Molly - Sarah Monzon Page 0,12

grandparents, nanny. For too long I’d been the single juggler trying to keep all the balls in the air. Boy, did I need some help.

Chloe opened the drawer dedicated to her hair things and picked out a bright pink scrunchie, smiling at me as she handed it over.

I gathered a bit of hair from the top of her head and divided it into three sections before weaving, gathering, and weaving again.

The doorbell rang. I was only halfway done with her hair. “Just a minute!” I yelled. “Let’s go answer the door, sweetie.” With strands of hair in between the fingers of one hand, I wrapped my other arm around Chloe’s middle and hoisted her up, carrying her like a bag of rice. She clung to my arm and wouldn’t let me put her down when we got to the door, so I jutted out my hip to support her weight and freed up my hand to open the door.

The morning sun backlit Miss Osbourne, but even so, the brightness coming from her head wasn’t the light playing tricks on me. Yesterday she’d been blonde. Today… “Your hair is pink.”

Her cheeks turned rosy and she raised a tentative hand to her head. “I know.”

“Miss Osbourne!” Chloe launched herself out of my arms and toward her old teacher.

I stumbled with the momentum, one hand still tangled with Chloe’s hair.

“Hello, koala.” Miss Osbourne caught Chloe and held her close. My daughter wrapped her arms around Miss Osbourne’s neck, legs around her waist. She looked just like a baby koala with its mother.

A lump formed in my throat, and I quickly cleared it away. Which only brought both females’ gazes my direction. “Umm. Good morning, Miss Osbourne. Glad you could make it.” I focused on finishing up Chloe’s braid, secured it with the scrunchie, and stepped away.

“Molly is fine, Dr. Ben. Or Miss Molly, if you prefer that for Chloe.”

The song by Little Richard entered my mind unbidden. Full on with the high notes and the dancing piano keys. The song was before either of our times, but classic rock never grew old. I did want to teach my daughter manners and respect, but I didn’t think I could handle Little Richard serenading me every time I heard “Miss Molly.”

“Tell you what, you drop the doctor and just call me Ben, and I’ll work on remembering to call you Molly instead of Miss Osbourne.”

She shifted Chloe onto her hip and stuck out her hand. “I believe we have our second deal, Ben.”

I closed my hand around hers, getting lost in the feel of her soft fingers pressed against my own.

7:45.

Shoot. I should have been on the road fifteen minutes ago. I dropped her hand and picked up the black backpack by the door. “I’ve got to go. Instructions are on the fridge as well as back-up emergency numbers. You’ve got my cell number in case you need it.” I scanned the room in case my gaze snagged on something I’d forgotten.

“Go.” Molly shoved gently on my shoulder. “I’ve got this. Go save lives.”

“Bye, Daddy.” Chloe puckered her lips.

I offered her my cheek for a kiss before planting one on hers. “Be good. I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

I met Molly’s eyes and paused.

“She’ll be fine. Go.”

One more kiss to Chloe’s forehead and I went.

Ten minutes later I sat in my car on I-5 in bumper-to-bumper traffic. Forty minutes after that I finally sprinted into the hospital, twelve minutes late.

Drew gave me a knowing look as I pulled my tie from across my shoulder, where it had flown during my mad dash, and smoothed it down over my abs. He handed me a to-go cup of coffee, and I nodded to him in thanks.

“I’ve managed to cover for you, but you might have to fake some stomach cramps throughout the day.”

Unfortunately, I took a sip of the coffee at the same moment he shared that bit of news. I sputtered on the scalding liquid. “And why would I have to do that?”

“Dr. Feinburg kept looking at his watch and asking about you. I said the first thing that came to mind.”

“That I had G.I. issues? You couldn’t think of anything else? Like maybe the truth?”

Drew waited for a family to pass us in the hall before he spoke again. “I hate to break it to you, but I think your single dad sympathy card has run out with Feinburg.”

“Chloe’s not a sympathy card.” I ground the words out.

He clapped me on the shoulder. “I know,