Something was not right. He wasn't sure if it was something he'd eaten yesterday, or some kind of bug, but his normal morning routine didn't usually consist of leaning over the toilet every twenty minutes and flushing away the remainder of what he had to eat the day before. He felt his face flush red hot, and put the toilet lid down, letting his cheek rest against it, his knees holding him up on the cold tile floor.
He heard the bathroom door creek open and Sophie stood in her nightgown looking at him, her face creased with worry.
"Are you okay, Daddy?" Her hand still rested on the knob, and he tried to offer her a weak smile.
"I'm fine; you can go on back to bed." She hesitated at the door, and when he felt himself beginning to retch again, he heard her whimper softly.
"Daddy, you're sick." She was beside him quickly and holding a moist cloth, which she promptly held against his face. "Come on; let's get you back to bed."
She pulled the covers around him, and though his temperature was soaring, cold chills were pulsing through him, and he pulled them closer to him. She climbed into bed next to him, her tiny fingers stroking his hair as slants of the morning sun spilled onto the bed around them, and though his stomach was still churning, he couldn't help but smile into his pillow. There was something about having someone to take care of you, someone to sit next to you in the light of early morning that made him feel good.
"I'm sorry you don't feel good, Daddy. Let me just take care of you. Let me make you all better, okay?" Her small hands stroked his face, her body curled next to his.
"Okay," he let the word slip past his lips, and she crooned again, laying her head on his pillow with him, her body pressed against his.
"Do you want me to call Miss Maybelle and tell her you won't be able to make it into work today?" She sounded so grown up that he forgot she was a child, and, in turn, had forgotten all about work. He groaned as he felt his stomach stir, and Sophie's fingers brushed his forehead, shushing him. "You've got a fever, Daddy, you can't go to work."
He wanted to protest, and almost did, but he felt the bile rising in his throat again and barely made it to the toilet before it left his mouth. He let himself stay there for a moment, and listened as Sophie shuffled through the house and to the telephone. He heard her working the rotary, and then speaking into the receiver.
"Hi, Miss Maybelle? This is Sophie." He heard her pause. "Oh, no, I'm fine, but it's my daddy. He's sick, and he's not going to be able to come into work today. Do you think you can do the show without him?"
He listened as she made her way back to the bathroom, hiding his face in the crook of his arm, and keeping his smile to himself.
"I wish Tom and Jerry was on," Sophie pushed her back against the headboard of his bed, her tiny feet crossed over each other as she sat next to her father. "I love Tom and Jerry; they're so, so funny. Do you like them, Daddy?" She glanced over at Corny, who nodded slightly. He had never watched an episode of Tom and Jerry in his life, but saying he had was easier than not.
She sighed happily and crossed her arms behind her head, resting against the headboard as a commercial played on the television. His show had gone off just shortly before, and they had been in bed since early this morning, watching television and chatting casually whenever a topic for conversation popped into her head.
So far today, she'd made him toast and orange juice for breakfast and crackers for lunch. She'd attempted to make him soup, and it seemed that she had no qualms about using the stove; he assumed Brenda had never taught her that third degree burns hurt. He'd put a stop to that quickly; anyway, the thought of not eating warm food didn't exactly break his heart at the moment.
"Do you want anything, Daddy? Do you want some more juice, or water?" She was looking at him worriedly again, even though he hadn't gotten sick for a few hours. She curled her feet up under her and sat up straight. "Do you need me to get you a new washcloth for your face? I bet that one's warm by now."
Before he could protest, she was down the hall, moistening a new cloth for him. She carried it back to him dutifully, laying it across his forehead with her gentle touch. She regained her place in the bed next to him, and he turned to her suddenly, and she looked at him.
"How did you get to be such a good nurse?" His soft smile didn't go unnoticed by her, and she shrugged.
"I don't know, I just like taking care of you." She smiled at him, and the honesty in her voice broke his heart.
He felt a lump rising in his throat, but quickly recognized that it wasn't from his illness. He suddenly wanted to know everything about her; everything that she'd been trying to tell him, and that he hadn't been listening to. It wasn't enough just to know that she was his biological daughter, or that she liked Tom and Jerry. He needed to know everything.
"Do you think you'll be all better for the Miss Hairspray show next week?" Her voice was serious, and she studied him intensely. He suddenly felt guilty for making everything, even her thoughts, about his work. He nodded.
"I'm sure I'll be fine by then. You're doing a good job of making me all better."
Her face lit up, and she grinned brightly at him, and then reclined on her hands again, a small, satisfied smile on her face.
"Hey, Daddy?" Her voice sounded small, and he turned his head to look at her. She was quiet for a moment. "Do you think I'm ugly?"
Her question shocked him, and it looked like she had been preparing herself to ask this question for some time now. She smiled weakly up at him as he studied her dark features, the tiny nose in the center of her face, the small pink lips that had smiled through so many tough times. Even though Corny didn't see many children, he was quite sure that Sophie was one of the prettier ones.
"Of course I don't. Why would you ever think that?" He hoped she wasn't still thinking about the things he'd said to her in the car weeks ago. He'd apologized for them, and he'd made sure never to speak to her that way again.
Her small shoulders shrugged.
"I don't know," she looked wearily up at him, "Mama called me ugly a lot, and it made me sad. She said I was ugly 'cause I looked like you, and I didn't think that was very nice, because I can't help what I look like." She paused for a moment, collecting her breath, and glanced sheepishly up at him. "Anyway, I don't think you are ugly. I think you are a very handsome daddy."
He felt himself blush at her words, and she watched him for a moment.
"Thank you, Sophie. I think you're a very pretty little girl." Even now, his mouth wouldn't wrap around any possessive words. He couldn't bring himself to say my little girl.
She went back to watching the television, and he cleared his throat.
"Sophie," she looked back up at him, "Tell me what it was like when you lived with your mama." She pulled herself into a sitting position and her brows furrowed in concentration. "What types of things did you do together?"
She thought for a long moment, deep in concentration.
"Umm…" she was quiet for a long time, and he decided to help her out.
"Did she ever take you to the zoo?" Sophie seemed to like animals; she was always pointing out the animals she saw as they drove in the car, and always making pictures of them on scrap paper.
"No," she answered him easily, shaking her head, and looking to him for more.
"What about the park? Did you go to the park very much?" The park was free and easy; Brenda must have been able to relate to it.
"No," that was an easy question, too. "Mama never took me anywhere. We just stayed home a lot."
"Did you have a lot of toys at your house?" If she had, Brenda hadn't sent any with her. Since she'd arrived, Maybelle had given her a few of Inez's old stuffed animals, including a penguin which she had named Bob and carried with her religiously. Other than that, he hadn't bought her any kind of toy, either.
"No," she was beginning to sound like a broken record, "Mama said toys made the house look dumb."
"Well, what did you do for fun?" He hoped Brenda had at least spent time with her, whether or not she spoiled her, which was apparently a not.
"I colored a lot, and drawed pictures." She was silent for a moment, and then lowered her voice, turning to him. "And Mama didn't know it, but sometimes when she was gone, I turned the TV on and watched your show. And I danced." She said the last words gleefully, as if they were a delicious secret.
He felt himself smiling at her.
"Who came to play with you when your mama was gone?"
She looked at him strangely.
"Nobody, Daddy. Mama said she was teaching me to take care of myself, and that made her happy." She nodded in affirmation, and he bit on his lip.
"She just left you alone?" What kind of ignorant person would leave a five-year-old child alone in a house? Well, apparently Brenda, that's what. He wanted to ask more, but Sophie smiled up at him, and he suddenly realized he couldn't get angry right now. He had to watch himself around her, no matter how idiotic Brenda was.
"Okay, one more question." His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and he bit on his bottom lip. "Who do you like living with more; me, or your mama?" He wasn't exactly sure why he suddenly wanted to know so badly, but he did.
She scrunched her face up. Apparently it was a harder question than the ones he'd just asked. She smiled easily at him.
"Well, you're nicer to me than Mama was," she admitted slowly, "and when you yell at me, you say sorry, and Mama didn't. She hit me a lot harder, too."
"She hit you?" He couldn't help his outburst, and Sophie glanced up at him fearfully.
"When I was a bad girl," her eyes were suddenly wide, "but, Daddy, I haven't been a bad girl! I haven't been bad today!"
His heart broke at her words, and he wanted to hold her, but he couldn't. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, and failed.
"I would never hit you," he told her softly, his fingers wanting so bad to reach out and touch her, stroke her soft, dark hair. Instead, he balled his hands into a fist on his lap. "You never deserve to be hit."
They were both quiet for a moment, and Sophie looked back at him, the fear gone from her eyes.
"I'll tell you something, but you have to promise to keep it a secret." Her eyes were wide, and serious. He nodded.
"Okay."
"No, really, Daddy, promise. You can't tell anybody, especially not Mama 'cause I don't want her feelings to be hurt." She moved toward him, and in a second she was on his lap, facing him.
"I promise." Something about his eyes told her that he was serious, and she placed her hands on either side of his face gently, so that he would focus on her face.
"I love Mama," she said the words as if she needed to explain it to him, "but, I love you a little bit more."
And though he couldn't bring himself to say the words back to her, he already knew that his defenses had begun to falter. He tried to ignore the innocence in her eyes, but failed, and let his arms wrap around her, holding her small body against his, in the first and only real hug he'd given her since she'd come into his life.