing with the other kids, participating in the summer reading program, tumbling, and racing along the sand makes Julia happy.
I’d give anything to see her smile, especially after all she’s been through.
It also has the added bonus of giving me three or four hours to exercise and get my work done.
Mrs. Hubbard waves to me, to show that she has the kids, and I turn and start to jog down to the edge of the water. At this early hour, the lifeguard stand is empty.
Time to get a nice run in.
I’m about ten feet down the beach when I notice a lump in the water.
Ahead of me, and right on cue, Ark begins his trademark barking — the activity that had given him his name and flunked him out of K-9 training.
“Ark! Ark! Ark!” he barks.
As I draw nearer, I can see he is dancing around something on the edge of the surf, down where the sand is wet, and where strands of seaweed and driftwood wash up with the incoming tide.
Only what Ark has found this time isn’t a bunch of seaweed or even a sea creature. It is a woman wearing the remnants of some kind of fancy dress.
She is curled up in a knot, her knees drawn up to her chest, and she is trying to bury her head in between them. For a surreal moment, I look for a mermaid tail or fairy wings, because her long hair is a bright, impossible pink.
At first, I think she might be dead. Then she sits up, stretches her arms out to the ocean and wails, “Bad Sea! Oh, bad, bad sea! You didn’t take me with you.”
Uhhh.
Okay.
Little wavelets curl and splash about her, pulling grains of sand from under her. But the tide here in the cove is gentle. Unless we have a big storm, it isn’t likely to move anything as heavy as a human.
