“Just come on…”

“NO!!!” she screamed. “I’m not taking a bath and you can’t make me! You made Mommy get a job!”

“I didn’t make Mommy get a job…”

“YES YOU DID!” she shouted, and when she turned, I saw tears streaming down her cheeks. “She told me that she had to get a job because you’re not working!”

Another father probably would have been less defensive, but I was exhausted and her words stung, if only because I felt bad enough about myself already.

“I am working!” I said, my voice rising. “And taking care of you and cleaning the house!”

“I want Mommy!” she cried, and for the first time, I realized that Vivian hadn’t called today. Nor could I call her; the event was probably in full swing right about now.

I took a deep breath. “She’ll be here tomorrow and the two of you are going to the blueberry farm, remember? You want to be all clean for her, don’t you?”

“NO!” she shouted. “I hate you!”

The next thing I knew, I was marching across the room and seized London by the arm. She began to struggle and scream and I dragged her to the bathroom, like a bad-parent video on YouTube.

“Either you get yourself undressed and into the bath, or I’ll undress you. I’m not kidding.”

“GO AWAY!” she screamed and after putting her pajamas on the countertop, I closed the door. For the next few minutes, I heard her alternately crying and talking to herself while I waited outside the door.

“Get in the bath, London,” I warned through the door. “If you don’t, I’ll make you clean the hamster cage all by yourself.”

I heard her scream again; a minute later, though, I heard her climbing into the tub. I continued to wait. After a little while, I heard her playing with her tub toys without the anger I’d heard earlier. Finally, the door opened; London was in her pajamas, her hair wet.

“Can we dry my hair tonight instead of leaving it wet?”

I gritted my teeth. “Of course we can, sweetheart.”

“I miss Mommy.”

I squatted down and took her in my arms, breathing in the sweet-clean scent of her soap and shampoo. “I know you do,” I said, and held her close, wondering how a father as messed up as I could have managed to help make something so wonderful, even as my little girl began to cry.

I read her the story of Noah and the ark as we lay in the bed together. Her favorite part, the part I had to read a second time, was when the ark was finished and the animals started to arrive.

“Two by two,” I read aloud, “they came in pairs, from all over the world. Lions and horses and dogs and elephants, zebras and giraffes…”

“And hamsters,” London added.

“And hamsters,” I agreed, “and two by two, they boarded the ark. How will they all fit, the people wondered. But God had a plan for that, too. They made their way onto the ark and there was plenty of room, and all the animals were happy. And two by two, they stayed in the ark while the rain began to fall.”

As I was finishing the story, London was fading. I turned out the light and kissed her cheek.

“I love you, London,” I whispered.

“Love you, too, Daddy,” she mumbled, and I crept quietly from the room.

Two by two, I thought to myself as I made my way down the stairs. London and me, father and daughter, both of us doing the best we could.

Even then, I felt like I was failing her, failing at everything.

CHAPTER 8

New Experiences

Last February, when things were going from bad to worse for me at the agency, London got the flu, and it wasn’t pretty. She threw up pretty much nonstop for two days, and we had to bring her to the hospital to stop the vomiting and administer fluids.

I was scared. Vivian was too, though on the surface, she exuded a lot more confidence with the doctors than I did. When she spoke to them, she was calm and cool while asking appropriate questions.

London didn’t have to stay overnight, and when we brought her home, Vivian sat with her until midnight. Because she’d been awake pretty much the entire night the evening before, I took over. Like Vivian, I sat in the rocking chair and held my daughter. She was still feverish and I can remember how small and frail she felt, wrapped in a thin blanket and sweating and shivering at the same time. She woke every twenty minutes. Sometime around six, I finally put her in bed and went downstairs for coffee. An hour later, when I was pouring yet another cup, London padded into the kitchen and took a seat at the table beside Vivian. London moved lethargically and her face was pale.

“Hi, sweetheart. How are you feeling?”

“I’m hungry,” London responded.

“That’s a good sign,” Vivian said. She put her hand on London’s forehead, held it, then smiled. “I think your fever’s gone.”

“I feel a little better.”

“Russ? Would you put some Cheerios in a bowl? Without milk?”

“Sure,” I said.

“Let’s try cereal without the milk, okay? I don’t want your tummy to get upset.”

I brought the Cheerios to the table along with my coffee and took a seat beside them.

“You were really sick,” I said. “Your mom and I have been really worried about you.”

“And we’re going to take it easy today, okay?”

London nodded as she munched. I was glad to see her eating.