Page 3 of Single Dad's Christmas Gift
I help her into the truck, walk around to the driver’s side and climb in.
“What did you do today?” I ask the back of her head once I pull away.
She’s gazing at the Christmas trees, lights and inflatable Santas along St. Lucia Street.
“Played.”
“Who did you play with?” I try to remember all the children I heard her mention to my parents, Auntie Caitlin, or one of my brothers.
“My friend.”
“Tommy? The boy with the horn-rimmed glasses?”
I stop at a traffic light and gaze at her in time to catch the shake of her head.
“Ricky?” Once, Evie told Mom the boy was upset because a few of the children in the class teased him for having ginger hair.
“No.”
I think for a moment, then recall Ms. Shah mentioning that sometimes Evie played with another girl in the school.
“Suzie?”
“Yes.”
“What did you play?”
“Games.”
“Were they fun?”
Evie draws shapes on the window. It’s her signal she won’t answer any more questions.
I stop myself from sighing. Evie’s talked for longer than usual. On top of holding my hand, it’s a tremendous improvement in our relationship. I shouldn’t be greedy and want more, but I can’t help it.
At first, when I brought Evie home, she didn’t talk to anyone. She watched everyone with fear in her huge eyes. After a few weeks, she opened up to my parents and Auntie Caitlin. She willingly sat with them and held their hands. One day, she talked. She said little, but I was overjoyed she started trusting someone, even if it wasn’t me. However, as weeks passed, and she opened up with my brothers, then later with Layla and the children in her class, it became increasingly hard not to feel jealous.
I understand the science behind her behavior towards me. Her therapist explained it. Evie lived with only her mom her whole life. When her mom died, she lost everything meaningful to her. Her mom introduced us a few months before she passed, but the scared six-year-old child that she was then probably couldn’t understand why he hadn’t been a dad to her before.
I can’t say I blame Evie. Finding out I had a six-year-old was shocking. Evie’s mom and I were sexual partners for six months before she left New York. I used a condom, and she was on the pill. The chances of her conceiving were almost non-existent.
In February, she called and said I was a father. She’d taken medication, which interfered with the pill, so she thought taking care of Evie was her responsibility. She was ill and wanted to give me the option of taking care of the child before securing the services of a caregiver or boarding school.
I gaze at Evie, who’s still staring out the window. If it was hard for me to understand, how could a young child do so? One day, she’ll feel safe enough to trust that I love her and am in her life to stay. However long it takes, I must be patient.
Today, I made progress. I’m going to enjoy that. I have one more week of taking Evie to school. After winter break, I start work at Weston-Parker General. I’m going to miss doing the school run.
And not just because of Evie.
An image of Layla’s curvy body flashes across my mind. The way her full, round hips - almost double the width of her shoulders - hugged the soft gray woolen material of the skirt she was wearing is imprinted in my mind. Along with the enticing way, her turtleneck sweater clung to breasts and slim waist. My hand tightens on the wheel.
Where it concerns Evie’s teacher, my mind seems to notice every detail, even when I’m worried about stuff.
I inhale. Deeply.
My dick is not the only part of me that’s obsessed with the young woman. My mind keeps replaying how the golden flakes in her green eyes shine when she smiles. It imagines how warm and safe my daughter must have felt a few weeks ago when the teacher hugged her - Evie looked dreamy when she told mom about it.
It gobbles up everything my little girl says about her. I know what a wonderful storyteller she is. How she punishes the kids if they are being mean to other kids. The rewards she hands out for good behavior.
