His chest felt tight as he tried to keep his eye on the road. Cherry was a calculating woman and she played her hand close and tight. The child had his last name, but her mother had also given the girl the first name of his mother, a woman who was going to lose her mind with the knowledge of having her first grandchild. Mark Neary, his father, would also be pleased as punch to have a granddaughter to tell his long-winded stories to, and his sister, God bless her soul, would ruin the child.

  The last miles faded into the evening as he pulled into his yard.

  “Naomi, we are home,” he said, leaving the vehicle running and the heat on blast. “Sit tight while I go inside and get a fire started to warm up the place.”

  She nodded as he climbed out of the truck, taking his keys. Thinking better of it, he returned to the vehicle, shutting it off, bundling her in the coat, scarf, and sweater, and carrying her inside. He sat her on the couch, threw a coverlet over her teeny, skinny legs after he disarmed the system, and grabbed firewood.

  It didn’t take long to get the fire going and his stomach growled loudly.

  “I’m hungry too, Daddy,” she told him. “Do you have a room for me to sleep in?”

  “I do, but I may have to do some work to it, you know put in the stuff you like. What do you like, Naomi?”

  “I like French fries, mac and cheese, and chicken nuggets, the ones my Mommy makes, not the ones from the store,” she told him.

  “What about cartoons, dolls, monkeys,” he thought of Exit’s daughter, “unicorns?”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m not opening that can of worms,” he said, asking her to follow him. The bedroom nearest his was dark and brooding, much like the man who lived in the cabin. Naomi didn’t like the room and it showed on her face.

  “It’s scary,” she whispered, moving behind him.

  “I’m going to be right across the hall,” he told her.

  “I’m not going in there,” she told him, taking off running and climbing onto the couch and hiding under the coverlet. “I’mma sleep out here.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with the room,” he said as his stomach growled again.

  “Okay, you sleep in there, and I’mma sleep in your room,” she said, peering from under the covers.

  “You haven’t seen my room,” he said, standing in front of his bedroom door.

  Naomi rose from the couch, still in her overcoat, marched to his room, and turned on the light. It too was dark and smelled funny to her. She went back to the couch.

  “Fine, tomorrow, we’ll go shopping and fix your room,” he told her, “But right now I need food.”

  He watched her remove the coat and locate the bathroom. She returned a minute later to retrieve her stool, which he had brought inside. He heard the water running in the bathroom, and the sound of her small boots coming down the wooden floors made him grin.

  Naomi went to the fridge, opened the door, and took out a head of lettuce, a squishy tomato, and a cucumber that was on its last legs. He observed her opening the drawer where he kept the knives and looking for the plastic lettuce knife his sister insisted was a must-have. She used the knife to cut up the lettuce. She went under the cabinets to locate a colander and tossed in the chopped leaves. The cucumber, she halved, halved again, and once more tossed those on the pile as well.

  “Well, look at you being a tiny chef,” he said with pride.

  “If I want to eat, I have to help,” she told him.

  “Fair enough,” he said, pulling out a container of pasta, which he reheated and plated the meal for them both.

  He said a prayer and quietly, they shared their first meal together. If he could get through the night and get a good evening of rest, he would be able to form a plan. Right now, he had no idea how long she was staying. What he did know, was either way, since she was his, he saw no reason for her to be anywhere else but with him.

  At the end, he would have a decision to make, not only for Naomi’s future, but his, and the mother of his child.

  “It’s going to be a long weekend,” he said.

  “Amen,” Naomi added and began to eat.

  HE DIDN’T WANT TO ADMIT it but he was tired. It had been a long day and it was going to be an even longer night. Bedtime was rapidly approaching, and he didn’t know if Naomi needed a bath, and he wasn’t ready to deal with that in his new role as a father. What he could do was get her into a pair of pajamas, get her tucked in, read her a story, and plant a kiss on her forehead; that he knew how to do. First, he needed her to brush those little, baby teeth that he saw when she was eating and when she gave him the mini crooked sideways smile. The soft black hair on her head was curly and kind of unruly, and he knew in a day or two it was going to be a problem but tonight, he was just going to worry about bedtime.

  “Naomi,” he called out, “it’s time for bed. I need you to come and brush your teeth.”

  “Okay, Daddy,” she said, toddling down the hall. She dragged her little suitcase behind her to the bathroom where she unzipped it and opened it in the middle of the floor as if this were something she did on a normal basis. From the suitcase, she took out her toothbrush and toothpaste, and using her little stepstool, she stood in front of the sink, started the water, and put just a dab of toothpaste on the little tiny brush to brush her little, tiny teeth, and she began to go up and down in a nice motion. He was impressed, and while the suitcase was open, he figured it was a good time to take inventory of what Cherry had sent their daughter for the next couple of days. Inside the suitcase, there were no toys. Mr. Slow did not see a stuffed animal, a teddy bear, or even a plastic Dolly with fake boobies.

  “All done, Daddy,” she told him as she finished up in the bathroom. She stood in the hallway staring at him, wondering what was next as he was wondering the same thing.

  “Naomi, I think we need to get you in your jammies and ready for bed,” he told his daughter.

  “Daddy, are you gonna read me a bedtime story?”

  “Sure thing, sweetie,” he told her, looking at the curly mass of hair. For the damnedest reason, he seemed to recall Cherry wrapping her hair at night before she went to sleep. He was certain that something similar had to happen for his daughter so that in the morning it wasn’t in a mass of tangles.

  The suitcase, which was in the hall, he closed, lifted, and carried to the bedroom. Flipping on the light in the extra bedroom, he looked at the room with fresh eyes. Tonight, he looked at the room from the eyes of a four-year-old child, and she was right—the room was scary. The colors, while perfect for a man who liked to hunt, were not ideal for a four-year-old girl with inquiring eyes, ears that stuck out from the side of her head in the most adorable way, and a mop of curly hair on her head. He would definitely need to make some changes in the room, but first, he wanted to get through the night. Lying the suitcase on the bed, he began to unpack the small amount of clothing. There were three pairs of pants, one skirt, two sweaters, two tops, three pairs of socks, and an extra pair of sneakers which had seen better days. These items he placed in the top drawer of the dresser, leaving out the adorable PJs in a robin’s egg blue.

  “Is blue your favorite color?

  “No, I like orange.”

  “That’s a very bold powerful color.”

  “I’m bold and powerful too,” she told him, grinning as if she’d told him an inside joke he didn’t understand.

  “Good enough,” he told her. “I’ll step out while you change into your jammies.”

  Mr. Slow started to pull the door closed only to hear a small squeak. He opened the door to her frightened face and pushed the heavy wooden door wide. His back turned; he stood in the doorway like a guard as she changed clothing. He heard the rustle of teeny tiny fabric as she removed the leggings, sweatshirt, and boots to slip on the pajamas. He did notice there weren’t any slippers in the suitcase, and she would need a pair in the cabin since the floors were sometimes cold, especially the tiled bathroom floor.

  “All done, Daddy,” she told him, walking up behind him and slipping her fingers into his hand.

  A warm feeling rushed to his gut as he looked down at her. He was frozen on the spot as he experienced a new sensation that he couldn’t describe. Naomi led him to the couch where he sat. She climbed up, sitting close by, the old coverlet over her little legs as she asked, “What story are you going to read me before bed?”

  His eyes went to her hair. He didn’t see a scarf in the bag to tie up her hair, or ribbons, or barrettes to hold the hair in place. Mr. Slow realized he also didn’t see any hair care products in the bag which meant, Cherry didn’t plan to be gone long. A fit of mild anger coursed through him at the idea of the woman not believing him capable of combing his child’s hair and that she would look like a tiny crazy person until her mother returned. That was not going to happen on his watch. He looked down at Naomi, who was still waiting.

  In the cabin, he had books, but none that were kid friendly. On his shelf, he had books on dissection, vivisection, resections, and how to break down a full-sized deer with one blade, but nothing to make kids dream of sugar plum fairies. He did the next best thing; he pulled out his phone.

  A smile graced the corner of his lips as he spoke into the device, “Goldilocks and the Three Bears.”

  “Oh, I like that one, but them bears could have come back and ate her up,” Naomi said, arching her brows.

  “Yeah, it’s called breaking and entering,” he said, smiling down at her. “Chapter One, Goldilocks.”

  He read the story in his best Dad voice, making vocal changes for each of the three bears as well as the thief who broke in and ate the end-of-the-month meal for the bears. With each page he thumbed, the closer Naomi moved, until nearing the end, she managed to wiggle her way into his lap, along with the blanket. He read the last line, along with The End, and the little bundle of cuteness had fallen asleep.

  As tired as he was, sleep for him wasn’t far behind. Tomorrow, he had a full day. Breakfast. A department store for bedding. Slippers. A head scarf. Barrettes. Snacks. He didn’t have any kid snacks in the house.

  Slowly, he got to his feet, the bundle still in his arms. Suddenly, the idea of her waking up in a new place and having to go potty alarmed him. He didn’t want his daughter to be scared.

  “I don’t know about this, but I would rather do it and have you feel safe and not be scared than leave you on the couch and have you wake up screaming,” he said, carrying her to his room.

  Gently, he deposited her on the opposite side of the bed, adding another light blanket. He left her in the room, opting to go inside his own bathroom to change into a pair of pajamas he never wore, brush his teeth, and wash his face. Returning to the bedroom, he thought of a nightlight. She would also need one of those in the hallway, her bedroom, and the bathroom.

  He checked the covers around her, wondering if he should have made her potty once more before going to bed. Upon poking her with his finger, Naomi didn’t move.

  “Okay then,” he said, slipping under the covers with her sleeping on top, and he stared at the ceiling. “I have a fucking kid.”

  He thought of his cousin Bleu Neary and smiled in the dim light of the room, “I’m somebody’s daddy.”

  Chapter 2- Sleeping Beauty

  He was excited. The man who took his time with everything in his life, including choosing which peanut butter brand to buy, stood in his kitchen staring out the window, excited about his day. Today, he planned to take his daughter shopping, re-do her room, and pop into the bookstore to purchase books about girls kissing frogs and shit like that, and it felt good. For such a long period in his life, nothing felt good. Every single action in his life was calculated, planned, and well-timed. Naomi Neary showing up in his world was none of those things. This morning, he was grateful for the change.

  The coffee, freshly brewed, gave a comforting scent as the aroma filled the three-bedroom cabin he called home. It wasn’t anything fancy, but a solid home with a wide front porch, and a decent back deck, and it sat on 20,000 acres of prime hunting land. Over the years, he’d had the pleasure of catching three poachers on his property, whom he happily shot and took his time getting to the spots where he dropped them using his long-range rifle with the Hawke Vantage IR 3-9x40mm Rimfire scope.

  “Yeah, they dropped like a sack of shit,” he said to himself, getting the oats from the cabinet.

  It would be a long morning and both their tummies needed a sizeable amount of nutrition. The last thing he needed was to get to the mall and have her ask for all kinds of sweet treats and processed foods that would have the little woman bouncing off the walls. A day like that, he couldn’t handle.

  Michael Neary ruefully wanted to admit he barely was able to handle waking up to Naomi snuggled up next to him in the bed. Many of the emotions he currently processed vacillated between anger with Cherry for not telling him Naomi existed and the warm squishy feeling in his chest. This morning solidified the reality, he was indeed somebody’s daddy.

  “Morning, Daddy,” he heard the small voice say.

  Her hair was all over her head, her pajama bottoms were twisted, and the seam of the pants hung to one side of her minuscule boodie. She yawned and stretched and then headed for the bathroom. The door remained cracked as she took care of her morning needs, washed her hands, and returned to the table.

  “My belly is making noises,” she confessed.

  “You must be hungry,” he offered. “I’m making oatmeal. You good with that?”

  “I’m good with it if you have raisins. I like raisins in my oatmeal,” she told him.

  “We are fresh out of raisins, but if you can tell me some of the things you like, we can get to the store today and pick those items up,” he said.

  “Okay,” she said, sitting at the table and staring at him.

  “Do you want to get dressed?”

  “I need a shower. I smell funny,” she told him.

  He didn’t know what that meant, and he sure as hell wasn’t planning to go over and sniff the girl. A weird thought came to mind as he eased his way from the kitchen to the bedroom checking the covers for dampness. It never dawned on him that she may be a bedwetter. Either way, at this point it was going to be too late.

  “I didn’t wet the bed,” she told him, crinkling her little forehead. “I don’t do that. I’m a big girl.”

  She sat silent again, which also unnerved him. At some point, if time permitted, he would find out why Cherry had taught her to be so still. He had a television which he rarely watched, but kids liked cartoons. Slow attempted to break through her silence and get to know the girl.

  “Do you watch cartoons?”

  “No, not a lot,” she said.

  “Do you play with dolls?”

  “No, I don’t have any.”

  “Do you like dolls?”

  “Not really.”

  “Naomi, what do you like, if I may ask?”

  “I like animals,” she told him.

  “Do you have a pet?”

  “Mommy says I’m not good with wiping my own butt, so I won’t be good at taking care of an animal, but I’d like one,” she said, watching him bring the oatmeal to the table.

  Mr. Slow sprinkled in brown sugar and added a few pecans from his very own trees on the western side of his property. These nuts came from one of the fruit-bearing trees in his backyard. When he had purchased the property, a sole apple tree, nearly on its last legs, towered in the backyard as well. A few years of B12 shots, vitamin supplements, and good old fashion love, and the tree was again healthy. The last batch of apples was canned or made into applesauce for the winter. The idea of picking apples and pecans with his daughter brought back the same feeling of squishy to his chest.

  “Good to know,” he told her, blessing the food.

  They ate in silence for breakfast just as they had for dinner. Naomi helped wash and dry their dishes. She asked for help with gathering her clothes and getting the shower going. Fear coursed through him at the idea of having to bathe her and he posed the question.

  “You do bathe yourself, right?”

  “Yes, I can do that,” she told him, smiling. “I just don’t do good wiping my butt.”

  “Then I don’t see how you can do well washing it either,” he said, looking around the room.

  “Easy, I bend over like this and let the water go between my butt cheeks,” she told him as she bent over, holding her handful of hocks.

  “Dear Lord, cover me in your mercy,” he said, pulling out a cute dress, a pair of tights, and the pink ballerina slippers.

  He started the shower, tested the water, and handed her a cloth and a bar of soap he cut in half to fit her small fingers.

  “I’m in the other room if you need me,” he told her, stepping out of the bathroom. He showed her how to stop the shower when she was done. He left the towel to dry herself on the toilet seat as well as her clothing. While he waited, he thought about her hair.

  Mr. Slow failed to give her a shower cap, but it might work in his favor. He’d seen his cousin Zeke Neary with his daughter Michelle. His wife Tameka used a light oil in the girl’s hair to control the frizz and add moisture. He went to his kitchen cabinet. In the cabinet, there was a bottle of olive oil and a jar of coconut oil he didn’t remember buying. Then he remembered a gift his sister had given him for his birthday and he’d kept the ribbon, which he located in the desk drawer. In the drawer was also a comb his sister had left and a couple of rubber bands.

  “I can do this,” he said, noticing the shower had stopped.

  Naomi stepped from the bathroom in the dress but holding the tights. She asked for help, which he attempted to provide. The tights were a nightmare. He didn’t know if they were too small, too weird, or just too ill-fitting, but he hated those tight and thought they belonged in the trash. As soon as he got them on her lower half, she gave him that look.

  “Let me guess, you have to use the bathroom?”

  “Yes,” she said, looking at the tights.

 

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