Look Closely - Laura Caldwell [68]
“Yeah,” Annie said with a little tilt of her head. “But he’s fine. He’s coming back soon.” She sounded very sure of her words, and I wondered if she was mimicking the lines her mother had fed her since Dan failed to show up.
“I’m sure he will.”
“Do you know my dad?”
“Yes. He’s my brother.”
She looked at me for a moment. She seemed to have her mother’s talent for appraising people.
“Well, he’s probably coming home soon,” Annie said, turning another page of the book. “He won’t be gone very long. He misses me too much.” She kept turning the photos over, not bothering to stop any longer to explain them.
Something about the deliberation of the girl’s movements, the precise way her little fingers with their delicate nails continued paging through the album, made me wonder. And after a second, I said, “How do you know?”
The small fingers kept moving, flipping pages, until Annie reached the end. Without a word, she started over at the beginning of the book again, with Dan surrounded by boxes, before she was even born.
I didn’t push. I watched Annie turning and turning the pages until she put her hand over one picture, as if saving her place on the page. She looked at me. “Promise not to tell?” she said in a soft voice.
I leaned closer. “Promise,” I said, matching her whisper.
The girl moved toward me, until her mouth nearly rested on my ear. I could feel her faint breath. “My dad’s not drinking again. He’s just on a vacation.”
I tried to stay very still as if Annie were a deer that could be startled back into the forest. I strained to hear toward the back of the house, for any signs of Sharon advancing to the room and finding me, again, in close physical contact with her daughter.
When Annie didn’t move, didn’t say anything, I turned my own head a little, so that I could angle my words toward her. “How do you know?”
“He called me when Mom was still at work. He had to take some time off, but he’ll be back. He can’t not come back because he misses me. He’ll only be gone a little while.”
Annie sat back away and smiled as if it were all just that simple.
I wanted to ask her—When did he call? Where is he staying? Did he give you a number?—but I only said, “Does your mom know?”
Annie shook her head. “She doesn’t like Dad much.” Her face looked stricken. “You won’t tell her, will you?”
“No,” I said, the word coming fast. “Of course not.”
“I finally found it,” Sharon said, coming into the room. “And I wrote down the directions to Dan’s house.” Her face held a pleasant cast, but when she looked from me to her child and back again, her expression became more wary.
“Great, thanks.” I stood from the couch, the album falling off my lap. “Sorry.” I bent to pick it up, but Annie had already scooted to the floor and grabbed it. I stood again, and let my hands fall to my sides, flustered with Annie’s confidences.
Sharon watched me another moment before she crossed the room, holding out a fluttering piece of newsprint.
I took it, glancing at the title and byline. A Midwesterner Searches For Uncommon Beauty, by Dan Singer. It was a short piece with no accompanying photos. “Should I go somewhere to copy this and bring it back?” I asked Sharon.
“That’s not necessary. I had a couple of them tucked away.”
“Well, thank you so much.” I didn’t want to leave Annie. I wanted to see the girl’s room and her treasures, to talk to her more about her dad, not just about his call but what she knew of him in general, what she thought of Dan Sutter Singer, but Sharon stood still, waiting, it seemed, for me to go.
“Thanks for everything,” I said.
“I’ll tell him you’re looking for him,” Sharon said. “Whenever he turns up, that is.”
Both Annie and Sharon walked me to the door, Annie hanging back a little.
“It was really nice to meet you both,” I said as I opened the door. Just then the phone rang from inside.
“You, too,” Sharon said, glancing over her shoulder toward the sound of the phone. “Drive safe.”
Sharon turned and disappeared into the house. Based on her speed, I bet that it was a man calling, maybe someone she was dating.
“Bye,