Chapter 6

Frohike was too tired that night to have the talk with Emma that he had discussed with Langly. It would wait until morning. He made sure she took her medication, tucked her in and dropped into his own bed.

Frohike didn't hear a sound all night. Maybe he was too tired or maybe Emma just had a quiet night. He woke up slowly the next day relishing the freedom to stay in bed. He could see that it was already light out but it was Saturday and Emma didn't have school so he didn't have to get up right away. He rolled over to look at the clock. It said 6:03 AM. It was much too early to get up on a Saturday. Emma usually slept in until 8 or so on the weekend. Gratefully he rolled over and fell back to sleep.

When he woke up the next time, he could tell that it was really late. The sun had to be overhead. He looked at the clock. It said 8:24 AM. That little brat! She must have reset his clock. He got up, showered, and got dressed and went looking for his recalcitrant daughter.

She was reading in the living room looking rather pleased with herself. "Did you sleep well?" She asked him when he came down the stairs.

"A little too well. My clock seems to have reset it self so that it's three hours slow."

"Wow, I wonder how that happened. Maybe the power went out during the night."

"And only affected my clock. How strange."

"Yes, that's really weird."

"Seriously, Emma, don't do it again."

"But you were just so tired and it's Saturday. You needed to sleep in and I knew you would get up unless you thought it was too early."

"I would still like the option to decide for myself when I want to get up."

"Okay, I won't do it again."

"Medication?" Frohike nagged.

"Taken."

"All of it?"

Big sigh from Emma, "Yes, all of it."

Ah, one of the many joys of being a parent. At least she hadn't favored him with the eye roll that time.

Frohike made himself some breakfast, heck, he might as well call it lunch. Emma came to sit in the kitchen with him while he ate. She brought her book with her. He leaned across the table and tipped the book up so that he could see the cover. "What are you reading?"

"Island of the Blue Dolphin," Emma held up the book so he could see it better.

"What's it about?"

"This girl is left on an island by herself and has to gather all her food and everything that she'll need to survive."

"Why is she left there?"

"Trappers come and kill most of her people. The rest are taken off to go live somewhere else but her brother misses the boat. She dives in the water and swims back to the island to be with him. He dies though so she's left by herself."

"Are you reading it for school?"

"No, I just like it. I've read if before. It's supposed to be a true story."

"Does she ever get off the island?"

"I don't know if I should tell you," Emma teased. "You'll have to read the book to find out."

He snatched the book out of her hands. "Thanks, I think I will."

"Hey, I wasn't done with it."

"But you know how it ends and you won't tell me."

"Okay. Yes, she gets off the island but it's like 20 years later or something."

"Thanks, now I don't need to read it." He gave her back the book.

"It really is a good book." Emma insisted.

"I know. I've seen the movie."

"There's a movie? Then why'd you ask how it ended?"

"Movies and books they're based on aren't always the same. People want a happy Hollywood ending. They don't like their favorite characters being killed off."

"I'd like to see the movie. Is it out on video?"

"It's pretty old but we can check."

After he had cleaned up from lunch, Frohike decided it was time to have the talk that he, in many ways, had been dreading but knew was necessary. Emma was still reading her book in the kitchen. He didn't want the table between them so he asked her to come with him to the living room. He had her sit on the couch and he sat on the coffee table facing her. She looked as nervous as he felt.

"Is this a family meeting?" Emma asked.

That sounded about right to Frohike. "I guess you could call it that."

"Did I do something?"

"Well, let me get to that."

Emma had learned long ago that it was best to just let the adult talk. If you start confessing too soon, you often confess to something no one knows anything about. So, she waited.

"First of all, I need to know if there are any other medical problems that I should be aware of."

"No, not that I can think of. Oh, wait. I sprained my ankle once. Does that count?"

"No, I'm more interested in recurring problems, like the asthma."

"I can't think of anything but if I do I'll tell you."

"I'd appreciate that. I don't like surprises that require quick trips to the doctor. Next, you know that my work is rather unusual. You've seen the inside of the VW bus. There is a lot of equipment there and in the warehouse that could be dangerous to you if you didn't know how to use it correctly.

There are even some chemicals and electronics that could hurt you. I want to be very clear about this; you cannot touch anything that you don't fully understand how to use unless one of the guys or I are with you. And there are some things you will not be allowed to use or touch at all."

"All right."

"Yesterday, when you were up in the kitchen at the warehouse, you did a little exploring." He waited for her to acknowledge this.

"Yes."

"You went into my room and went through some boxes in my closet."

"Yes." How did he know? She had been so careful.

"What did you find?"

"Some pictures."

"Was that what you were looking for?"

"Kind of." She didn't mean to be vague so she tried again. "I was just looking through your things to find out more about you. I was curious."

"Why didn't you ask?"

"I thought you would say no."

"Emma, you won't know if you don't ask."

"Okay."

"Did you see what you wanted in the photos?"

"No."

"What would you like to see?"

"Pictures of my grandma and grandpa. Maybe my uncle."

"Oh, honey, I don't have any pictures of them."

"None at all?" she asked wistfully.

"I'm sorry, baby. I used to have some but I've moved around a lot over the years. Things get lost in the shuffle."

"What about your brother? Maybe he has some."

"I don't even know how to get in touch with him. I told you this before."

"I know. It's just that I've never had much family. I just wanted to see what they looked like."

Frohike ran his hand down the side of her face. He wished he could help her with this. He had taken so many pictures over the years and he didn't have any of the people his daughter wanted most to see.

"Maybe you can help me." Frohike knew it was pointless to continue on the other track. "I have looked through the whole house trying to find one thing. Pretty much the same thing you were looking for in my closet. Somewhere there have got to be baby pictures of you. I haven't been able to find them. You said that all your mother's personal stuff had been put into storage. Would your baby pictures be there?"

Emma was surprised by this question and pleased that the focus of the conversation was off her poor judgment of the previous day. She knew he had been looking for something around the house but photos had not occurred to her. This she could help him with.

"I know where they are. Mom gave them to me. Should I go get them?"

"Yes!" They had to be in her room. He had not looked there.

She ran off and came back shortly with her arms wrapped tightly around two huge photo albums. She stopped halfway across the room suddenly unsure if she could do this. These two books represented her whole life with her mother. She didn't know if she would be able to show them to her father without losing her carefully maintained control.

Frohike got up and came over to where she was standing. He suspected she had realized what it would mean to share these memories with him. He knew it was time but he wanted to proceed cautiously. He wanted her to take this step on her own terms. He spoke softly. "They look heavy. Let me help you." He held out his hands.

Emma looked at his outstretched arms then up at his face. She trusted him completely. Her mother had been right; Melvin Frohike was a good man who would take care of her. "Oh, Mom, I miss you," Emma thought.

Frohike saw tears well up in her eyes but continued to wait. She relinquished her death grip on the books and handed them to him. He walked over to the couch and set the albums on the coffee table. He waited for her. Emma stood for a moment longer then came to sit next to him.

"Which one is first?" She pointed to one of the books. He picked it up and sat back on the couch. Emma did the same. He slid the book halfway onto her lap and waited for her to open it. "Will you show me?"

Her hand was shaking a little as she reached out to lift the leather bound cover. The first page was full of those awful pictures they take of an infant shortly after birth. The ones that everyone oohs and ahs over proclaiming things like: "He has his father's chin" or "She has Grandma Jodie's eyes". But you can never really tell because all the babies in them look the same: red, blotchy, and really pissed about being awake.

Emma turned the page. There were some pictures of Michelle here as well holding the new baby, changing her diapers, bathing her, playing with her, rocking her to sleep.
Frohike experienced a pang of jealousy. Michelle could not have taken these pictures. Someone else had been here with the two of them for quite a while. Emma took a deep breath and continued to turn the pages slowly, giving Frohike a chance to look over each page.

He was just glancing at them though. They could wait. He was looking for some sign from Emma that she was ready to share her feelings for her mother. Emma continued to turn the pages. She wasn't really looking at them either, just mechanically turning the pages. Her unshed tears blurring the edges of the photos and making the colors swirl together.

Most of the way through this first album were the pictures from what was undoubtedly Emma's first day of school. Frohike put his hand on the page preventing her from turning it. In one photograph Little Emma looked impatient to start her career at school.

She was wearing a red jumper with a white shirt and knee socks. She had shorter hair with butterfly shaped barrettes keeping it out of her face. She was looking back at the camera while pulling open a large wooden door that would admit her to a big, brightly decorated room.

"Was that your first day of Kindergarten?" Frohike decided that he would have to speak first.

"Yes." It sounded a little strangled but she did answer.

"Who took the picture?" As if he didn't know. It was a dirty trick but sometimes it's the dirty tricks that get the desired results.

"My mom," she managed to say with only a slight catch in her voice.

He moved his hand to let her turn the page. Here were holiday shots from that year. There were also pictures from Greece, one with Little Emma playing among the ruins of an ancient building. Frohike had noticed that many of the pictures where taken in foreign countries and exotic places.

"You and your mom sure traveled a lot."

"Yes, she liked me to go with her whenever it was possible." She tried valiantly to catch the sob before it came out but did not succeed.

Frohike put his right arm around her shoulders. "Honey, it's all right to be sad that your mom is gone. It really is okay to cry."

Her reaction to this was not what he expected. She jumped up and stood facing him. He caught the photo album before the heavy book hit the floor. "NO! I CAN'T!"

Now he was thinking he really should have talked to that counselor first. He set the album on the table. "Why not? I know you miss her. I can hear you at night. Why won't you let me help you?"

She turned to leave, to run off and hide and regain control of her emotions. He grabbed at her wrist and caught it. Emma didn't expect this and was almost knocked off balance. She tried to pull away from him but he was too strong and she was just hurting herself in the attempt.

Her legs betrayed her by simply refusing to do their job anymore. She slipped down on to the floor. She knelt there the picture of dejection. Frohike moved closer to her and let go of her arm.

"What is it you are afraid of?" he spoke softly.

"I'm not afraid of anything," she declared defiantly.

"Then what is it?"

She looked up at him. For the first time he saw the depth of her grief in her eyes. "I have to be strong."

"Who told you this?" He was betting it was Cordelia.

"No one told me. I just knew."

"Who is it you have to be strong for?"

"For my mom and now for you."

"Baby, your mom is gone. She wouldn't want you to do this to yourself and you don't need to be strong for me. Being strong is my job. I'm the dad, remember." Well, that sounded a little sexist but he hoped he could convince her to let him do the job.

She did start to cry at this point. Softly at first but then, when she let herself feel the full brunt of the terrible loss of the only person who had loved and cared for her all of her short life, she began to weep.

She put her hands over her face and her head down on her knees. The pain was horrible; she didn't think she could bear it. She felt her father's hands on her arms as he lifted her up to get her off the floor. He had her sit on the couch, but then took her in his arms and cradled her like a baby. She tried to sit up and make herself stop but he held her tight and said, "No, you don't. You're not going anywhere." She knew it was useless to fight him. So, she just relaxed, rested her head against his chest and gave up. She had fought it for too long.

They sat like this for some time. When the worst of it had passed, Frohike went in search of a box of Kleenex. Both of them needed some. Emma's emotions washed over her in waves.

After a while she was able to talk. They sat side by side on the couch; Emma tucked under Frohike's protective arm. Kleenex was scattered around them and on the floor. She shared some of the more personal stories about her mother. She talked about simple, everyday things: the smell of her mom's favorite perfume, watching her whip eggs in a bowl, talking with such confidence to people she didn't know or just the taste of her mother's lipstick when she would kiss her goodbye to go out for the evening.

Many of these elicited more tears but that was the point. To keep the tears at bay, Emma had also needed to keep herself from remembering what was special and precious about her relationship with her mother.

One that was particularly hard to tell was about a time when Emma's asthma had been bad enough to land her in the hospital. She was frightened and feared that she might die. The one thing that comforted her, all through that terrifying night, was her mother holding her hand. Every time she woke up, no matter how late that night or early the next morning, her mother had not moved from her side. Even if she did not come fully awake, she could feel her mom's hand in hers and she was reassured.

Sitting next to her dad with her head on her his chest, she could hear his heartbeat. She tried to match her breathing to his but he took deeper breaths and she would run out of air too soon. She gave that up and just listened to the steady beat of his heart and watched the gentle rise and fall of his breathing. She realized that she was as comforted by this as she had been by her mother's hands when she had been so ill.

He had noticed that she was breathing funny. "Do you need to use your inhaler?" He glanced at his watch. "How long ago did you last use them?"

"It's been a while. I'll go do it." Through all the crying she hadn't felt a need for it but she was getting a little wheezy now.

Another box of Kleenex was searched for and located. Kleenex was added to the shopping list on the refrigerator. Emma got a glass of water. "I need a refill," she joked. All the used Kleenex was picked up and discarded.

Frohike sat back down with the photo albums. "Do you want to try this again or would you like to wait?"

Emma now felt it was safe to go through all the pictures with her father. There were more tears but she knew he wouldn't think she was just being a crybaby. When they were done with the pictures he had a couple more questions to ask her.

"Do you think I will ever get to hear you play that piano?" They both turned and looked at the instrument. "Jimmy told me what happened the day he picked you up to take you to dance class."

Emma got up and went over to the piano. She pulled out the bench and sat down. She lifted the lid and brushed the tips of her fingers along the tops of the white keys. They were so smooth. She placed her fingers in position to play the opening chord of a favorite song. She left them poised there for several seconds then let her hands drop into her lap without playing a note.

Frohike got up and came over to her. He put his hands on her shoulders. "Give it time," he told her. "You can play for me when you're ready."

"I'm sorry, Dad." She closed the lid over the keys.

"I have one more question." She looked up at him expectantly. "I'm embarrassed to ask but I either just missed it or it's got to be really soon. When is your birthday?"

Emma laughed in relief. The laugh was a bit shaky but it was still a laugh. This was an easy question to answer. "It's in two weeks."

"Two weeks? Why didn't you bring it up? Were you just going to let it pass without saying anything?"

"No, two weeks is a long time."

"Maybe if you're only 11 but at my age the days and years go by a lot faster. You've got to give me some advanced warning of these things!" he was teasing her and she knew it.

"Oh, Dad, by the way…"

"Yes, Emma?"

"This is your two week warning that my birthday is coming up."

"Thank you, that's very considerate of you to remind your old dad of things he would probably forget otherwise."

Emma suddenly grew serious again. "You're not old. You're going to be around for a long time."

He hugged her close, kissing her forehead. "Yes, baby, I have every intention of being with you for a very long time