18. Robert
eighteen
Robert
Corinne woke me up excitedly, banging at my door, and I awoke with a start. I’d been waking up to instant thoughts of my night with Delia and everything that had happened for weeks now. It was like being awoken by electrocution.
I had hurt Delia. It was the last thing I wanted to do. And now it seemed like it was probably too late to fix it. She would never forgive me after how I had acted.
“Baby girl, give me a minute!” I shouted groggily to Corinne, eyeing the chair against my bedroom door. I reached awkwardly for the handcuff key and finally managed to grab it.
After I freed myself, dressed, and brushed my teeth, I opened the door to a happy eleven-year-old, her eyes lit up. She was completely dressed and holding a cup of coffee out to me.
“Are you trying to get me ready quickly?” I asked, taking the drink and pulling her in for a hug against my stomach.
“I’m just excited. You said we could shop for Thanksgiving today to avoid all the jokers shopping last minute,” she giggled against my stomach, as she quoted me before pulling back. “I made that myself. Do you like it?”
“Did you? Let me see.” I took a performative sip, holding back a wince as the weakest and sweetest coffee I’d ever had in my life passed through my lips. “So delicious,” I told her with a big smile.
Corinne hopped up and down and said, “Let’s go, Daddy, let’s go. Are you ready?”
“Are you?” I asked, eyeing her mix and match shoes.
“Yes!”
“You want to check again?” I pointed at her feet, and she facepalmed dramatically, running off to the front of the house.
“Okay, Daddy, I’m ready!” I grinned as I walked to the kitchen to set the coffee down on the counter, hoping she’d forget all about it.
I loved it when she called me Daddy. I knew I didn’t have many more years of that, and I cherished every one left. It reminded me that I belonged to someone, that I mattered, which some days I needed desperately. Especially today, after what I’d done with Delia, how I’d hurt her, and how I’d betrayed Jeremy, I needed that even more.
I walked over to the front door and found Corinne with her hands on her hips, tapping her foot impatiently. I put my hands on my hips and said, “Well, let me see, are your shoes matching?”
She burst into laughter, the earlier sour mood over missing her crush, Benny, apparently forgotten in the excitement.
“Yes!” she squealed, holding up one of her legs.
“Teeth brushed?”
“Yes!”
“Okay, let’s go.” I hugged her once more before we walked out.
The plan for today was to go buy some baked goods. This holiday was going to be spent at the soup kitchen. We didn’t have any family left between the two of us, and so we spent our holidays giving back. It was an easy way to raise her spirits at a time that I knew could be lonely for someone who had lost a loved one. And I wanted my daughter to see how fortunate we were.
The only catch was that we couldn’t cook. I had never really gotten good at it, so we were going to buy them, put them in some fancy containers, and pass them off as our own. Some might call it lying. I called it embellishment.
Corinne didn’t care either way. She was just excited to buy desserts.
It was nice to see how simple she still was. Being eleven was such a good age. She didn’t have any angst yet, and it was still fun to do things with her old man.
When we got to the grocery store, Corinne instantly started running to the dessert section, and I called after her, “Corinne, sweetie, no running in the store!”
She slowed down and decided, instead, to speed walk. I shook my head, laughing, and kept my regular pace. I was sure I’d catch up to her to find her with her arms full.
When I finally caught up to my daughter, I found her just as I’d expected, in the dessert aisle with desserts piled up on top of each other in her arms.
I approached her with the cart.
“Need a little help there?” My voice carried the hint of amusement I couldn’t hide.
“I only picked out the most important.” She grinned bashfully, carefully setting them down into the cart.
“Let me see,” I pretended to scrutinize the selection as I ran my hand over my jaw. “Cheesecake, pumpkin pie, angel food cake, apple pie… no fruitcake?”
“Daddy,” Corinne responded seriously, her tone bordering on disbelief, as though I’d just suggested something mortally wrong. With her hand on her hip, she lowered her blonde eyebrows at me and tsked.
“What?” I asked, holding my hands up in mock innocence. “What’s wrong with fruitcake?”
“A cake with fruit and nuts? Seriously? You need me to tell you?” Her tone was dripping with exaggerated incredulity.
“Guess that’s a no then…” I said with a shrug. “Fine, let’s go, since you have it all figured out.”
“You can pick something else!” she protested, throwing her arms out dramatically to encompass the entire pastry section of the grocery store.
I laughed, “Oh, can I? Is it on you?”
Corinne shook her head with a sly smile, clearly pleased with herself, and I said, “Fine, grab some of that peanut butter fudge and… some of that caramel popcorn snack mix.” I pointed toward the shelf, my finger lingering on the caramel-coated mix with Chex, pretzels, and little caramel bites.
“On it!” she said with enthusiasm, skipping over to grab the items, her fluff of hair bouncing around her shoulders.
Sometimes, when I looked at her hair, I thought about how her mom would have had it tamed by now. Her mother had the same gorgeous curls and a whole fifteen-minute routine in the mornings. I braided Corinne’s hair at night because I remembered that part, but when I’d tried to help her with oiling it one time, I’d overdone it, and Corinne hadn’t let me help since.
“All right, are we good to go?” I asked, as she dropped the popcorn mix into the cart with a triumphant grin.
“We need something to put them in, Daddy,” her voice took on that matter-of-fact tone she’d been using more and more lately. “We can’t bring it all like this in the packages.”
“So, what? Do we need Tupperware?” I smirked at her serious expression.
“No, Daddy! We need something pretty to put them in,” she replied with exasperation, her arms crossing as she stared me down.
I chuckled and reached out to tap her nose.
“Okay, then let’s go get some pretty cookware. I don’t have anything at the house, certainly not enough for all of this.”
Corrine grinned up at me, relaxing her stance and dropping her arms. As I rolled the cart toward the checkout, she snuck up beside me and slipped her tiny hand in mine.
“Do you think they’ll really believe we made all these?” she asked with a mischievous grin, cupping her hand around mine like she was sharing a secret.
“If we really sell it,” I chuckled, bumping her little shoulder with mine.
Her laughter bubbled up, and I marveled at how light it made me feel. I remembered when I couldn’t have done that if I tried—when her shoulder barely reached my hip.
Growing up, my parents had always been so nostalgic about every little milestone. Back then, it had seemed ridiculous to me, but now? Every little change in Corinne felt like something I should be able to stop.
When we got to the checkout, the lady behind the register smiled warmly. “Well, you two must have a big family.”
I winced. I always tried shielding Corinne from comments like these, especially around the holidays, but there was no avoiding them.
Corinne, ever the brave one, took it in stride. “Nope, we’re taking these to the shelter,” she said with a proud smile.
“Oh, how nice. A beautiful girl inside and out,” the cashier cooed, smiling at me.
I was used to these comments—Corinne got them all the time—but this one caught me off guard.
“You and Mom did a good job raising her,” the cashier added, with a warm smile.
I forced a fake smile and bit the inside of my cheek, unsure how to respond. After eleven years, you’d think I’d have a better answer to the “mom” comments, but I never did.
I glanced down at Corinne. She had taken the first comment well, but now she was clamming up, tucking her hair behind her ear and staring at the ground.
“Hey, lady,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended. “How about you just let us buy our sweets in peace? How’s that sound?”
The cashier blinked, startled. “Oh, I’m sorry. I was just making conversation.”
“Well, what happened to the classics?” My voice lightened but was still tinged with frustration. “‘Oh, it’s getting cold,’ or, ‘You rooting for anybody in the NFL this year?’”
“I’m sorry,” she said again, her tone more subdued.
“Daddy, it’s okay,” Corinne said softly, tugging on my shirt.
I looked down at her wide, serious brown eyes and felt the anger in my chest dissolve. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly. “Sorry, Rin-Rin,” I muttered.
She looked up at me, her gaze firm. “Say sorry to the lady,” she whispered, her lips barely moving.
I let out a breathy chuckle and turned back to the cashier. “I’m sorry. Holidays are hard for us,” I admitted, my voice quieter now.
“They’re hard for a lot of people,” she replied gently. “I should have been more sensitive to that. Thank you for the reminder.”
“Glad to help,” I grunted, grabbing our bags and loading them into the cart.
As we finished, the cashier turned to the family behind us and started ringing up their items.
“Oh, you can stop there,” a woman in the family said. “I miscalculated, I guess. We can’t afford any more than that.”
Corinne nudged me, her eyes wide and expectant. I laughed, knowing exactly what she was thinking.
Turning to the family, I said, “How about I get it for you?”
The woman smiled tentatively. “Oh, that’s okay. I couldn’t do that. I know everyone is holding onto their money this time of year.”
I smiled gently. “I’m not,” I said simply.
Corinne grinned. “He’s loaded,” she added, earning a playful glare from me as I pressed a finger to my lips.
“What’s your name?” I asked the woman.
“Melissa,” she replied hesitantly.
“Well, Melissa, I’m not holding onto anything. How about I help you with those?” I nodded at the cashier. “Keep ringing them up. I’ll get it all.”
Melissa shook her head. “No, I can pay for the part I was going to buy anyway, at least. Please, you don’t have to do that.”
“Melissa,” I said with a small chuckle, “I’m going to buy them either way. I can either take it all home, or you can.”
Her shoulders sagged slightly as she relented. “Okay. Thank you.”
“Actually…” I said, looking behind her at the group of families in line. Reaching into my wallet, I pulled out all the cash I had on hand—about $1,000.
I went around, handing each family behind us $200, including the cashier.
One woman started crying and wrapped her arms around me, her tears dampening the shoulder of my shirt.
When I looked at Corinne from behind the woman’s head, she was grinning.
She was the only way I could still see good in people. She reminded me all the time of all the good things about humanity.
I wanted to protect her so badly, but even when people hurt her, she still loved them and wanted good things for them.
Just like her mother. It had gotten her mother hurt. I needed to make sure that never happened to Corinne, that she stayed good but didn’t let people take it too far. It was a lot of pressure. Pressure that I took seriously.
When I finally released myself from the grasp of the woman, I got our bags and took Corinne’s hand, saying, “Let’s get out of here before you make me buy everyone in the grocery store a turkey.”
“You could…” she trailed off, and I picked her up under my arm like a sack of potatoes.
“That’s enough from you!” I yelled into the busy parking lot, carrying my daughter squealing and kicking while laughing all the way to the car.