“Oh Casey, you are a wonderful daughter. . . . Let’s go. Your mother is waiting for you.”
I held Casey’s hands and tens of shopping bags and went inside the house.
“Mommy.” Casey left my hand and ran towards her mother for a hug.
But—she didn’t stop there. Then she went around the dinner table to hug her grandparents.
Even Walter.
She looked more cheerful than usual and continued running around the room. If I had not known any better, I would have said that she was on drugs—or probably on some kind of rush.
Mary-Louise got hold of Casey and asked, “What are you wearing, honey?”
“It’s my princess costume. You like it? Do you like it?” she gabbled and then removed her tiara and put it on Mary-Louise’s head.
It was the perfect opportunity for me to prove to Amber that like a good father, I took Casey shopping and bought the very dress she put her finger on. I proudly said, “The guy in the store said that it’s a Cinderella costume—but whatever.”
And Amber’s reaction to it: none.
Meanwhile, Casey hit Frank’s head with her princess wand. I thought it was cute; she might be trying to magically grow some hair on her granddad’s scalp.
But Frank complained, “What have you done with her? She is acting like a maniac.”
“She is fine, Mr. McCarran. She is just happy that she got to spend a day with his father.”
I said too early; she had then started to put her fingers inside Walter’s nose and pulling out his boogers.
“No, honey, come back here.” Mary-Louise pulled Casey back and held her tightly.
And then my estranged wife finally broke her silence and asked, “What did you two do all day?”
She was not bossy anymore; she was worse—behaving like an FBI agent trying to put a timeline of crime together.
I resented Amber’s question and her tone. And I nearly yelled, “Do I have to prepare a ledger on how I spend my time with my daughter?”
“She is not your daughter—she is mine. I raised her. You can’t just swoop in after five years and start from where you left off.”
She again yelled at me in front of everybody.
With Walter present.
It was humiliating.
“Well—unless Zeus came down to earth smelling your cameltoe and impregnate you—I would go on a limb and say that she is my daughter too. Or, did you forget the bathroom stall in which Casey was conceived?” I answered tic with tac and inadvertently broke my promise of not telling anybody that Casey was conceived in a bathroom stall.
“You . . .” Amber face was turning red, left eye twitching, and teeth grinding with a grunt. She swung her hand at me, but the survival instincts I learned in Gen-Pop kicked in, and I caught it midway before it could land on my bearded face.
I later regretted my decision. I should have probably let Amber slap me. It would have been embarrassing for me, but at least she could have gotten some peace.
“Why are you two fighting?” Casey screamed at the top of her lungs.
“Calm down, sweetheart. We are not fighting. Look—” I continuously kissed Amber’s hand until she felt repulsed enough to pull it away. I was the ultimate opportunist in the name of calming Casey down.
It was turning out to be an impossible task to calm her down. While Mary-Louise was trying to pacify Casey by rocking her on her lap, she enquired, “Duke, what did Casey eat today?”
“Let’s see. . . .We went to McDonald’s where she had a burger, some French fries, and a shake. Then after visiting the lake, we went shopping where she hardly had one cotton candy, and on the way back, we stopped by an ice cream parlor.”
I shared my entire itinerary for the day to Mary-Louise, but had no idea what that detective-wannabe father-in-law of mine wanted to prove that he intervened, “How many scoops of ice cream did she had?”
“I don’t know—four.”
“Four!” Amber said with shock as if I fed our daughter four hand grenades instead of four scoops of ice-cream.
“I don’t know, maybe six . . . five, maybe.”
All right, I was just guessing the number. I was no accountant. I didn’t know how many scoops she had. All I knew that she had a lot.
“Five!” She was shocked again.
I didn’t know why Amber was reacting like that. I was fed up with her constantly trying to know the exact scoop count Casey had—it was utter bullshit.
“Honestly, I don’t know how many scoops of ice cream she had. And I don’t care. I am the parent who feels good when her child enjoys ice cream—not pull out pen and paper and count the calories.”
“Well, you shouldn’t have done that. Casey doesn’t handle sugar very well.”
Amber dropped the nuke and made me guilty the next second. I looked at Mary-Louise for confirmation, and she verified it with a nod.
I was shocked at Casey’s behavior. She was not that innocent when it came down to her sweet tooth. “Casey, why didn’t you tell me about this?”
“Have you honestly expected her to tell you that she doesn’t handle sugar well? . . . A video call with her every other day for a few minutes doesn’t make you a father.”
And there it was, the spear through my heart—Amber’s favorite weapon— which she hadn’t missed once. She did make a fair point though; there was no way I would have known about that.
“My chest hearts,” Casey complained while touching her chest which got everybody concerned about her health.
Mary-Louise advised, “I think she had too much to eat today. Amber—go get her some sugar-free ginger ale.”
“Yeah.” Amber rushed to the kitchen—not before jerking her head back and giving me a stern look that filled me with guilt.
I was drowning in guilt and concern when Mary-Louise’s kind words consoled me. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. You couldn’t have known about this.”
Frank obviously didn’t like it and released his anger by cutting the ribs like a savage—perhaps imagining me instead of the ribs.
Amber returned with the ginger ale in a jiffy, and Mary-Louise with great love, made Casey drink it. I didn’t know what it was—Amber’s ginger ale, my concern, or Mary-Louise’s love—that made Casey feel better in a minute. Her chest was no longer hurting. The sugar rush was down—but only by a fraction.
“It’s going to be a tedious task to make her sleep today.” Amber shared her concern with Mary-Louise and took a deep sigh.
I was still feeling bad and jumped in to offer my service. “I’ll do it; you don’t have to worry at all. . . . I’ll give her a bath, tuck her in bed and even sing her a lullaby if that’s what it takes to make her fall asleep.”
“Lullaby!” Frank snickered while ripping the ribs with his sharp teeth. “Do you even know anything except prison songs?”
I hope you choke on your dinner—you son of a bitch. I imagined him falling out of the chair and gasping for air with his hand around his throat.
Mary-Louise’s sweet voice pulled me out from the dark thoughts of the demise of her husband. “Duke, why don’t you join us for dinner?”
“I thought you would never ask.”
It was kind of Mary-Louise to ask me to join for dinner. No matter how much cotton candy or ice-cream you eat, but hunger is never quite satisfied unless you have some meat in your tummy.
The ribs were looking excellent, and I wasted no time and pulled a chair next to Frank’s.
As I was about to sit, Frank kicked the chair down and said, “The table is for family only.”
“Frank! He is a guest.” Mary-Louise was surprised at her husband’s behavior.
“What? I am not refusing to feed the guest. I just don’t want him to be at the same table as me.”—Frank then gestured at me to fuck off from there—“Go eat someplace else—preferably in the front yard.”
I looked at Mary-Louise; she was repulsed by the decision of Frank who was calmly enjoying his food without a shred of guil
t. Then I looked at Amber; she had a slight smirk on her face and was in full agreement with his father’s decision which broke my heart and my will to eat.
“I am not that hungry, anyway,” I said casually as if that incident didn’t hurt me.
But it did—very badly.
I walked to my designated place—the couch nearby—and found my luggage opened and my belongings laying unowned on the floor.
“Had to check if you are carrying any weapon,” Frank said in a high tone so that I could hear him properly. “Just something I do when I open my home to convicts, don’t mind.”
I didn’t answer him; I didn’t have one. “Evil bald Voldemort,” I mumbled and got down on my knees to pick up my things.
Casey then got down from Mary-Louise’s lap and started filling a plate with food.
Amber was surprised at the way Casey was filling everything in one plate and asked, “Honey, are you going to eat all that?”
“It’s for Daddy—”
“Put it down! I am not running a homeless shelter here,” Frank snapped at Casey as he was not happy when she decided to cross him to feed me.
But what happened next wasn’t something anybody in the McCarran family could have expected. Casey told her grandfather the curse word which she heard from me earlier that day.
“You are a real S.O.B, you know that?”
“Casey,” Amber gasped, “how could you say that to Grandpa?”
“Well, he is one, isn’t he?” Casey showed no respect even to her mother and came to me with the plate full of food.
Frank had lost his temper entirely. It was surely not lovely hearing from a little girl and that too, her granddaughter whom he had sheltered since her birth.
“Get back here, young lady! Don’t you dare walk away from me!” Frank yelled and then pointed his fork at me. “I bet you told her to say that to me.”
I had no answer to Frank’s accusation. I knew it was wrong of Casey to say that curse word to Frank, but at the same time, I was also happy that my little girl took a stand for me.
Nevertheless, I tried to be of a positive influence, and while stroking her hair said, “Casey, you shouldn’t have told him that. You don’t even know the meaning of that word.”
“I guess it’s a bad word; I figured that much. . . . I know I shouldn’t have said that—but he had it coming.”
Amber was right; video call with Casey every other day for a few minutes didn’t make me her father. I was seeing a new side of Casey for the very first time.
Fierce.
Brave.
Hothead.
Just like her mother.
Casey then cut a piece of rib with her little hands, and as she brought the fork near my mouth to feed me, I grabbed her hand and said, “Promise me, you won’t say that word to your grandpa again.”
“Even if he deserves it?”
“Especially when he deserves it.”
“All right. I’ll promise not to say that word to Grandpa again”—Casey pointed at the plate full of ribs and threw me a tough challenge—“if you finish your dinner.”
I was amazed at Casey’s negotiation skills, she could be a lawyer too—or a doctor-lawyer if that’s a thing. But I playfully said, “What?! Are you trying to give Daddy a heart attack? . . . Of course . . . I get it now. . . . That’s how your practice will shine, huh?”
I then tickled her, and she giggled loudly, which made me forget everything—my humiliation, her mother’s hate, and even myself.
“Here comes the choo-choo train.” Casey then fed me from fork while trying to make the sound of a train as best as she could.
I knew that Amber wasn’t happy with my close relationship with Casey, but there was nothing that she could do about it as long as I had the divorce card up my sleeve.
After the dinner, I carried Casey in my arms to her bedroom upstairs. I was anything but truly the man of my word—and I fully intended to keep my promise to make Casey sleep that night.
No matter what.
It seemed easy—but only if it would be that easy.
That night was the real test of my parenthood.
Chapter 6
Warm bath.
A scientifically proven method to quickly induce sleep.
And I started bathing Casey, which was kind of tough task in itself when your daughter was on a sugar rush and on top of that, you weren’t aware of the soap and shampoo your daughter use.
But no, I was wrong.
That was actually the easiest part because the real challenge came later when I had to follow her around with her PJ and begged her to stop.
She was fast and clearly prepared for the 5k run—all thanks to Frank. When I finally caught her after 15 minutes or so, I threatened to never talk to her if she didn’t get dressed. I was not proud of pulling a Mom move, but I was desperate.
And it worked like a charm.
As I tucked her in the bed, I was confident in my thoughts that it would be a smooth sail from there on; she might tire herself to sleep in a few minutes.
But I was wrong. Again.
You can never underestimate the energy level of a child. And a child on a sugar rush is the deadliest combination possible.
I mean, who wouldn’t feel even a little bit tired from possibly running at least a mile around the house, and blowing off that extra energy?
I know—I would.
And I was. Seriously.
Nevertheless, I still hadn’t lost hope to get Casey to sleep. I tried singing her lullabies that I used to mumble to calm myself down before breaking and entering the houses at my previous job.
But all in vain; she didn’t even come close to blinking her eyes.
And then the real torture began.
She started talking about Kermit the Frog which seemed to last for almost an hour. Next up was Fozzie bear, and not sure how many toys thereafter. By the time she was done talking about Miss Piggy, I was out cold. But she woke me up and continued with the stories of the rest of her Muppets.
I was literally crying from inside, begging her to stop and go to sleep but she was merciless like her mother and taking enmity from me for God knows what.
Don’t get me wrong. I love Casey very much. But at that moment, she was literally behaving like my arch enemy. I hadn’t thought in my wildest dreams that there could ever be an annoying side of her. I guess it’s a package deal from God.
At last, around midnight, Casey’s sugar rush wore off, and she fell asleep clutching the neck of Kermit the Frog in her arms. I didn’t even dare to kiss her goodnight and quietly tiptoed my way out of the room.
Who could do better than me anyway? I did have experience.
I slowly and silently came downstairs.
I was completely exhausted—eyes just begging to shut off, and hands too sore from driving. My vision was getting somewhat blurry due to sleep deprivation. As I was about to crash on the couch, I heard a voice.
“How was it?”
I turned around and found Mary-Louise making a sandwich on the dining table across the open kitchen. If I had caught her some other time alone, I would surely be up for a heartfelt talk.
But not then.
I was spent up and just wanted to go to sleep. Yet I still went to talk to her otherwise she would have considered me selfish—after everything she had done for me.
“It was brutal.”—I kissed Mary-Louise on the cheek, gave her a warm hug and sat next to her—“I don’t know how Amber does it. It’s so exhausting taking care of a kid.”
“Well—you would get used to it after a few sleepless nights. Don’t worry about it—or anything else. I am here for you.”
I got the gist of what and whom Mary-Louise was pointing towards and was appreciative of her advice and assurance. I was fully geared up for the challenges ahead with that undaunted courage she instilled in me.
Before I could open my mouth to thank her for the never-ending favors, she was finished preparing the sandwich and offered me the half
. “Sandwich?”
“Nah! I am full. Thanks.” I politely refused; I was already feeling full up to my throat.
“More for me then.” She took a big bite of the sandwich and asked, “How long it’s been, Duke? 3-4 years since we last met?”
“Three years and eight months, to be precise. We met just after Casey’s first birthday.”
“Yeah, I remember. I came to the prison to show her first birthday party pictures and rub it in your face what you had lost. But I was swept along when you eloquently revealed what you gained—and it changed my perception about you.”
“I still get goosebumps when I recall how furious you were back then.” I suddenly felt a shiver running up and down my spine just by the mere thought of what happened about four years ago. “By the way, thanks for listening to my side of the story at that time.”
“Will Amber ever get to hear the same? When do you plan to let her know that it wasn’t an arrest?”
“Nah! She’ll never understand even if I tell her. It’s better the way it is now. Ignorance is bliss for her. Besides, she is already not glad that I am here.”
“Well, I for one am glad that you are here, a little late, but better late than never.”
“I would have come here sooner if I had enough money to take care of Amber and Casey.”
I then removed the bandages from my fingers and started scratching them; they went so itchy after being bandaged for an entire day for no reason.
Mary-Louise looked at my fingers and was not at all surprised by my ruse. “So—no workmen comp, huh? I already guessed it by the way you are spending money on Casey.”
“I am cautious with my money, but when it comes to my daughter—I just wanted to make up for all the lost time and spoil her. I would not think twice, and in the blink of an eye spend my entire fortune—”
“Fortune?!”—Mary-Louise instantly picked a knife and put it on my throat—“Do you remember what I told you when I agreed to help you win over Amber?”
Mary-Louise was no doubt a wonderful woman with endearing personality traits.
Caring.
Compassionate.
Comforting.
A lady of a kind.
Hard Redemption: A Second Chance Romantic Comedy Page 5
