She takes penguins very seriously #2
The drive across town takes less than ten minutes. Maplewood’s small enough that nothing ever feels far, but long enough for my brain to recalibrate.
Herb and Leah’s place is already lit up when I pull in. The porch light throws a soft glow over the steps, and I can hear Elle as I step inside the front door.
“…and Dahlia said the penguins huddle because they don’t have houses and also because the wind can go like a hundred miles an hour and blow them into the ocean and then they’d just be—”
I turn to close it quietly, but I hear her pink sneakers hit the hardwood of the hallway.
“Daddy!”
She doesn’t stop to let me answer or even turn around properly, instead launching straight into my side. I catch her automatically, her princess backpack bouncing against her from the force.
“Hey, bug.”
She smells like bubble bath and peanut butter.
“You’re late,” she informs me.
“I am not.”
“You are a little bit.” Her warm amber eyes narrow at me, and mine smile back at her. My favorite view.
There’s a glitter clip shoved into the side of her hair at an angle that suggests she’s had a busy day running around the Parnells’.
Herb leans against the wall behind her, arms folded over a faded Colorado Storm hoodie that’s seen better years. “She’s been watching the clock since five.”
“It was five-oh-two,” Elle clarifies.
“Five-oh-two,” I repeat solemnly.
“Hey, Ev.” Leah waves, coming into view. “She’s eaten, she’s bathed. She’s got half of Antarctica memorized.”
Elle twists in my arms. “Daddy, did you know the wind in Antarctica can freeze your eyeballs if you blink wrong?”
“That… feels unlikely.”
“It’s true,” she insists. “Dahlia said it. But maybe it was eyelashes.” She pauses and frowns. “I think it was eyelashes.”
“Ah. Well. That’s an important distinction.”
She giggles at that, and I set her down so I can crouch to adjust the strap of her backpack, tightening it where it’s twisted.
Herb’s eyes flick to me briefly, assessing in the way he’s always done, back when he was Chief while my life imploded. He’s retired now, but is still a major part of our firefighter family.
“You good?” he asks quietly.
“Yeah.”
Leah steps forward and adjusts the glitter clip that’s hanging off the side of Elle’s head by sheer willpower. “We’ll have her tomorrow too, if you need.”
It’s said lightly, but it’s not. They know I’ve got a few days off now, but that’s never a guarantee in this job.
I nod my quiet thanks, then turn back to Elle.
“You have a good day?”
“Yep. I did a drawing of a whale, but it looked like a potato, so I made it a potato whale, and Leah said I’m very creative.”
“Potato whale,” I repeat.
“It had flippers,” Leah calls as she heads back toward the kitchen.
“Mm, that helps.” I chuckle.
Elle’s hands suddenly land on my cheeks, squishing them slightly. She squints at me.
“Are you tired?”
The question is casual, but it tugs at my chest all the same.
“Nah.” I smooth her hair back. “I’m good, bug.”
Herb watches the exchange without saying anything, because he knows better.
Elle studies me for a beat, then nods. “Okay. So we can do more Antarctica tonight?”
“We can,” I say, standing. “But let’s get you home before Antarctica freezes your eyelashes off.”
Leah chuckles from the kitchen, and Herb steps back to give us room. I lift Elle and head toward the door, but my hand pauses on the knob.
I turn back to Herb. “Thank you. I know you guys don’t have to—”
Herb holds his hand up before I finish.
“You’re not imposing,” he says.
“I didn’t say I was.”
“You were about to,” he replies.
He takes a step toward me, close enough now that I can see the smile lines around his eyes deepen when he looks from me to Elle.
“We got her,” he says simply, as Leah reappears behind him. “Same way we’ve always had you.”
My eyes move from Herb’s to Leah’s, then back to Elle. I nod, because that’s all I can do right now.
“Alright.”
Leah reaches out and squeezes my arm briefly before stepping back. “Drive safe.”
“I will.”
“Seatbelt!” Elle announces from my shoulder as I open the front door and walk her down the porch steps.
Herb huffs out a quiet laugh after us. “She’s got you covered.”
She definitely does.
Once we arrive home and pull into the driveway, Gus is already visible through the front window, his front paws braced on the sill as though he’s been expecting us for the last ten minutes.
The second I unlock the door, he explodes forward in a blur of white and black spots.
“Gus-Gus!” Elle squeals as he skids across the hardwood and nearly takes us both out at the knees.
“He’s supposed to sit,” I say pointedly, even as he barrels around us in frantic circles.
He does not sit.
After lots of pats, we settle into our usual rhythm.
Shoes are kicked off in the hallway, and Gus parks himself directly in the middle of it all like a spotted Dalmatian roadblock, tail thumping as if we might forget he exists if he doesn’t keep reminding us.
Elle drops her backpack exactly one foot from where I’ve asked her to put it.
“Hook,” I remind her.
She sighs dramatically and moves it six inches to the left, which is apparently compliance.
Apple slices are declared the preferred after-dinner snack of choice, and I prepare them without complaint. She eats exactly three bites, tells me about penguins again, and then remembers she needs to show me another drawing she created.
By the time she’s in her pink pajamas and curled up on the couch, Dr. Dahlia Jenkins is on the screen, explaining Antarctic ice shelves in bright, enthusiastic tones.
I sit beside her with an arm along the back of the couch, watching Elle more than the television.
On the screen, two penguins shuffle closer together against the wind, and Elle leans into me without thinking about it, her soft warmth sinking through my shirt.
Gus stretches out across my feet, one ear flicking every time a penguin squawks through the TV.
Halfway through the episode, she looks up suddenly. “Daddy?”
“Mmm?”
“Mommy and daddy penguins take turns with the egg, right?”
“Yeah.”
She nods, still watching the screen. “So the egg isn’t left alone.”
“Nope.”
There’s another beat of silence.
“Do they both stay?”
There it is.
“Sometimes,” I say carefully.
She watches the screen for another few seconds. “What if one of them doesn’t come back?”
I swallow. “Then the one that stays will keep the egg warm.”
Her cheek presses harder into my side as she shifts closer, and my arm moves a fraction, curling around her.
“You always stay,” she says matter-of-factly.
My throat feels tight. “I always stay.”
She nods, seemingly satisfied with that, then focuses back on the screen as Dr. Dahlia starts talking about blizzards. I don’t move my arm.
Twenty minutes later, she’s yawning hard but pretending she isn’t.
Bedtime is quick. A story, then her nightlight adjusted.
“I love you to Pluto,” she says into her pillow as I crouch down beside her bed.
I brush her hair off her face and kiss her forehead.
“I love you to Pluto and all the way back.”
Gus pads in, rests his chin briefly on the edge of her mattress, then circles twice before settling at the foot of her bed.
When she’s finally still, and her breathing evens out, I stand there longer than I need to. Then I click on her white noise, check the nightlight near the dresser, and pull the door closed until the latch catches.
I hate not being able to hear her as easily, but I know exactly how much time a closed door can buy.
In the kitchen, I reheat my own dinner and accidentally leave it on the counter long enough for it to cool again.
I fold a bunch of purple and yellow penguin socks from the laundry basket, then check the calendar on the fridge.
The school term date is circled in red. It’s starting a little later than usual, thanks to the snowstorms we’ve had, but it’s still coming up faster than I’d like.
I rub my temple, then eat my dinner straight from the container, listening to Dr. Dahlia talk about migration patterns on the TV I haven’t turned off yet.
When my muscles start aching enough, I decide on a shower. I empty my pockets onto the counter, and the nickel from this morning lands with a soft clink against the marble.
I stare at it for a second, then pick it up and roll it between my fingers.
Lucky Penny.
It’s ridiculous how clearly her voice echoes in my mind, how vividly I remember the easy smile she gave as she talked about her dad.
Find my Penny, pick her up, all day long I’ll have good luck.
The corner of my mouth twitches despite myself. Then, with a quiet sigh, I set the coin back down, and I flick off the kitchen light.
***
Morning comes easier without my alarm dragging me out of sleep. I’m awake before it’d go off anyway, the habit stitched too deep in me to ignore.
Gus hears me move and scratches once at my closed door, then snuffles dramatically beneath it.
“Too early,” I mutter, but I get up and let him in anyway.
Unfortunately, he disagrees. And so does Elle, who appears ten minutes later in my doorway wearing a pink sparkly dress and princess shoes that definitely do not qualify as park attire.
“Morning, bug.”
“Hi, Daddy! Are we still taking Gus to the park today?”
“We are.”
“So I need to wear this.”
“You need to wear sneakers.”
She considers that for a moment. “The sneakers can go with this dress.”
I’m too tired to argue fashion logic with a five-year-old before coffee. “Fine. Sneakers with the sparkles.”
She grins like she’s won, then disappears down the hall. Gus bolts after her, probably thinking he can pick up any crumb of breakfast she drops on the floor.
Once breakfast is done and I’ve ingested the strongest coffee I can make, I pick up Gus’s leash. The second he hears it, his nails skid on the wood, and he rushes around in tight circles by the front door.
“Alright, you psychopath, let’s go.”