A/N: I think I have a little too much fun making up stories about Cricket's childhood. This going to be chapter two of four, and I hope you all enjoy it!
-October1981-
"Mr. Caruth, your 3:30 just arrived."
"Send her in." He stood up from behind his desk and walked forward to greet his guest with a formal handshake. "Miss Cricket."
"Daddy Bo," she said seriously while shaking his hand with all the professionalism her eight-and-a-half-year-old self could muster.
This had been their Thursday afternoon pattern for nearly three months. One afternoon in August, Clint returned from a meeting to find Cricket doing her homework in his office. Delilah was on day ten of a thirty day retreat in Arizona and Cricket had grown tired of spending all her time with the nanny and maid. Clint still wasn't entirely sure how his daughter convinced the driver to take her to the office after school, but if anyone was stubborn enough to make it happen, it was his Cricket, so when she showed up at his office the first Thursday after Delilah returned to Texas, he didn't have the heart to send her home to her mama.
"How has your day been?" Cricket asked as they walked over to the couch to the side of the room.
"Busy but good." He took her backpack as she shrugged it from her shoulders and carried it over to the couch. Setting it on the coffee table, he asked, "How was school?"
"Busy but good," she echoed as she sat down. "We had our times tables test today."
"What numbers are you doin'?" It was a question that he knew he should know the answer to, but work kept him late at the office all week so he hadn't seen Cricket since Sunday.
"Most of the class is still on their fives and sixes, but Bill, Blake, and me—I mean, Bill, Blake, and I," she corrected before he even gave her a questioning look about her grammar. "Took the eights test today."
"And?"
"Blake and I got 'em all right. Bill got 8x7 wrong, which was silly because we just did our sevens last week and he got 7x8 right and it's the same thing."
Clint let out a half smile at her melodramatic retelling. "That doesn't make a lick of sense," he agreed.
"I know. He's not as smart as Blake and I." This time he had to give her a look about the grammar. "Blake and me," she corrected and he nodded.
"Are you going to practice your nines this afternoon?"
She shook her head. "Mama's got my flashcards at home."
"Then what homework are you doin'?"
"Science."
"Do you need any help?"
"No."
"You holler at me if you need somethin'."
"Yes, sir."
Clint stood up and returned to his own desk. He watched her pull out a folder with a bright, multi-colored zebra on the front followed by a book on planets. Once she settled back against the couch cushions with her book, Clint returned to his own work. Cricket worked so quietly that he almost forgot she was there, so he was half-surprised to see her standing next to his desk when he hung up the phone about an hour later.
"Daddy Bo?"
"Yes, darlin'?"
She put her book on his desk and pointed at the word dioxide. "What's this word?"
He looked at the page in her book and back up at her. "What do you think it is?"
"The book says it's what's in Venus' air, but I don't know how to say it—I can't sound it out."
"Dioxide."
"Dioxide," she repeated. "Like what trees breathe in?"
"That's carbon dioxide—this is sulfur dioxide."
"Oh, okay." She took the book back. "Thanks, Daddy Bo."
"You're welcome, Cricket." She nodded and walked back to the couch. He was about to turn back to his work when he heard his wife's voice in his head. Can you at least pretend like you're interested in your daughter? She says you barely talk to her when she's at your office. In the midst of their argument, he told his wife that he was too busy running the company to play babysitter, but now—looking at his daughter mouthing out the words in her book as she read—he realized that he could at least ask for a few details about her science reading. "Why are you reading about Venus?" he asked.
Her face all but lit up at his question and the words came tumbling out as if she'd been waiting for him to ask all afternoon. "We're learnin' all 'bout the solar system," she explained. "We're doing projects with a partner and every one got a different planet. Well, not everyone 'cause there's only nine planets so some people got other things—like Blake and Zack got the asteroid belt."
"And who is your partner?"
"Amanda Stopper." She gave him a toothy grin. "Sharon wanted to be her partner, but Manda asked me first."
"When's this presentation?"
"Next Friday. Manda's comin' over on Saturday after dan… afternoon to work on it."
"That's two days away—you better get reading."
"Yes, sir."
Cricket returned to her spot on the couch and Clint picked up the document he had been reviewing during his phone call, but found his attention drawn to his daughter instead of the numbers. His mind fixated on the way Cricket had stopped herself from saying dance class in front of him. She did same thing when it came to her cheerleading or piano lessons. It was something she'd been doing since Delilah came home from Arizona—something she only did when he was around. It bothered Clint that his daughter felt the need to censor herself around him, but what truly made him feel guilty was that he was grateful she did it because there were fewer blatant reminders that he had a daughter and not a son. It wasn't that he didn't love Cricket—she was his baby girl—but she wasn't supposed to be his only child. There should have been a son and he couldn't help but feel cheated.
Publicly, Clint did all the right things, but it was harder when they were in private. When she was little, it had been easy. At three and four, she preferred to follow her mama around the house and all he had to do was make sure that whatever Asa Stopper bought for his daughter also found its way into Cricket's arms—albeit usually in a newer and more expensive version. But as she go older, Cricket began preferring his attention over her mama's but, unlike Asa who adored the way his daughter idolized him, Clint found himself resenting it. He smiled at her each Sunday when she slipped her little girl hand into his on their way up the church steps, but he couldn't shake the image of the son that should be walking next to him—the boy who would take over the company and continue the Caruth name.
"Daddy Bo." He looked up from his still unread file and over to his daughter. "May I go help Marianna file stuff?"
"Did you finish reading your book?
"Yes, sir."
"All right then—go on."
Rationally, Clint knew that Cricket wasn't to blame for her gender or her mama's hysterectomy, but as she walked out of his office—with her long braid of dark hair bouncing against the back of her dress—all he could think about was the son she should have been.
A/N: Let me know your thoughts and thanks for reading!
