Daddy’s Best Friend

by Crowne, K. C.

  “So which one do I have?” she asked me, though she didn’t look up.

  “You have Grace,” I murmured softly, taking a seat in the chair across from her. “She has a birthmark on her right hand, right by her thumb. She’s also smaller.”

  “Grace, after your mother,” she whispered.

  “Yes.”

  “And Amelia after your grandmother,” she said, looking at the baby in my arms.

  “Yes, right again.”

  “You always were a sentimental man,” she said with a playful smile. “Even if you try to hide it.”

  I couldn’t really argue that. My mother and my grandmother had played a big role in my life. Both women were gone, but I knew they’d have been so happy to see me as a father. Surprised, too. My mother had passed only a couple years prior, and I was her only child. She had always assumed our family would stop with me. But she’d been wrong. Not that anyone could have expected that I’d one day be the father of twin girls, especially at my age.

  “So do you forgive me?” Elle asked, her brown eyes wide and innocent. “About the article, I mean.”

  I thought for a moment. Truthfully, I couldn’t stay mad at her for long. She was Carl’s daughter, and nothing she ever did could make me hate her. Even if she was a journalist.

  “Yes, but please come to me before writing anything else in the future. And my daughters are off limits. Got it?”

  “Got it,” she said. “I’ll respect your wishes, Jeremiah. I just wanted to help.”

  “I know.”

  She was like her father. Carl was quick to anger because he was passionate - like Elle. He also had a good heart, but he always thought he knew what was right for someone else. Elle took after him more than I could have imagined.

  “George Holt is a terrible man,” Elle commented, frowning. “Like, really bad. There’s no way he can be mayor of Liberty.”

  “I know.”

  Elle seemed relieved that I agreed with her. I knew George well enough to know that he had an agenda. He had been a developer himself, and he’d been trying for years to grow Liberty into a tourist town to rival some of the other ski towns in the U.S. But the townspeople didn’t want that. It would mean the raising of rents, many would likely be displaced, and small businesses would be replaced with large corporations. We favored our local coffee shops over Starbucks. It’s what made Liberty what it was.

  George wasn’t born and raised there; he didn’t get it. He was everything Liberty wasn’t, and there was no way he would win the election. Unless no one ran against him. As the current mayor, taking over after my father died in office, it was a given that I'd run for re-election and win. Until the latest scandal.

  We finished feeding the babies, but Elle continued holding and rocking Grace gently as we talked mostly about frivolous things. Elle always could carry a conversation all on her own.

  “I think Grace might be getting sleepy,” she said, her voice low.

  “Amelia too,” I commented, noting the little girl’s eyelids drifting closed. “It’s about their bedtime anyway.”

  I stood, and Elle did too. She followed me to their nursery at the end of the hallway, next to my bedroom. She stared around the room, her mouth opening as she saw the cribs. The baby beds were ornate and heavy, well-made and sturdy. Above each twin’s crib was their name, carved in wood. Amelia’s was painted in purple, my grandma’s favorite color, and Grace was painted a soft blue, my mother’s favorite.

  “Wow, did you make these?” Elle asked, running her hand over the crib.

  “I did.” I smiled as I watched her trace the name above Grace’s crib. “I made everything in here, actually.”

  “I knew you were good with woodworking, but wow,” she breathed. She placed Grace down in the bed and stared at her for a bit, a small smile on her face.

  I did the same with Amelia, watching as she fell into a deep sleep. I turned on the baby monitors and motioned for Elle to follow me out. I pulled the door, but left it open just a smidge so a small light from the hallway could creep in.

  We walked back into the living room, and I thought that might be it. Elle had apologized. I forgave her. We put the kids to bed. Now she could leave.

  But she sat down on the couch again, heaving a sigh. “You don’t happen to have anything to drink, do you?”

  “I might have some beer in the fridge.” I scratched my beard.

  “Ooh, can I have one?”

  My first instinct was to tell her no, that she was too young. But she wasn’t too young anymore. She was a grown woman, not Carl’s little girl.

  “Sure,” I said, making my way into the kitchen. I grabbed one for her, then decided it wouldn’t hurt to have one now that the girls were down. Only one.

  I opened the bottles and walked back into the living room, handing one to Elle before taking my place in the large leather chair across from her again.

  She drank from the bottle before giggling. “It feels weird to be drinking around you, ever since that time you picked me up from the party. You know, I don’t drink much these days, thanks to you.”

  “Good, I’m glad my talk stuck with you.”

  “It did,” she said, turning the bottle around in her hands. “I mean, that and my daddy yelling at me, but you talked to me like an adult. I really appreciated that.” She took another swig, made a face and put the bottle on the table.

  “You were sixteen. Not yet an adult, but not a child either.”

  “My father didn’t think like so. He still thought I was a child.” She spoke softly, her eyes glazing over. I knew she had to miss her father. We all did, but she had a special bond with him. She was daddy’s little girl.

  But it was hard to imagine her as anyone’s little girl now.

  She pulled off the scarf, tossing it on the table before taking off her jacket. “Sorry, it’s a bit warm. Do you mind?”

  “No, of course not.”

  She placed her jacket on the couch next to her. Her silky pink shirt clung to her body. It didn’t go all the way down to her skirt either, showing off just a hint of her stomach.

  I took a quick swig of my beer, trying to distract myself. I couldn’t look at her body, what was I doing? She was my best friend’s daughter.

  Elle crossed her legs, and her skirt rode up, showing off her toned thighs. She had always been into yoga and keeping herself in shape, even though she didn’t work out too much. She was no athlete, just liked to keep herself healthy.

  I put the beer down, afraid it was clouding my thoughts. I had to adjust in my seat, cringing as my erection brushed against my jeans. I cursed myself; that’s what I got for having such horribly inappropriate thoughts about Elle.

  Thankfully, she didn’t seem to notice and continued talking. “Do you remember that time Dad thought I took a drink from his beer? When I was eight, maybe?”

  “I do,” I chuckled, remembering Carl’s face. He wasn’t so much mad as he was worried. “He kept asking me to call poison control to make sure it wouldn’t hurt you. You kept insisting you’d only smelled it and thought it was gross.”

  “That’s exactly what happened. I smelled it, thought it smelled like pee, and put it right back down.”

  “And Carl kept saying, ‘It’s okay if you tried it, you won’t be in trouble. I just need to know in case it can make you sick’”

  “Yes! He really was a good dad.” Her voice cracked.

  “He was. I hope to be as good as him.”

  “Oh, I have no doubt. I always thought you’d make an amazing father.”

  I looked down at my hand. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”

  A silence hung over us. I glanced up and found her staring at me, a pained look on her face.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Do you think—never mind.” She shook her head as if trying to banish whatever thoughts she was having.

  “Do I think what?”

  She hesitated, but I could tell the words were on the tip of her t
ongue. Finally, she sighed. “Do you think my father was proud of me?”

  Tears welled in her eyes, and it killed me. Any sexual thoughts I’d had went right out the window. This was Carl’s little girl. This was Eleanor.

  “Of course, Elle,” I murmured. “How could he not be?”

  “I don’t know. He just had all these big dreams for me, for me to go off to college in New York City, to become this big-time journalist. It was supposed to be worth being gone for so long. I even missed—” She stopped short, but I knew what she was thinking.

  “Elle, there’s no way you could have known he was going to pass away so quickly. No one did. He showed no signs, no symptoms, and even if he suspected it, you know your father was far too stubborn to let anyone know something was wrong.”

  She nodded. “I guess so. I feel like I missed so much, and I still ended up here. But it’s too late. He’s not here.”

  I wanted to cross the room and hug her but wasn’t sure it was appropriate. I also didn’t trust my thoughts since only moments before I’d gotten an erection looking at her. Jesus, I couldn’t be sure what would happen if I actually touched her.

  So I stayed put, tried to comfort her from afar. “Elle, your father just wanted you to be happy. He didn’t care what you did with your life, as long as you were happy and healthy - and you are, aren’t you?”

  She nodded. “For the most part, yes. Except for his absence, I really do love being home.”

  “And he would be proud of you for taking over the Leader.”

  She barked out a laugh. “Proud of me running that pitiful excuse for a paper, you mean? Not like we’re going to be in business much longer. No one wants to read the local paper anymore.”

  “He’d be proud of you because you took a chance. You took ownership of your life and didn’t let your doubts stop you.”

  She was silent for a second, and a smile crossed her face. “Thanks, Jeremiah. You knew my father better than anyone, so it means a lot to hear that. You always could get through to me.”

  She stood up, and before I could stop her, she crossed the room, leaned down toward me, and wrapped her arms over my shoulders. Her breasts pressed nearly into my face since she was standing and I was sitting. It was hard to breathe, hard to think for a second. She pulled away, and the erection was back.

  Thankfully, she didn’t look down. She looked straight in my eyes instead.

  “I think I’m going to head out, but thank you for the talk. I’ve missed you, you know that?”

  “I’ve missed you too,” I admitted.

  Calm down, Jeremiah. This is Carl’s daughter, I kept repeating to myself.

  I walked her to the door, and she gave me a proper hug. I swallowed hard, worried that she’d feel my erection against her body. But when she pulled away, she seemed oblivious. She leaned in and kissed me on the cheek, her soft lips brushing against my skin and sending the rest of the blood in my body south.

  Get a grip, Jeremiah. Get a fucking grip. This is unacceptable.

  Elle pulled away, and there was something in her eyes - a heat that I’d never seen before from her.

  “Have a good night,” I said, yanking the door open. “And drive safely. Your father would never forgive me if anything happened to you.”

  I brought up her father, hoping to remind both of us both of who she was to me. Her gaze fell and her cheeks flushed.

  “Yes, of course. Have a good night, Jeremiah.”

  She walked out the door, and I realized she’d left her scarf on my couch. But I wasn’t going to risk calling her back.

  Elle

  “Psst,” Lucy hissed, poking her head in my office the next day. “I heard from a little bird that there was a big secret meeting at the mayor’s office yesterday.”

  “Do tell,” I said, motioning for Lucy to come in.

  She stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. She took a seat across from me, leaning in as if telling me a secret in a room full of people. “Well, as you know, Peter Montgomery and I are pretty close these days.”

  Peter was essentially her boyfriend and held an administrative role in the mayor’s office.

  “He told me they suspect James didn’t just run off to protect himself, but that he’s dead. They found a body; they’re waiting for the police to identify it.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “James Fitzhenry?”

  “Who else?” she asked.

  “The whistle-blower? He might be dead?” My heart sunk at those words. I didn’t know James too well, but I didn’t care for him much. Not only because he was the one who spoke out against Jeremiah, but also because he’d dated George Holt’s daughter. Still, I didn’t wish death upon anyone.

  I also feared what it might mean for Jeremiah.

  “Mmhmm, and they say the FBI might be getting involved.”

  I leaned back in my chair, feeling numb. “Wow.”

  “I know, right?” Lucy seemed to be on the edge of her seat, as if this were some murder mystery television show.

  “Lucy, this is real life. This is our town, and someone from our town could be dead, while another man may be investigated for crimes he didn’t commit.”

  Lucy cocked her head to the side. “How come you’re so certain Jeremiah is innocent?”

  “Because I know him. I know what type of man he is.”

  “Are you sure you know the real him, though? Maybe you know—”

  “I know him, Lucy,” I snapped.

  “Fine, alright.” She held her hands up to surrender. “I’m just saying—”

  “You’re jumping to conclusions along with everyone else. That’s not responsible reporting. We don’t run a tabloid here. We wait for facts.”

  Lucy’s gaze narrowed. “I don’t mean to be so bold, but are you sure your personal relationship with Jeremiah might not be clouding your judgement here? Maybe a bit?”

  “Innocent until proven guilty,” I reminded her. “We stand by that philosophy here. If you have a problem with that, maybe the National Enquirer is hiring.”

  Lucy snapped her lips shut and frowned. “I didn’t mean we’d report on anything that wasn’t factually true.”

  “Good. Then we’re done here.”

  Lucy stood up carefully, and I could tell she wanted to continue the conversation. She was proud of herself for having the gossip. I hated gossip that wasn’t backed up by fact. She should have known better than to run her mouth to me without proof.

  Except I had a feeling she was right. Peter did work in city government. As soon as Lucy was gone, I grabbed the phone and dialed Jeremiah’s office number.

  A friendly female voice picked up. “Office of Mayor Jenkins. This is Mary speaking. How may I help you?”

  “Hi Mary. This is Elle Schaeffer. Is Jeremiah in?”

  “No, he’s not, I’m afraid. I can give him a message, but he’s not open to talking to the press right now.”

  “This isn’t a press issue,” I insisted. I wanted to argue with Mary, tell her that Jeremiah was like family to me, but I dropped it. I knew a better way to reach him. I thanked her and said goodbye, then hung up and dialed his cell phone.

  Jeremiah’s gruff voice answered on the second ring. “Elle?”

  I told him everything Lucy had told me, which wasn’t much. Jeremiah remained quiet when I finished, and I thought maybe we’d lost our connection. “Jeremiah?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Can you verify any of that?”

  “Not to the press, no.”

  “It's off the record, I promise.”

  He sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it, Elle. It’s nothing personal, but I’d rather not talk about it with anyone - even if it’s on a personal level.”

  “Jeremiah, are you in trouble?”

  “Of course not. It’s all a misunderstanding. I didn’t take bribes, and I sure as hell didn’t kill anyone. The truth will come to light soon enough.”

  “Is James dead?” He didn’t answer me. “Jeremiah!”

/>   “Elle, I said I don’t want to talk about it. I’m not even sure I can talk about it yet, press or not. So please, respect that.”

  The line went dead and I slammed my phone down on my desk.

  “Dammit.” I wasn’t cursing because Jeremiah wouldn’t work with me; I was worried about him. What had started as nothing but some rumors turned into so much more, and I didn’t like Jeremiah’s neck on the chopping block.

  I only wanted to help. Couldn’t he see that?

  I leaned back in my chair, rubbing my temples. It wasn’t even lunch time and already I was on the verge of a migraine. And just when I thought the day couldn’t get any worse, there was a knock on my door.

  “Yes?”

  My administrative assistant, Taylor, spoke up from the other side of the door. “There’s someone here to see you.”

  “Tell them to call me and make an appointment—”

  I was cut off by someone opening the door. The woman who stepped into my office wasn’t my admin, but I recognized her. And my day just went from bad to worse.

  I stumbled to my feet, taken off guard. “Ms. Holt, I wasn’t expecting you today.”

  Lauren Holt was all legs. Without heels, she was probably 5’8” or so, but she always wore heels, the tallest ones she could find. Her blonde hair was impeccably colored - highlights and lowlights in all the right places, and not a stray strand of hair on her head.

  Lauren’s painted lips were pursed, her hands on her hips, her perfectly manicured nails tapping on her hip. I reached out a hand to shake hers, as a professional courtesy, but she didn’t take it. I dropped my hand and steeled myself.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure?” I spoke through gritted teeth. She knew as well as I did that I wasn’t pleased to see her. We never had liked each other.

  She took a seat across from me, crossing her legs as if she was trying to show off her perfect calves. She was in a designer suit, perfectly tailored to her body. She looked at me pointedly. “I read your article on Jeremiah Jenkins.”

  “Okay.” I sat down at my desk. “And you’re here why?”

  “Because you need to give my father the same attention you’ve given Jeremiah,” she stated matter-of-factly.