The gal’s got a major-league problem.
Off the deep end, or she wouldn’t be pulling that kind of stunt.
Troubles with Harold?
Oh, wouldn’t that be a shame.
Golly, I’m so sorry. It breaks my heart, you slut.
The harsh thoughts made Jake feel a little guilty. He told himself that he had loved her once, that it was wrong to wish misery on her.
What about Kimmy? If Barbara and Harold were having problems, she could certainly be affected. He didn’t want that. If Kimmy had to live with her mother—and there was no real alternative as long as Jake remained unmarried—then he wanted her to be in a home where there was love and happiness.
The situation was only tolerable as long as he could be sure that Barbara was taking good care of her. If this morning was any indication, however, Barbara was losing her grip.
Maybe it’s nothing, he told himself. Just a fleeting aberration. Tomorrow’s Barbara’s birthday. She would only be twenty-seven, but he remembered her saying, when she hit twenty-one, that it was all downhill from there. She apparently believed it, too. Each year, after that, she had fallen into a pit of depression around birthday time.
That must be it, he decided.
Flaunts her stuff in front of her ex-husband to prove to herself that she’s still got something to flaunt.
And he smashes her down.
Shit.
At least it was good to know that her bizarre behavior was nothing more serious than the birthday blues.
If that’s what it was.
“Hi, Daddy!”
He stood up, suddenly feeling good as Kimmy came toward him, smiling. As always, after going days without seeing her, he was amazed by her beauty. A gorgeous four-year-old kid with big blue eyes and a great smile, she couldn’t go anywhere without people taking a second look.
Harold stood in the entryway, holding her overnight bag. Kimmy had Clew, her tiny stuffed kitten, clutched in one hand. She raised her arms, and Jake picked her up and kissed her. “How’s my baby?” he asked.
“I’m not a baby, I’m a little girl.”
“Oh, well excuuuuuse me.”
Leaning back and grinning, she poked a finger against a button of Jake’s shirt. “You have a spill, Daddy.”
“I do?” He looked down.
Kimmy darted her finger up and poked his nose.
“Oow! Y’got me!”
Laughing, she sucked on her forefinger. Her eyes were eager with mischief. A Wet Willy was on its way.
“Oh, no, you don’t,” Jake said, forcing her away before she could twist the wet finger in his ear. She giggled and tried to hold on, but he freed himself and put her down.
Not in front of Harold, he thought.
Then he wondered, with a tug of pain, if she ever gave Wet Willies to Harold.
“Let’s get the show on the road,” he said.
He reached down his hand. Kimmy took a firm grip on his forefinger and led the way.
“You two have a good time,” Harold said as they approached him. He gave the overnight bag to Jake. His smile looked strained. “You’ll have her back tomorrow?”
Jake nodded.
They left. It was good to get out of the house. He smiled down at Kimmy.
Her smile was gone. “Don’t I get to stay by you tomorrow?”
“Not this time. Tomorrow’s Mommy’s birthday.”
“I know that.” She gave him an annoyed look. She did not approve, at all, of being told what she already knew. Clearly demeaning.
“Well, you want to be there for her party, don’t you?”
“I s’pose.”
“It’ll be fun.”
He opened the passenger door for Kimmy, and lifted her onto the safety seat. While he strapped her in, she tucked Clew into the top of her bib overalls so the tiny gray head poked out like a kangaroo in its mother’s pouch.
Then she stuck her forefinger into her mouth.
“Oh, no, you don’t!”
“Yes, I do!”
Jake grabbed her wrist, but let himself be overpowered. The wet fingertip pushed into his ear and twisted. “Eaah! You got me!” Before she could get him again, he ducked out of the car.
He hurried around and climbed in behind the steering wheel. Kimmy was ready to bestow another Wet Willy. She strained to reach him, but it was no good.
“Saved by the car seat,” he said.
“C’mere.”
“Not a chance. Think I’m dumb?”
“Uh-huh,” she said, nodding.
“Wiseacre.” He pulled into the street. “So, what would you like to do today?”
“Go to the moojies.”
“The moojies it is. Anything special you want to see?”
She made an eager face with her eyes wide and her brows high. “
“We saw
“I really want to see
“Sure, why not. Maybe this time the crock will gobble up Captain Hook…”
Gobble up.
Ronald Smeltzer.
Could’ve gone all day without thinking about that.
“Can we eat at McDonalds?”
“No.”
“Daddy!” She shook her fist at him, grinning over the tiny knuckles.
“Well, if you insist.”
“Daddy, can I talk to you?”
“Sure. Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?”
She braced an elbow on the padded armrest of her seat, and leaned toward him. She looked serious. “There isn’t any such thing as crocodiles, is there?”
“What makes you think that?”
“Well, because it’s just a moojie.”
“That doesn’t mean they don’t exist.”
“Dracula and werewoofs and the mummy aren’t really real, you said so, so crocodiles aren’t really real, are they?”
“Gotcha worried, has it?”
“This is not funny.”
“Crocks are real, but I wouldn’t worry about them.”
“I do not want to get eaten.”
Jake felt as if he’d been kicked in the stomach. “Well, you’ll just have to keep your eyes open. If you see a crock waddling your way, toss it a Twinkie and run. It’d much rather eat Twinkies than you.”
“I’m not so sure.”
