Placing the plates in the sink, I looked over at Ginger, who was sitting by the window, trying to see in the darkness outside.

 

“What are you doing, baby?” I asked, smiling.

 

“Trying to see my house. When will Daddy be home?”

 

Her sad voice hurt me. Poor baby, she missed him. “It’ll be sometime, baby. But I’m here. Wanna play a game? Or watch TV?” I wrapped my arms around her, hugging her protectively.

 

“Yeah, maybe some TV. But, just so I know, what games do you have? I’m bored of Jenga.”

 

I laughed again, steering Ginger towards the living room. “Maybe some cards. Do you know how to play cards?”

 

She scrunched her nose. “How are you a teacher and not have any games?”

 

“Well, I don’t teach children at home, baby.”

 

And immediately as I said that, I knew I shouldn’t have.

 

Ginger looked up at me, climbing on the cream couch beside the window, with a thoughtful expression on her tiny face.

 

“Shall we play Jenga, then?” I tried to change the subject.

 

She wouldn’t have it. “You don’t?”

 

“What, dear?”

 

“Have children at home?”

 

I paused for a second. What should I say? If I told her yes, she’d ask about it, and if I told her no, she’d just do the same. With a heavy sigh, I decided for the truth. “No, baby. I don’t usually have children at home.”

 

The child looked at me intensely. I could almost see the little wheels turning in her head. “So, if you don’t…Why do you have me, then?” she followed, tracing an imaginary line along the edge of the couch.

 

I didn’t know how to go about that. I was beginning to see that, despite working with children daily, I knew nothing about dealing with them. I cleared my throat, trying to stall, but Ginger’s interest didn’t seem to settle.

 

“Okay,” I said, turning to face her. She straightened in her seat, physically prepared to listen. “Your dad and I are…very good friends. And neighbors. And what do neighbors do, honey?”

 

“They are being good neighbors?” she tried, like she was answering at school.

 

“Yes, they are being good neighbors. They help each other, baby. And your daddy asked for my help because he has to work. He couldn’t have left you alone on the weekends, could he?”

 

“But I never was alone on the weekends, Mari. Daddy usually stays home on the weekends,” she said, scrunching her little face again.

 

My doubt spiked again, but I stifled it. He could’ve changed his schedule. “Are you sure, baby? He does work odd hours and you might’ve not noticed if he changed something.”

 

“Odd hours?”

 

“Oh, it means that he doesn’t work the usual hours most people do. Like, during daytime.”

 

“Hmm, but he does work like that. Sometimes. Sometimes he works nights, but always at home. Before we came here, he didn’t leave a lot on weekends. Maybe once or twice. Oh, one time...”

 

I couldn’t listen to her any longer. Her voice trailed off in my ears, becoming just a subtle background noise while I was trying to reconcile what I had just learned with present reasoning. It was entirely possible for him to have changed his schedule after he moved here. After all, a change in location would change telecommute time and will ultimately affect working hours. Yes, there was nothing there for me to worry about.

 

But what does a bouncer do working from home? I turned to ask Ginger but I stopped short, seeing her busy with a pen and my notebook. It didn’t concern her, after all. Or did it? Worry began rising in my core, bringing hints of bile in my throat. What was he really doing? My thought shifted towards his motorcycle. Was he in a riding gang? Was he one of those awful creatures that terrorized passerbys around bars?

 

And what about Ginger? Poor baby, what she might’ve seen…What did she mean by working from home? Did he bring bikers home, traumatizing his own daughter? I couldn’t think straight and I had to find out more. So I sat beside Ginger, gently touching her small back. She was drawing a cat with wings. I smiled. She always used her great talent to make mysterious creations. “What is that, honey?”

 

“Nothing. Just a cat. I like cats, you know…”

 

“You do?”

 

She nodded, adding a finishing touch to one of the wings. “How do you like it, Mari?”

 

I took the drawing and looked at it like an art critic, making various faces and turning it every other way. “Hmm, yes, I see. Why does the cat have wings?”

 

“I don’t know. Cats should have wings. Don’t you think?”

 

“Yes. But you know they can jump and climb very well already, right?”

 

She nodded. “Yeah, but wouldn’t it be super cool if they could fly, too?” Her face livened up with excitement.

 

I laughed. “Sure, baby. If only we could make one such cat…”

 

“Oh, we can’t, silly. You can’t make animals. Or people. People only make things. Like houses and books and ice cream.”

 

I rose from the couch, knowing full well what she was about to ask next.

 

“Can I have some ice cream?”

 

I was already coming back with a big tub of Ben & Jerry's when she asked. I saw her smile threatening to expand beyond what her face permitted. “Cookie dough! My favorite!” I gave her a spoon and we both sat on the floor. I turned on the TV, searching for cartoons when she asked, “Why are you good friends with my daddy?”

 

“I…don’t know, dear. You aren’t good friends with your daddy?”

 

“No. He’s my daddy, silly. We can't be friends!”

 

I nodded before her wisdom. She seemed sure of her stance. I couldn’t help it, “What kind of work does your daddy do at home?”

 

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “But I didn’t see him work at home since we moved here.”

 

“Mmhmm. So, how do you know he worked from home?”

 

“People used to come and go. Well, not lots of people. Just some other men. Once, there was a woman. And Daddy used to say, ‘this is business, nothing I can do’, so I asked my last neighbor what ‘business’ meant. That’s how I knew Daddy worked from home. I didn’t know it was possible for people to work from home.”

 

I nodded slowly, torn between fueling my negative insecurities, or face the fact that Dawson was an unusual man and he changed jobs coming here. The only thing I was certain of was that I needed to talk to him. We were in terrible need of a proper discussion. Where were we standing, about us? And where are we heading, more importantly?

 

I looked at Ginger and smiled. She had forgotten about our talk and seemed content watching a rerun of ‘Sailor Moon’. She didn’t seem familiar with it, judging by her opening her mouth and starting a series of clear cut and detailed questions that kept going in episode as long as her young breath could allow.

 

I got engaged in our anime debate. A while into it, I received a text message. I looked up and noticed it was getting late, the night already impenetrable outside. “We should get ready to sleep, baby, all right?”

 

She did what she did best whenever something unpleasant was presented to her: she scrunched.

 

“Oh, don’t be like that. You know as well as I that it’s getting late. And we need to sleep. After all this ice cream, we have to dream a lot of sweet dreams. We don’t want an upset tummy, do we?”

 

“All right. I will go get ready.”

 

The sweet dreams seemed to convince her. She got up and went into the bathroom. I gathered the ice cream paraphernalia and started the dishwasher. I knew I had to look through some paperwork for my principal, and I decided on doing it after I tucked Ginger in.

 

She came back into the living room, already changed in her pajamas, ready to sleep.

 

“You’re so pretty, dear,” I said, twirling her around. She giggled. “Ready for bed?”

 

“Yes. I like your bed.”

 

“Really? Then, we shall cuddle in it soon.”

 

She was fine with that, as I lifted her on the bed, and covered her tiny body.

 

“I will be right in, too. Just need to see after the dishwasher. Okay, baby?”

 

She nodded, already getting into her sleepy state. I smiled and kissed her forehead. Tucking her tightly, I felt something unfamiliar taking over my insides. A certain warmth, mixed with pain was settling in and I knew it was a permanent move. I felt on the brink of tears, but I couldn’t identify if they were sad or happy. I just knew I needed to control my breath, which seemed to sting my chest, in order to keep my composure.

 

Leaving the bedroom door slightly open, I was beginning to suspect I was developing deeper feelings for this little girl. And I didn't know how to deal with that.

 

Back into the living room, I opened my briefcase and took out the files of paperwork. I needed a time frame for tonight’s work, or I knew I would just lose track of this unpleasant process. I checked my phone and saw the message I got earlier.

 

It was from Dawson, and I felt butterflies seeing his name. “I was an ass and I apologize. Tell me anything you want and I will try to make up for my asinine behavior. Would you?”

 

I smiled. Taking this as confirmation of his good nature and of my correct judgment, I wrote back that I would think about it but he better be prepared to keep his word.

 

In the next hour I spent working he didn’t get back to me but I didn’t think much of it as I knew clubs could be especially noisy. When I was finally ready for sleep, I texted him ‘Goodnight xx’, then cuddled Ginger protectively.