Page 55 of Compassion

With that fact in mind, I hit the number two button on my speed dial.

You know number one is voicemail. That’s default setting shit.

There’s a single full ring before my dad’s voice is flooding my system with a much-needed feeling of tenderness. “Hey, sugar.”

“Hey, Dad.”

“What’s bothering my little girl so early this morning?”

I keep the device pressed tightly to my ear as I close my eyes. “And how do you know something is bothering me? How do you know I didn’t just call to ask you a cop question related to the Alex Cross novel I’m reading?”

“Because I know you,” he casually states. “Because I know book calls start with an exclamation like ‘Ohmygod’ or ‘You won’t believe this’ or a long drawn ‘Dadddddddd’. Because I know frustrated work-related calls have you huff and the sound of cookie pans getting slammed around is the background. Because I know the only time that I get a ‘Hey, Dad’ is when you’re sad or unsure about something.”

A heavy sigh thoughtlessly escapes. “Why are you such a good detective?”

“I credit my skills to Columbo and Shaft.”

Giggles can’t be stopped from joining the conversation. “Those areverydifferent people, Dad.”

“You asked.”

More laughter springs loose, shifting some of the tension out of my system.

“Now, you knew I would be up working on paperwork, because when your mom’s on call at the hospital, I take the same hours here at the precinct-”

“So that you can be closer to her if she needs you.”

“So that we can be on the same sleep schedule,” he playfully tries to hide the truth.

They’ve always hated having to be away from one another for long periods like that. Ever since they first started dating – according to Mom. I’ve always thought it was cute and sweet. Hoped I’d find a love like that. Maybe I have? I do…hate to be away from Archer for too long. I miss hearing his voice or hearing him laugh or hearing him grunt in unhappiness. And God, when I’m away do I miss his face. That sweet smile. That smug smirk. Even the bashful grin he gets when he’s been complimented. You know it kills me that I can’t text him in the middle of a workday like a normal person? I hate that I have to call my housephone and hope he answers or shoot him an email to the account we set up for potential job offers. Hm. Let’s put get him a cellphone on this morning’s errands list, too.

“You knew I was available to talk, sugar.” The sound of his squeaky office chair indicates I have his full attention. “Talk.”

“Okay, well, there’s this…somewhat, slightly,unorthodoxsituation I’m currently in,” I awkwardly fumble out.

“Does this have something to do with Pizza Dude?”

“It does.”

“Is this something I could solve if you would just tell me his name or email or social security number?”

“No.”

“Can you tell any of those things anyway? That would solvemyissue with the strange man I know in my gut is now living in my daughter’s house.”

“Garage.”

Dad grumbles over his confirmed suspicions.

“And no. I don’t think he’s ready to have you prying into his past yet.”

“He’snot ready oryou’renot ready?”

Ugh. Damn detective.

When I don’t retort, he releases his own weighted breath. “Fine. I will – as much as it pains me to do this – let that shit gofor nowand back burner my plan to arrive unannounced in my uniform with my taser ready.”

“Thank you.”

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