Creeaaakkk. Sandra's slumber is interrupted an hour after she goes to bed. Probably Cheryl, she thinks to herself, rolling over and dozing off again. Rest and recovery have gone well for her over the weekend, so she's determined to get up early to attend her art class in the morning to avoid falling behind.
Creeaaakkk. A half-hour before her alarm is to go off, she's awakened again by the noisy step on the stairs. Dammit, Cheryl, just stay upstairs the whole night, she thinks to herself, pulling the covers over her head, nodding off a few minutes later.
When her alarm sounds, she's tired, but she drags herself out of her bed and into the shower, making as much noise as possible to wake her little sister. It's the least she can do, returning the favor for waking her up twice during the night.
"Sandra, open the door! I need to pee!" Cheryl shouts as she pounds on the bathroom door.
"No! Go away! I'm doing my hair!"
The incensed little girl stomps out of her bedroom to the half-bath off the kitchen, failing to notice her father sitting at the table sipping coffee and reading the newspaper. After using the toilet and washing her hands, she flings the bathroom door open and stomps out.
"Cheryl, what's with the attitude?" Dave asks.
"Sandra's hogging our bathroom and being a bitch!"
"Watch your language, young lady," he warns. "Let's not start the week off with a poor attitude. I'll talk to Sandra. Why don't you get your clothes on while I make you a ham-and-cheese omelet. Don't forget to brush your hair."
"I will if Sandra ever gets her big butt out of the bathroom."
"My butt is not big and I'm done in the bathroom," Sandra announces, strutting into the kitchen. "And I wouldn't be so grumpy if you didn't wake me twice going up and down the steps during the night. Why don't you grow up and stop sneaking into daddy's bedroom? Or if you're too scared to sleep alone, why don't you just move back into the nursery? I'd love to turn your room into an art studio."
"I didn't sneak into daddy's room! I slept in my own room. It's not like I'm a baby!"
"You're such a liar," Sandra snorts, shaking her head as she pours herself a cup of coffee.
"I am not!" Cheryl shouts in anger.
"Girls," Dave calmly interrupts. "Stop fighting. Cheryl didn't sleep with me last night. You probably heard me on the steps. I double-checked that the doors were locked last night, and then I got up early this morning so we could have a nice family breakfast. Let's not ruin it by fighting."
"But-"
"Sandra, no arguing," Dave says, holding her gaze for a few seconds to let her know she's skating on thin ice with him.
Cheryl gives her older a sister a smug grin, then sticks her tongue out at her when their father turns his back.
"She just stuck-"
"I said no arguing, Sandra. And Cheryl? Put your tongue back in your mouth and go get dressed."
Another squabble follows after Cheryl gets dressed and returns to the kitchen. Sandra's busy looking at her phone when a small hand slips over to her plate, grabbing the last piece of bacon. Cheryl shoves it in her mouth before her sister can react, prompting complaints from Sandra that she wasn't finished yet.
"I need the extra food," Cheryl reasons. "I'm growing taller. You're growing fatter. You don't need that last piece of bacon."
In retaliation, Sandra rubs her greasy fingers in her sister's hair while Cheryl grunts and tries to push her away.
"Girls! I'm grounding both of you right now! Sandra, you will not be driving to campus today. You will ride with me. And Cheryl - no computer tonight. Both of you will go to your rooms when we get home and if I hear anymore bickering, you will both be grounded for the rest of the week! Understood?"
Bill awakens next to Laura, staring at her face. There's a smile on her lips, a welcome expression after sleeping all the way through the night for the first time since Emilee was born. Her nightmares must be over. Or maybe Zeus showed up in her dream and she strangled him, and now she's celebrating. Whatever the reason, all three of them made it through the night without feedings, diaper changes, or nightmares.
Soft little coos drift from the baby monitor prompting Bill to get up to check on Em. Lying on her back in the crib, she's entertaining herself with her feet, kicking her legs in the air, then dropping a foot near her mouth where she tries to suck on her toes. "I bet you're hungry," he says. "You won't find any milk in those toes. Let me change you, then we'll go see mommy."
"Hmmm, mommy's here and she feels great," Laura says, hugging him from behind as he changes the little girl. She nuzzles his back, placing kisses across his shoulder blades, wrapping her arms around him and letting her hands roam across his midsection. "It's really going to suck when you have to go back to work in another week."
"Yeah, I know. I could always quit my job and be a stay-at-home dad. You'd like that, wouldn't you, precious?" he says putting some diaper balm on Em's bottom.
"Except you'd get bored, and then I'd feel bad, and we'd probably wind up fighting all the time."
"I wouldn't get bored if you kept having babies."
"Being perpetually pregnant has never been one of my life goals, otherwise I might think about it."
"No, you wouldn't," he grins, calling her bluff.
"You're right, I wouldn't. I bet someone's extra hungry this morning," she says picking Em up. "And that's good because mommy feels like her boobs are going to explode."
Sandra quietly plots her revenge against her little sister as she rides in the car on the way to school. Today she was supposed to be back on her feet, back in art class, driving her SUV, and getting home early so she could lounge by the swimming pool at a neighbor's house. Now she has to sit on her ass all afternoon in her father's office pretending not to be bored because she knows if she complains, he'll stick to his word and ground her for an entire week. That doesn't mean Cheryl won't try to get under her skin again to get her into trouble. Better to have some clever ways to retaliate that won't implicate her as the culprit.
"Pfff," Sandra huffs as Cheryl kicks the back of her seat hard. Biting her lips to remain quiet, she leans slightly forward to avoid another kick. Dave glances at her out of the corner of his eye, then takes a quick look in the rearview mirror to see Cheryl smiling back at him innocently.
Recognizing the need for his youngest child to learn a lesson, he orders her to stay put in her car seat when he pulls into a parking stall at her daycare. She doesn't listen, instead grabbing her backpack and jumping out of the backseat, running toward the front door of the daycare.
"Get back here," he calls after her, but she ignores him. "If you want to play in the semifinals tomorrow night, Cheryl, you will get your little butt back to this car."
Sandra's eyebrows raise at this threat, never having heard her father sound so serious with her sister. Cheryl's good standing with him may be in jeopardy. When he orders her to get out of the car, too, she's fearful of what he's going to say next.
Placing Cheryl on the trunk, he then pulls Sandra by her hand so she's standing directly in front of her. "Cheryl, your sister is not a bitch, she is not fat, and I'm tired of you picking on her. Sandra, your sister is not a liar and I expect you to know better than to put bacon grease in her hair. You're older and you need to act that way. The behavior I saw out of both of you this morning needs to stop, otherwise you will both suffer some consequences for it. I mean it, I'm sick of it. I can easily take your car away, Sandra, and I don't have to take you to pyramid anymore, Cheryl. We can stay home every night and bond together as a family until I'm satisfied this won't happen again. Or, you can say you're sorry now, and stop acting like spoiled children."
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, please don't take my car away," Sandra begs him.
"Don't tell me, tell her," he says pointing at Cheryl.
"I'm sorry, Cheryl. I won't do it again. I should know better."
Cheryl sits on the back of the car too shocked to speak. Would he really stop taking her to pyramid games? As much as she enjoys getting a rise out of her sister, she wonders if it's worth the risk. The only other time her father's been this upset with her was when he thought she was lying about Craig, and that left her feeling sick. "Ummm, I want to play pyramid," she says slowly, tears welling in her eyes. "I'm sorry, Sandra. You're not fat. I was being mean. I don't want you to hate me," she says, her lip quivering as she tries not to cry.
"Cher, I'll never hate you," Sandra says, giving her a hug.
Cheryl sobs in her arms, feeling the time is right for a full confession. "I'm sorry I called you a bitch. I'm sorry I put cat poop in your bed and kept locking the bathroom door. I'm sorry I make a lot of noise while you're studying. I'm sorry I put peanut butter on your car door handle."
"That was you?" Sandra asks, surprised to learn it was her sister and not a neighborhood prankster.
"Yes," she sobs. "I'm sorry I didn't flush the toilet. I'm sorry I keep putting beans in the shower, but that's Earth and I like knowing it's there. I'm sorry I dropped your hairbrush in the dirty toilet but that was an accident, it really was."
"Wait, when did that happen?!"
"Last week. I rinsed it off in the sink. I didn't want you to be mad."
Sandra takes a deep breath to keep herself from freaking out at the realization she's been brushing her hair every day with a soiled hairbrush.
"I'm sorry I stole your bacon this morning. I'm sorry I hacked the password on your phone so I can read your text messages and that I show them to all my friends and we laugh about them."
"Okay, okay, STOP," Sandra says, feeling anger boiling inside of her. She doesn't dare blow up in front of her dad, although now that she's looking at him, he appears to be in as much shock as she does about Cheryl's confessions. "I need to get to class, so let's get you inside so daddy and I can go."
Sandra desperately wants to talk to her dad but doesn't dare broach the subject of Cheryl on the way to campus. He notices her repeatedly stealing glances at him, indicating she needs to get something off her chest.
"Go ahead, Sandra. I know there's something you want to say."
"Do you think you were too harsh with her? I mean, you can be harsh like that with me, I'm older and I can take it. But that's really the first time you've been that hard on her and she seemed really upset."
He lets out a heavy sigh as he drives down the highway, leaning his head from side to side to ease the tension in his neck. "Well, after I spoke my mind, I wondered if I was being too harsh. But after hearing everything she's been up to, I think that I've been letting her off easy for way too long."
"She has been up to a lot more than I realized," Sandra agrees.
"Yes, she has. Do you think she's hacked my phone, too?"
"I hate to think she'd do that, but I also never thought she'd do that to me."
They ride in silence the rest of the way to campus. One thing Sandra realizes from being grounded from driving is that she misses this alone time with her father, even if it is only for a few minutes.
Dave pulls into his designated parking spot outside of his campus building, then places his hand on Sandra's arm before she can get out of the car. "We should plan to leave campus a few hours early this afternoon so we can go shopping for a new hairbrush for you, and new cell phones for both of us. Just to be safe."
Last night's dream wasn't scary at all. Laura was in a lush valley with fields of flowers, tall trees on one side, a stream running through the middle, and wildlife grazing throughout the landscape. The sun was warmer than she had ever felt, and it was serene, joyous, and strangely, she felt a profound sense of accomplishment. She was alone but not afraid, picking purple berries and placing them in a basket. She wonders if this could possibly be a place in the mountains near where they had their honeymoon. Perhaps Bill was right - her nightmares are a reaction to being away from home and also to the fight they had about his offer of reassignment. Now that they have been home for a few days and she knows for certain he is staying with her and Emilee, her stress-level has gone down, pleasant dreams replacing her nightmares.
This dream she shares with him, describing in detail the flora and animals, the mountains, crystal clear creek, and the hot sun.
"Sounds like paradise," he says.
"Believe me, it was. It would be a great place to build a cabin someday."
"Do you think it's real?"
"I hope so."
"What about your other dreams?" he asks, staring into her eyes to see her reaction to bringing them up again.
It feels less foreboding now that she's had a few days to think about it, especially after last night's pleasant dream. Will talking about it again cause her to relive the same nightmare? Or will it help to gain Bill's perspective, let him into her subconscious?
"I don't have the answers to what was happening in that last nightmare. I was in the same hallway, and I was led to the same glass wall. I knew I was dreaming, I knew it. I asked the girl why she keeps haunting my dreams, and you know what she said to me? She suggested that what I was experiencing was reality, and my life here with you is the dream. Then I looked through the glass wall and you were lying on the floor. There was just so much blood," she says, closing her eyes and shaking her head at the awful memory.
"Why was I bleeding?"
"Bill, you were eviscerated but still alive. I couldn't get past the wall to help you, and I watched the life drain from your eyes. It was horrifying."
Her vivid description takes him back to a battle in the war, one he worked hard to put behind him. The details have never been declassified so there's no way Laura could know about it. It would have caused panic on the colonies if people knew what the cylons were capable of, the mind games they played on the soldiers.
"Bill, what is it? You look pale."
"I can't talk about it. Your description is familiar to me. That's all I can say," he states with a frown.
"Don't," she says shaking her head at him. "If you know something, then tell me."
"It's classified."
"I don't care if it's sealed with an order from the president. Why is my dream familiar to you?"
It occurs to him that he's talked in his sleep about this incident and that has influenced Laura's dreams. If that's the case, he feels terrible about causing her nightmares. "This doesn't leave the room," he says, taking her phone and his and placing them in a drawer.
"What are you doing?"
"I told you this is classified. I could get into a lot of trouble if someone finds out I told you."
"You're scaring me."
"Then I shouldn't tell you. It's not a pretty story and it's something I witnessed firsthand."
A chill travels up her spine at the thought that he witnessed something similar to her dream. "No, you can tell me. I need to know."
"You sure?"
"Yes," she says confidently.
"Near the end of the war, the cylons figured out that they didn't necessarily have to kill everyone in the military. They employed certain tactics to break soldiers' minds."
"Like torture?"
"No, they wouldn't waste time with torture. They would send small numbers of cylons onto ships, usually just a handful that they knew would have no chance of making it out intact. Their goal wasn't necessarily to kill people, but to injure people and display them. The idea was that we would find our buddies mortally wounded but still alive, crying out in pain, but there was nothing we could do. One of their favorite methods was to eviscerate someone and leave them in a hallway screaming for help. If someone tried to pull them to safety, then they'd shoot that person. We literally had to leave our friends behind. Lots of people couldn't handle that mentally and wound up killing themselves or dying in combat because they were so messed up from the brutality."
"Gods, Bill," Laura says unable to hide the anguish on her face. "You witnessed this?"
"Yes."
"How did you keep from losing your mind?"
"I had a job to do, and I did it. I turned off my grief and saved it for later. I had to in order to survive."
"Bill, I had no idea," she says, walking to him and taking his face in her hands, trying to provide what comfort she can about his experience. "I'm so sorry. You don't have to tell me anything else if you don't want to."
"I'm wondering if I talk about this in my sleep, and that's why you're having these dreams. Maybe after we've flown somewhere, it triggers something in my mind, and I ramble at night. I'm sorry if that's what's happening, Laura."
They don't discuss it any longer. Her dream was bad enough, but at least it wasn't real.
Sandra shouldn't be running, but she doesn't care as she scampers across campus toward the history building. One hand is on her right side, which doesn't really hurt but feels weird with every strike of her feet on the pavement. It's also hot which doesn't help her feeling of light-headedness, but she's determined to share some important news with her dad. Once inside the building, she pauses and hunches over gasping for air for a few seconds, before charging up the steps and down the hallway to where Dave's office is located. Unfortunately, she's greeted with a sign on his door: Do Not Disturb – Meeting in Progress.
"FRAK!" she yells loudly, causing everyone seated in a cubicle to turn and look toward her. A sudden sharp pain in her side forces her to sit down in one of the chairs in the waiting area.
"Sandra?" Jeff asks when he sees how flushed she is and the obvious distress on her face. "Are you okay?"
"Nope, think I might barf," she chokes out. "Help me."
He runs to her chair, pulls her up, and helps her toward the women's room, pushing the door open so she can get inside.
"Do I need to call an ambulance?" he asks through the door as he waits impatiently outside.
"No, I just need to catch my breath," she replies. "I ran all the way here from the literature building."
"I don't think you should be running yet, especially in this heat."
"Going to agree with you on that one. Sometimes I need to learn the hard way." She tries to vomit as quietly as possible, turning on the sink to drown out the noise. No sense in upsetting Jeff's stomach with the sounds of regurgitation. Afterwards, she splashes cold water on her face and rinses her mouth out a few times, feeling much better except for the stitch in her side.
Opening the door, she looks at Jeff with water dripping off her face and down her neck, and a happy smile stretched across her face.
"How are you feeling?" he asks, brushing her hair from her eyes.
"Better, but my side hurts. I need to talk to my dad. Do you know when his meeting ends?"
He glances at his watch. "He might be done now." Judging by her limp, it's obvious to him she's in too much pain to walk. "Let me help you. Hold onto my neck," he instructs her before scooping her up in his arms and carrying her toward Dave's office.
She's as light as a feather in his arms, a happy, ecstatic feather. "You're so sweet," she says running her fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. "The sweetest guy I've ever met. I love you, Jeff."
"Oh, um," he stammers, hoping she doesn't notice the sudden pounding in his chest and slight blush on his cheeks. "Looks like your dad is out of his meeting. Do you want me to carry you in there?"
She nods her head, then brushes his hair across his forehead. "I like your hair like this. It's kinda wavey and sexy."
"Thanks, I'll remember that," he says as he approaches the office, half-wondering if she's still feeling the effects of the heat outside. "Dr. Roslin, where do you want her?" he asks when he steps through the open door.
"Oh, geez! Sandra, what's wrong?" he asks looking up from his computer.
"Nothing. In fact, everything's great!" she exclaims with sparkling eyes and a wide grin. "Just set me down on that chair in front of his desk. Oh, and don't go," she says, grabbing at his hand after he gently places her there. "I have really good news and I want both of you to hear it!"
"Are you feeling okay? You look tired and flushed," Dave observes.
"I'm fine. I ran all the way over here and probably shouldn't have done that. But I'm fine. Guess what?"
"I have no idea what's going on but I can tell you're about ready to bust." Sandra has never been very adept at keeping good news a secret, something her father has been aware of ever since she won the spelling bee in second grade and bounced all around the house about having a secret before she finally broke the news to everyone at dinner. Her current behavior reminds him of that moment.
"I spoke with my kiddy lit teacher from last semester. She showed my story and illustrations to a publisher friend of hers…and she wants to publish it! They wanna meet later this week about developing a series of adventures based on Lieutenant Cheryl and her cat Fletcher and talk about edits and a contract. Can you come with me, daddy?"
He stares at her wiggling with excitement in her chair, her hands clasped under her chin like she's going to beg if he says no. "This is amazing news, Sandra! I would be happy to join you at the meeting, and I might put in a call to Jean, too, for legal representation. I'm so stunned, I'm not sure what to say other than congratulations, and I'm tremendously proud of you!"
"That'll make two published authors in the Roslin family. Congratulations, Sandra," Jeff says, squeezing her hand.
"Thank you." A happy, content sigh follows. "It's about time something wonderful happened to me."
One of the perks of Jean's job with the government is that it's a lot easier for her to get time off. It's not unusual for her to take a few hours to have an extended lunch with friends, or meet up later in the afternoon to have tea or coffee with someone. This afternoon, she's visiting Laura. Holding the baby is a priority on her list of things to accomplish during her visit.
"It's really great to see you, but I need to hold Emilee," Jean says when Laura slides the loft door open.
"Somebody has baby fever," Laura remarks, proud that her friend has made very positive changes in her life and is happy and relaxed. "Bill's changing her, then he'll bring her out."
They wait on the sectional, drinking ice cold homemade lemonade, and chatting about Jean's job.
"Laura, I love it. The hours are better, the people are nicer, and there's less pressure. I actually have time to think about what I'm doing, and I do a better job because of that. I always felt like I was drowning at the law firm, barely able to keep up and doing subpar work. But guess who I saw slither through my building the other day."
"Don't tell me. Would it be a certain someone that we have a very incriminating video of?"
"The very same. I see him maybe once or twice a week. He never makes eye contact, but the other day I ran over to him and chatted him up, telling his coworkers we are old law school buddies. Asked him if he'd like to get together sometime to reminisce about some of those parties the school held. I wanted him to know that I still haven't forgotten about the video. It almost killed him to have to be nice to me in front of his colleagues."
"I admire your fortitude, Jean. Maybe I can get there someday but right now, I can't ever imagine being in the same room with him let alone have a conversation with him."
"Well, unless you plan on running for office someday, you probably won't ever have the opportunity. Rumors say he's trying to get into the Attorney General's office already."
"Gods help us. There she is," Laura says as Bill carries a freshly changed baby Emilee to the sectional, placing her in Jean's outstretched arms.
For the next several minutes, Jean is oblivious to everything around her as she cuddles and kisses the little girl. The entire planet could be on fire, but she wouldn't budge because she's too wrapped up in this adorable child of her best friend.
"What's that?" she asks softly, leaning down and placing her ear next to Emilee. "I think you're right. It's time to ask your mommy a very important question. Laura, would you stand next to me on my wedding day as my best friend and matron of honor?"
"I would love to, Jean." She accepts her offer by wiping a tear from her eye and beaming with joy for her best friend. "When do we shop?" she asks with a giggle.
"Soon. Our wedding date is in about six months. We were going to keep it small, but Eugene's parents…well, they really like me and are insisting we have the ceremony on the grounds of their estate, and they have lots of friends."
"Estate? Grounds? How many grounds are we talking about, Jean?"
"It's big, I'll admit it. I never thought I'd marry into wealth, but here I am. They're really cool people, not pretentious at all. My parents love them, they spend a lot of time together and, well, you know I don't come from money. I've always been comfortable with them, and I think you will be, too. Ellen loves them and is having a lot of fun planning our wedding."
Boring doesn't begin to describe the rest of the afternoon for Sandra as she tries to kill time playing games on her phone in her father's office. He has a mountain of paperwork to get through, so they won't be able to leave two hours early like he hoped, but he promises to at least stop and get her a new hairbrush on the way home. She's also tired from her jog across campus, so she takes her backpack and uses it as a pillow while she curls up in a corner of his office.
Jeff enters the room, asking a question in his normal tone before he notices Dave with his finger to his lips to be quiet, nodding toward where Sandra is sleeping. "It's too bad you don't have a sofa or a recliner in here," Jeff whispers.
"Yeah, and I won't be able to leave for a while yet. What did you need?"
"I've finished up for today and was going to ask if it's okay if I left early to go home and study."
"That's fine. I'll see you tomorrow."
Jeff looks over at Sandra again, wondering how she can sleep on such a hard surface.
"Is there something else?" Dave asks in a hushed tone.
"Do you want me to take her home? She could sleep there, and I could study at your place if you don't want her left alone."
"That's a great idea and a generous offer. Are you sure you don't mind?"
"I love spending time with Sandra. I don't mind at all," he says a little too eagerly for Dave's comfort.
"But you won't be spending time with her. She'll be sleeping, and you'll be studying, right?" he asks, making sure he's understanding Jeff's motivations. He's never questioned them before, but after hearing Sandra's experiences with boys, he's feeling more overprotective than usual.
"Yes. I'll take her right to bed, I promise."
The innuendo, inadvertent or not, is making Dave cringe. "Jeff, I need to be clear. You can help her to bed, but then please leave her bedroom. I don't want to come home and find you two sleeping together again."
"Ohhh, I get it. No, I won't sleep with her again. I'll help her to bed, and then I'll study at the kitchen table. Nothing's ever happened between us. I wouldn't do something like that."
"Good. That's what I need to hear."
"I mean, Sandra's really attractive and I like her a lot, but I…I wouldn't do that. I respect you too much. But if she wasn't your daughter, then I might," he says with a crooked grin, trying to make a joke but failing miserably. The serious frown on Dave's face causes him to back-pedal. "But she's your daughter, so I would never do anything like that. You have my word."
Cheryl stares at Jason from across the desk in his office. They've been like this for the past five minutes, neither one of them willing to speak. Finally, she narrows her eyes, her lips curling into a smirk as she makes her move on the chess board. "Checkmate," she says, then folds her arms across her chest.
"Congratulations, Cheryl. You finally beat me."
"Or maybe I let you win a bunch of times to get your confidence up, then I finally took you down when it mattered."
"Is that what you did? You've been sandbagging this whole time so that you could beat me when something was on the line?"
She gives a little shrug of her shoulders as she glances up at the ceiling.
"Let's talk about what happened with Sandra this morning anyway."
"But I won. You said if I won, I wouldn't have to talk," she complains.
"How do you know I didn't let you win?"
"Did you?"
"Does it mean less to you if I intentionally throw the match?"
"It's still a win. But I don't like it very much."
"So you're saying it feels better to win when the other person is trying or at their best."
"Yes. What are you trying to teach me this time?" she sighs, annoyed that he won't just tell her what she's supposed to learn.
"Cheryl, you're a very smart girl. Based on what your father told me this morning, you still pick on Sandra a lot. Do you really think she's at her best right now?"
"I already told her I'm sorry."
"Are you sorry for picking on her, or are you sorry that your father might take pyramid away from you?"
"Some days I don't like you," she grumbles.
"You aren't sorry for picking on her. Why is that?"
"Because she lied to me! And nobody cares about it."
"What did she lie about?"
"She told me we could talk about mom whenever I wanted. Then she decides she doesn't want to talk about mom anymore. All I have is the book and the video she made me. But the worst lie of all is that she left out a big part of mom's story and that makes me really mad."
"What part would that be, Cheryl?"
"The part where she got so sick all her hair fell out and she looked like a skeleton before she died. I found a picture in Sandra's room one day. I keep it in a notebook and I look at it every night. That's my last memory of mom but she wants me to remember what she looked like before that, except I was too young and I don't really remember her looking like that. And since she won't talk to me about mom anymore, it's like I'm forgetting all about her. And it's Sandra's fault."
"I'm the reason Sandra left your mother's illness out of your scrapbook. Most people prefer to remember their loved ones as healthy, not how they appeared before they pass from an illness. Perhaps I was wrong. Are you comfortable with the memories you have of the last several months of your mother's life?"
"Yes. Whenever I was sad, she would let me feel how soft the skin was on top of her head and tell me how nice and warm my hand felt. Before we would read together, she would use hand lotion on her hands and arms because her skin was dry. It smelled so good, like roses, and she would rub some on my hands, too, and I really liked that. She didn't get mad when I'd bring my stuffed animals into her room and nap with her in her bed. She said I kept her warm. She'd put her arms around me and whisper stories in my ear until she fell asleep. Sometimes I didn't fall asleep. I'd lie there in her arms and be quiet, listening to her breathe and the sound of her heart. I loved when she hugged me, and she hugged me a lot when she was sick. When I first found that picture in Sandra's room, it made me cry. But then I realized I shouldn't focus on what killed her. I've decided to remember the good things about that time, even if they don't seem like such a big deal to other people. I want to see pictures of us together so I can be reminded of these things."
"Cheryl, that's an incredibly mature way to look at things. I'm impressed that you figured that out on your own. As for Sandra, please stop punishing her. She was only following my advice. With your permission, I would like to speak with your father about sharing some more pictures of your mom from her final year. Maybe not all at once, but a few at a time, and you can talk about them with him and with me. Does that sound like something you'd be okay with?"
"Yes."
"Do you have any questions?"
"Did you really let me win?"
"Come back tomorrow afternoon. If you win then, I'll answer your question."
"Some days I don't like you."
Sandra barely remembers Jeff helping her to bed, so it takes a few seconds after she wakes up to orient herself to her surroundings. It's very dark in her room with the curtains pulled, and also very quiet. It's mid-afternoon, so she must have slept for a couple of hours. She feels refreshed enough to climb out of bed and use the bathroom, then hunt for a slinky bikini she borrowed from Willow that her dad doesn't know about. This bikini allows maximum sun exposure for tanning at the neighbor's backyard pool, and since there's still at least an hour of good sun, she hopes to work on her legs and back the remainder of the afternoon.
The house is very warm as the air conditioner works hard to overcome the stifling heat and humidity on this dangerously hot summer day. She slips into the bikini, checking out her profile in the mirror, liking what she sees. She's never been bone thin but nicely proportioned with feminine curves, flawless skin, and some muscle. Hopefully the strips over her surgical incisions will come loose soon and the scars will fade away over time. They aren't very big, but she'll always know they exist.
Grabbing a bottle of suntan oil, she slips on some flip-flops and walks to the kitchen to retrieve a bottle of water from the refrigerator.
"Oh, you're still here," she says when she sees Jeff studying at the kitchen table.
"I promised your dad I'd stay until he gets home. Nice bikini."
"Thanks," she says turning around so he can see all of her. His eyes roam her backside, settling on her firm round ass. The bikini bottom is held together by two strings on each side, tied in a bow. The top barely covers her perky breasts, and he watches as she raises her arms and ties her hair up with an elastic band.
"It's really warm in here, don't you think?" he asks as she moves toward him by the table.
"It is. You should take your shirt off. You'll be more comfortable that way," she suggests, moving her fingers to the buttons on his shirt and quickly undoing them. "You're not like other tall guys I know," she says as his shirt falls to the floor and her eyes take in his broad chest. "A lot of them slouch like they're afraid of being tall. They lack confidence. But not you. You stand up straight and proud, strong. I like that."
"Thanks, I'll remember that." He leans in for a kiss, but before his lips brush against hers, she puts her hand on his mouth.
"No. Our lips can never touch."
"Why not?"
"Because if they do, I won't be able to stop. Do you understand?"
"No," he replies, looking as if he's hurt by her words.
"That's too bad. Can you help me rub this oil on my skin?"
Taking the bottle from her, he squirts a generous amount in his hands, smooths it over his palms, then rubs it on her shoulders and down her arms. After they're oiled, she places each one on his shoulders as she sits on the table in front of him. "Don't forget my chest."
"I should let you do that," he says, handing the bottle to her.
"You don't have to be such a gentleman."
"Do these hurt?" he asks, changing the subject and pointing at her incisions, letting the tips of his fingers brush gently against her skin.
"A little. Probably because of my jog earlier today."
"Whenever I had something that hurt when I was a kid, my mom would always kiss it and make it feel better."
"Yeah, well, that's probably not going to happen for obvious reasons. Besides, I'm a little old for that."
"Maybe. But you still feel pain," he states with a look of concern.
"I do."
"I can help make it go away." He gently pushes her onto her back on the kitchen table. Leaning his face in close to her incisions, he blows softly around the wounds until goose pimples form on her skin. "How does that feel?"
"Hmmm, good, kind of ticklish. I like it. What are you doing?"
His lips gently brush against each incision. "Making the pain go away."
"I said no kissing."
"You said our lips could never touch. You didn't say my lips couldn't touch you in other places."
"You're right," she replies breathlessly, weaving a hand in his hair as he kisses a path down her body to between her legs.
He reaches to the side, pulling the string on the bow that holds her bikini bottom together, releasing it before doing the same on the other side. "I told you once that Chapter 8 was the best chapter. Definitely my favorite," he says as he blows on her folds.
"I remember, Jeff," she sighs. "Chapter 8."
Using the tip of his tongue, he slowly circles her clit, glancing up at her as she arches her back and rolls her eyes in the back of her head.
"You're so good at this," she groans as he increases his attention, expertly bringing her to the brink using everything he learned in Chapter 8. "Oh, Jeff…oh…ohhhh…"
"Sandra, we're home!" Dave calls as he enters the kitchen from the garage with Cheryl on his heels.
"OH SHIT!" Her eyes pop open in terror as she glances around the room - her room, still in her bed. One hand is twisted in the sheets, the other she clamps over her mouth to stifle the sound of her climax. As quietly as possible, she rides the waves of her pleasure, then jumps out of her bed and runs to the bathroom to take a cold shower.
The door is locked, causing her to slam her forehead into the door, sending a jolt of pain down through her sinuses. "Cheryl, are you in there?" she asks as she beats on the door.
"I'm sorry! I had to pee!" she yells from the other side. "I'm done now," she says opening the door.
Sandra barrels in, shooing her sister away from her.
"What's wrong with you?" Cheryl asks, noticing her sister's flushed face, wild eyes, and strange demeanor.
"Bad dream. I need to shower."
"Alright," she replies, looking at her suspiciously before going to her bedroom. "Daddy wants to talk to both of us before dinner."
Cold showers are sort of painful, something Sandra isn't aware of until she steps into the frigid stream. Through gritted teeth, she toughs it out, forcing herself to shampoo her hair, soap up her body, and rinse herself clean of whatever it was that happened in her bedroom. She's dreamt of other guys before, usually a celebrity crush, but to dream of someone she knows? To have an intimate encounter feel so real and so right that she orgasmed in her sleep? That's very new to her. It unnerves her to admit that her body still aches for him. She stands directly beneath the shower head for a count of 100, trying to think of anything other than Jeff's talented tongue between her legs.
Dave knocks on the door when the shower turns off, telling her he would like to have a talk with her and Cheryl soon. Convinced that Jeff is probably gone, she towels herself off, relieved that she won't have to see him after their dream tryst on the kitchen table. Tomorrow afternoon she has therapy, so it'll be easy to avoid him for a couple of days while she tries to forget about her naughty dream.
Finally dressed, she walks to the kitchen to see her father placing a casserole in the oven, Cheryl sitting on the countertop watching him. She steps around the corner and sees Jeff still sitting at the table, closing his books like he's ready to leave. Stopping in her tracks, she stands on her tiptoes, and spins around. "Forgot something in my room," she says as an excuse.
When she doesn't return, Dave finds her sitting at her desk pretending to read. "Sorry, got distracted," she says. "Did Jeff go home?"
"No, he's waiting to say goodbye to you. It would be nice if you walked him out and thanked him for everything."
"Everything?!"
"For offering to bring you home so you could nap in your bed. What happened to your forehead?"
"I bumped into the bathroom door. Guess I wasn't very awake yet when I decided to shower."
"Are you feeling okay?"
"Huh? Yeah, just a long day. Emergency surgery took more out of me than I realized, that's all."
"Alright. C'mon," he says holding his hand out.
"Where are we going?"
"You need to walk Jeff out. He's waiting."
"Right. Jeff. Sorry. I forgot."
"How hard did you hit your head?"
"Daddy, I'm fine."
She follows Dave from her bedroom, stopping at the opposite end of the table where Jeff is smiling at her with his backpack over his shoulder. "Bye, Jeff," she waves at him, then turns around to go back to her room.
"Sandra! Walk him out!" Dave says in an exasperated tone.
"Okey-dokey, I can do that," she says with a scrunched face before turning around and revealing a smiling face to everyone in the room. "After you, Jeff," she motions toward the door.
Dave pulls her aside after Jeff walks past him. "Sandra, go all the way out there with him and thank him," he whispers.
Jeff stuffs his backpack through the passenger side window before turning to Sandra, smiling so that his dimples dominate his cheeks. "Must have been one hell of a dream. I thought I heard you say my name once but when I checked on you, you were tossing and turning like you were having a wrestling match."
"You watched me sleeping?"
"I wanted to make sure you were okay. Then I left. What happened to your forehead?"
"I was groggy and bumped into the bathroom door." She can't take her eyes off his mouth, or his dimples, or his broad shoulders, all of which are suddenly just inches from her.
"Whenever I got hurt as a kid, my mom would always kiss it and make it feel better. Let me do that for you." He leans in, brushing his lips on the small bruise on her forehead. "Better?"
His lips feel as amazing as they did in her dream, sending a wave of warmth straight through her. "Yeah. ThankyouforbringingmehomesoIcouldnapIhavetogonowBye."
He watches her flee back to the house and go inside.
All night long she dreams of Jeff. Lips on her forehead, lips on her stomach, lips between her legs, lips on every part of her body – kissing, nibbling, sucking, teasing. Making out in his car, her bedroom, the library, her dad's office, her dad's desk, and the campus art studio, rolling around naked in paint, creating a new kind of erotic artwork for the colonies to see.
Creeaaakkk. This time she's half-awake when the sound makes her fully alert. Please fix that damn step. And why are you up so early again?
Tired and grumbly isn't how she wants to start her day, but at least Cheryl isn't pushing her buttons anymore. The three of them talked for a long time before dinner the night before, Cheryl admitting she's been punishing her for not wanting to speak about their mother, and for leaving photos of her illness out of her scrapbook. Before they went to bed, Sandra had another heart to heart with her, assuring her that she will always love her, never lie unless it's a good lie like keeping a surprise birthday party a secret, and promising her that no matter what, she will always have her back. She filled her in on some examples where Laurie had her back, including helping convince their father to let her enroll in college early, and change her phone number when her friends were harassing her. To Sandra's horror, Cheryl had read some of those texts after hacking her phone. But the subject of their mother is still off limits with Sandra, at least until she figures out why it makes her so angry.
After an unproductive morning in the art studio where she kept flashing back to her dream of being naked with Jeff, she meets Willow in the student union for lunch, and to make plans to stay in the dorm with her the end of the week.
"I really need to talk to you on Friday," Sandra says in a serious tone.
"Did something bad happen?"
"Not really. You know that guy that works for my dad?"
Willow has never met Jeff, but Sandra has occasionally mentioned him, mostly about how annoyed she used to be by his presence and his persistent worship of her father. "The Buttkisser?"
"Yeah, but don't call him that. He's really nice. And cute. I like him. He's my other best friend."
"What about him?"
"I had a dream about him yesterday." Sandra looks around before leaning in so that no one can overhear what she's about to whisper. "A sex dream. It was…hot."
"How hot?" Willow asks, suddenly very curious about why the subject of Jeff's hotness has never come up before.
"Like so frakking hot I came in my sleep."
"That is AWESOME! Tell me more!"
"Not now. Friday."
The remainder of lunch is spent trying to get Willow to drop the subject, although Sandra must admit, she does enjoy the attention. Friday night will be a fun night, describing in detail her dreams to her best friend, trying to decipher what's really going on with her and Jeff, and discussing the upcoming blind date with Brad's friend in another week.
As soon as lunch is over, Sandra hops in her SUV and goes to therapy. Peeling back another layer is never something she looks forward to, but at least it will get her mind off Jeff and her wild sex dreams.
In her therapy session, she shares what happened with Cheryl and how she gave her father the box of photos taken during the last year of her mother's life. They had been stashed away in a corner of her room, buried under a stack of books – out of sight, out of mind.
"Does it bother you to look at those photos from when she was ill?" her therapist, Dr. Sasse, asks.
"I just…I can't…bring myself to look at them," Sandra mumbles as she fiddles with her hands.
"What about pictures from before she was sick?"
"I don't wanna see them, either," she huffs. "I. GET. SO. MAD."
"It's not unusual for people to be angry about a loved one taken so soon. Why do the photos from before she was sick make you angry?"
Sandra fidgets nervously, rubbing her hands on her head, averting her eyes from her therapist. They've been down this road before, her therapist pushing for her to think about why all photos of her mother fill her with rage.
"What's the link between the healthy photos and the sick photos, Sandra?"
"I don't know." All she wants to do right now is make herself smaller, disappear. She crosses her arms in front of her and leans forward, slouching her shoulders, staring at the floor.
"I think you do."
"Isn't it obvious?" she raises her voice, giving him a quick glance.
"I need to hear you say it."
"I don't want to because if I say it out loud, then it's true," she says, turning her head to hide the pain on her face. Her foot taps nervously on the floor as she draws in a long, shaky breath.
"Sandra, you're ready to talk about this. Once you say it, we can go from there. But I need to hear it from you."
"Fine!" she shouts, lifting her head and glaring at him. "It's her. Mom! I'm angry at mom, and I hate myself for feeling that way!" Her hands are clenched into fists, pounding on the arms of her chair. "I can't stand to look at any pictures of her or talk about her because I wanna punch a wall every time I think about her! I don't know why I feel that way! And don't look at me like that, I really don't know."
The therapist slides a box of tissues toward Sandra, deciding to back off after watching her angry outburst in front of him. "Our time's about up for today," he says quietly. "You've made some progress."
"Then why do I feel so horrible?"
"Well, we're not all the way there yet. As we peel back more layers-"
"Yeah, I know. I might feel worse after each layer. Please stop talking about layers. I HATE them."
"I'm confident we can get at the root of the issue, and then you'll start feeling better. Will I see you next week?"
"I hate coming here. I hate doing this. I don't even like you very much. But…" Her eyes close, and she relaxes her jaw as she inhales several deep breaths, regaining some of her composure. It's a technique she learned from Dr. Sasse at their first session when she blew up at him, then curled into a ball refusing to speak. She learned to use this calming technique quickly, but what has really impressed him is that she has learned to use it without him reminding her. "I made myself a promise that I would do this. Because if there's anything I hate more than coming here, it's feeling the way I do about my mom. I'll be here next week."
Sandra drives straight home from her therapy session, hoping to spend some time alone before attending the semifinals of the junior pyramid tournament tonight. The last five days have been almost more than she can handle with emergency surgery, sex dreams, and now this therapy session that has left her feeling less than zero. Focus on the good things in life, she tells herself, taking some deep breaths while driving. She forces her thoughts to her children's lit story and illustrations, trying to think of new ideas to develop a series. There's also baby Emilee, a child she envies for having her whole life ahead of her. Maybe she can be worked into a future book, or at least have a character named after her.
She's surprised to see her father's car parked in the driveway when she gets home. The house is bustling with Cheryl running around trying to find her uniform and pyramid gear, while her father talks on his cell phone and refills Fletcher's food and water dishes, the plump feline purring around his ankles almost causing him to trip. The doorbell rings while Sandra is placing her backpack in her bedroom and since the rest of her family is preoccupied, she answers it to find JJ at the door.
"Hi, sweetie, how are you feeling?" she asks.
"Better now," she replies, putting her arms around her in a warm hug. "Are you going to the game tonight?"
"I am. Cheryl wants me to put her hair up in braids and buns, then I'll ride with all of you to the game."
"Where are my elbow pads?!" Cheryl shouts, running down the hallway.
"Cher, take some deep breaths," Sandra says, reaching out and placing her hands on her shoulders. "Calm down. Now think about where you've looked and where they could be. Did you check under your bed?"
"Yes. They aren't there."
"Did you look everywhere under your bed, or did you just pull up the comforter on one side and take a quick look?"
"I'll look again," she says, running off to her room. "Thanks."
"You know what I think, Sandra?" JJ asks, brushing her hair across her forehead and examining her bruise. "I think you're going to be an excellent mom someday."
"Really? Nobody's ever told me that before. Thank you."
"You're a natural. What happened here?" she asks, rubbing her thumb across the bruise.
"Bumped into a door. I can be clumsy sometimes."
"Sandra, thank you," Cheryl says, running from her bedroom with her elbow pads in her hands. "They were shoved in the middle under my bed."
"You're welcome. You should let JJ work on your hair now. I need to talk to daddy for a few minutes."
Dave ends his call, then disappears upstairs to his study to sign off on some budget documents his secretary has sent him. Sandra waits on the sofa in his office as he double-checks the budget numbers and electronically signs them.
"Sorry, honey, thanks for waiting. What's on your mind?"
"I was hoping to have some alone time after therapy to clear my head, but that's not happening. Is it okay with you if I stay home tonight?"
"I suppose," he says, trying to gauge her thoughts. "Do you want me to tell Cheryl?"
"No, I owe her that much. I promise I'll go next week, assuming they win tonight."
"Is there anything you need to talk about?"
Sandra sets her gaze on the top of his desk, thinking about how horrible she feels after admitting in therapy that her anger is directed at her mom. She wonders what kind of person has that level of rage toward a deceased parent. "Daddy…do you think I'm a bad person?"
"No, of course not. Did someone tell you you're a bad person?"
"No. Lately if people comment on my character, they say positive things. But I don't feel very good about myself. I'm surrounded by good people, but I feel out of place."
"It sounds like you're having therapy hangover."
Sandra's eyes widen at his assessment, nodding her head in agreement. "That's an excellent way of putting it. Have you ever had one?"
"Lots of times."
"What about?"
"Hmpf, nothing I care to discuss. I've dealt with it, moved on. I'm confident that you will, too. Are you sure you'll be okay here alone tonight?" he asks, tilting his head to try to see into her eyes.
Smiling at his efforts to make sure she's okay, she asks, "Are you asking me if I'm going to do something stupid?"
"Maybe. I want you to know I'm here if you need me. Or give Laurie a call if you'd rather talk with someone closer to your age."
"Don't worry, I will NOT be doing anything stupid. I'll probably cuddle with Fletcher and eat some junk food. Maybe I'll give Laurie a call. I just want a boring, quiet, night."
Before warm-ups at the pyramid arena, JJ has to adjust Cheryl's buns so that they stick out through the side openings in her helmet. One of the boys on her team, the top wing, runs to her side, fascinated with her new hairdo. "I really like your hair like that," he says, ignoring the drills that have started behind him.
"Thanks. You should go warm up. I'll be there in a minute," Cheryl informs him.
"I'd rather wait for you," Cooper says, still staring at her hair.
JJ glances at Dave as she works Cheryl's hair into place, trying to hold back a smile because it's clear Cooper has a crush on Cheryl.
"Coop, I'm team captain, right? Please go warm up. We need you to score lots of goals tonight."
Cooper scampers off toward the court while JJ works on positioning the second bun.
"I'm telling you, JJ, it's tough being cute. Four! Four boys here tonight want to be my boyfriend. But I'm here to play a game, so it's time to get serious." When the last bun is in place, JJ wishes her luck before Cheryl joins her teammates for warmups.
"What am I going to do when she's old enough to date?" Dave asks as he looks around the pyramid court and notices several little boys staring at his daughter as she barks out orders to her team.
"Well, you'll probably need some blood pressure medication to start with. Then a sedative to help you sleep at night. And a warm hat to wear on your head in the wintertime since all your hair will have fallen out due to stress."
"At least I'll have you there holding my hand," he replies, desperately wanting to hold her close.
"Mmm, no. I don't date bald men. I'm really shallow that way."
Two slices of leftover pizza, two cans of soda, ice cream with butterscotch syrup, and six freshly baked chocolate chip cookies later, Sandra is finally full. Convinced that she'll be an old, portly, spinster someday who likes to eat her feelings, she decides that she may as well step on the scale now to see where she's at in what she is certain is at least a ten-pound weight gain since the start of summer. To her surprise, she's lost five pounds.
"Thank the Lords of Kobol for a high metabolism,"she says aloud. "I bet you wish you had a high metabolism, too, don't you Fletcher? You are the fattest boy on fat boy planet, but I love you anyway."
Fletcher purrs loudly, bumping his head into her arm, soaking up the love and attention from his second favorite Roslin sister. "Ugh," she groans clutching at her stomach. "Probably shouldn't have had all those cookies."
The antacids are in the medicine cabinet in her bathroom, and she pops two of them in her mouth, chewing them quickly and chasing down the chalky flavor with a glass of water. Her insides gurgle, and it's then she realizes there's no toilet paper in her bathroom. She checks the half-bath off the kitchen, but an empty roll hangs off the dispenser. "Are you frakking kidding me?" she says in disgust as her guts gurgle some more. There's none in the storage room, either.
Dave doesn't like sharing his bathroom, but this is becoming an emergency. Fletch waddles up the steps behind her and through the bedroom. She's relieved to see a full roll on the dispenser, but there are no extra ones under the sink.
"Damn, left my phone downstairs. Why don't you be a good boy and fetch my phone? Oh, that's right. You're not a dog."
Fletch purrs around her legs until he suddenly stops with his nose in the air, giving her a disgusted look.
"Like your litterbox never stinks." He turns away from her and runs from the room.
Out of boredom, she glances around the bathroom, impressed that her father keeps it so clean, except for the trash, which is almost full.
Pulling the liner from the container, she begins to tie it shut when she notices a square, red condom wrapper near the top of the trash pile. Jostling the contents around, she discovers several more. She finishes up, and while washing her hands at his sink, a pink toothbrush sitting right next to his blue toothbrush in the holder catches her eye. A new bottle of rose-scented lotion sits on the counter and next to that, a woman's razor. A quick inventory of the shower reveals a floral moisturizing shampoo, definitely not her father's brand since his is sitting right beside it.
The creak of the steps shortly after she goes to bed at night, the creak in the morning thirty minutes before her alarm goes off, and her father sitting at the table waiting to make them breakfast – all of these things are beginning to make sense now. Who is this woman that he's going to great lengths to hide from her and Cheryl?
This is exactly the type of news she must immediately share with someone or else she will explode, so she runs down the steps, grabs her phone, and calls Laura.
"GUESS. WHAT."
"Give me some clues. Is this about you?" Laura asks.
"No, but a family member."
"Daddy?"
"Winner, winner, chicken dinner."
"About his job?"
"Nope."
"Did he buy something new?"
"Nope."
"Girlfriend?"
"Ding, ding, ding!"
"What's her name?"
"I have no frakking clue. But our father, the same man that once said you were being a bad influence for having Bill in your downstairs bedroom, is sneaking a woman in the house at night, and sneaking her out before I get up in the morning. Yeah, that dad. Our daddy. Being sneaky."
"How do you know this?"
Sandra explains what she found in his bathroom making sure to emphasize the part about the condom wrappers in his trash. She also goes into detail about the creaky step and being awakened twice each night. "And I'm going to find out who it is tomorrow morning. I'll let you know as soon as I meet her. Hopefully she's not high maintenance like Larissa or young like that nurse."
"Are you sure that shampoo and lotion aren't mom's?"
"Not hers. Too new."
"Interesting."
"It most certainly is."
Creeeaaakkk. One hour after Sandra goes to bed, the sound of the noisy step wakes her up. Rolling over and grabbing her phone, she sets her alarm for 45 minutes earlier than usual.
Despite her shortened slumber time, she wakes up alert and determined to discover who her father's mystery lover is. She uses her bathroom but doesn't flush the toilet, not wanting to give any indication she's awake. A noise at the top of the steps draws her attention, so she carefully pokes her head out of her bedroom door. A woman stands in the upstairs hallway looking in the linen closet, wearing an old pajama top that belongs to her father. He then exits his bedroom and reaches high on a shelf, pulling down a clean towel for her.
It's too dark to get a good look without them noticing her. Apparently, her dad is quite frisky in the morning, pushing the woman up against the wall and kissing her as she giggles and hooks a leg around his waist. They make out for a while, and it reminds Sandra of how her parents used to behave around the house, never shy about showing their affection toward each other.
After they go back inside Dave's bedroom, Sandra sneaks into the half-bath off the kitchen, the perfect place to wait since she suspects he takes his girlfriend out through the garage. The light switch is just outside of the bathroom, so it'll be easy to flip it on once the two lovers pass by.
Fifteen minutes go by, then the noisy step creaks. She's right – her father is leading someone through the kitchen toward the door to the garage. Before they open it, Sandra flicks the light on.
"Young man, did you have a woman in your room all night?" she asks in an authoritative voice.
JJ turns to face Dave, caught between him and the door. Sandra can only see her father's back as she waits for both his ire and the identity of the woman he's hiding.
Instead, a hand reaches up to his cheek, and Sandra hears him say three words: Three words she has never heard him to say to any woman other than her mom, three words she has hoped he would be able to say to someone again. "I love you."
"Daddy?" Sandra asks quietly, suddenly feeling guilty for forcing her father's hand.
"Just a minute, honey," he calmly replies.
JJ stares at him with devotion, accepting the predicament they are in. She whispers with a small smile, "We didn't even make it a week."
"No, but is that okay? Are you ready?" he asks, searching her eyes. "I can always send her to her room."
"It's okay, I'm ready. I love you." Dave moves to the side so JJ can step around him. "Good morning, Sandra."
Sandra's so stunned she has to catch her breath. Her hand moves to cover her mouth as tears of joy, pride, elation, and hope stream down her cheeks. Too choked up to speak, she nods her head in acceptance of the love between her dad and JJ while reaching an arm out, needing to embrace this woman she has felt close to for so long.
"Are you okay with this, sweetie? With me being in a relationship with your father?"
"Yes!" Sandra sobs in her arms. "I'm so happy! I love you two together! Daddy, I need to hug you, too!"
Two of the most important women in his life are standing next to him, starting a new chapter together, and asking for him to join them. He wraps an arm around each of them, kissing Sandra on the top of her head.
"How long have you been together?" Sandra asks.
"Officially, for about a week," Dave replies, intentionally being vague.
"But we've been falling in love with each other for several months," JJ adds.
"Why's everybody hugging in the kitchen?" Cheryl asks from the hallway while rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
"Good morning, honey," JJ says, walking to her and kneeling so that she can speak to her at eye level. "Did we wake you up?"
She nods her head while glancing at her older sister and father standing behind JJ.
"Cheryl," JJ begins, pushing a lock of hair behind the young girl's ear, drawing her attention back to her. "Your daddy and I are dating. Is that okay with you?"
She looks toward her father and sister again, then smiles her approval, slipping her arms around JJ's neck. "About time."