Chapter 12:

"Daddy?" Daphne asked her father, alarmed.

"It's true," he told her. "It's a malignant tumor. They can slow its growth to let me live a little longer... but I will die eventually."

"Daddy, no!"

"It's all right, Daphne..." He tried to calm his daughter. He leaned over and stroked her hair. Stricken, Daphne leaned against her father, snuggled as she had done when she was a little girl.

"I'll still be around when the baby is born, Daphne. When did you say you were due?"

"November 14," she answered, although she hadn't said it before.

He held his daughter tighter. The truth was out in the open: Upon this meeting, each had dreaded to tell the other about his or her health. But now Daphne felt selfish that she had been worried. Her father's problem spelled death; her own problem meant birth.

"Daddy?" Daphne asked in a childish voice. "Don't go away." She said it like when she was a kid, and he was just going on travel. Sure, that had always meant interesting gifts when he got back, but having him leave for a week or two or three didn't make that worth it. She could only stand it because he did send her wonderful letters about the things he saw while he was away.

Now he was going away forever. And there would be no letters.

Mr. Blake only nodded and hugged her. That sat in silence, Daphne feeling sorrow for her father, Mr. Blake feeling hope for his daughter. Neither could feel their respective emotions for themselves, because they were feeling for each other.

Finally Mr. Blake opened his mouth. "I only wish..."

"Wish what?" Daphne asked.

"The next time you come over... may I meet Freddie? I haven't really seen him since you all left for college."

"Actually..." Daphne almost laughed at the irony. "You can meet him now. Wait just a moment..."

She ran onto the driveway, where the Mystery Machine was parked and Fred was reading a magazine in the front seat. He buckled his seat belt when he saw her, misunderstanding. She motioned for him to get out of the van.

"It's... okay?" Fred asked miraculously, as he walked up the steps with Daphne. They entered the parlor, where Mr. Blake stood with his hand out.

"Hello, Mr. Blake. Um..." Fred tried desperately to think of something to say but thought of nothing.

"Here, have a seat," Mr. Blake offered Freddie. "And would you like a glass of wine? Perhaps you could drink it for my daughter, here..."

"Uh, thanks, Mr. Blake." Fred was shaking a little. He accepted the glass Daphne's father produced moments later, then stifled a mild scream.

"Are you okay, Freddie?" Daphne asked him.

"It's nothing. I just cut my finger..."

"Oh, how thoughtless of me!" Mr. Blake exclaimed. "I knew one of the wine glasses had a chip in it, I meant to throw it away... I'm dreadfully sorry..."

"I'll get some antiseptic," Daphne volunteered, dashing from the room.

Freddie and Mr. Blake were alone.

Here's your opportunity. Take it, Fred told himself.

"Um, Mr. Blake? I was wondering if I could ask you something. Something important..."