Firefighter Daddy Page 3

His mother picked up Miranda’s backpack. “Can you run this up to your room so I can set the table?”

  “’Kay.” She flung the bag over her shoulder and was headed out of the room when Betsy stopped her.

  “What happened to your jeans? Is that a hole in the knee?”

  Miranda swung around, instantly defiant. “I already told Dad that I fell at school. It was an accident.”

  “Miranda! That is no way to talk to your grandmother.”

  “Sorry.” But she still looked more insolent than contrite. “I didn’t mean to rip them.”

  “No problem,” Betsy said. “When you take them off, fold them up and put them on the chair in your room. When I have some time, I’ll mend them for you.”

  Instead of agreeing, Miranda marched out of the room and up the stairs.

  “Sorry about that,” he said to his mother after he heard his daughter’s footsteps in the hallway upstairs. “I don’t know what’s bugging her today.”

  “She’s had to make a lot of adjustments in the past couple of weeks. New home, new school, new friends. She’ll settle down once she’s had a chance to get used to everything.”

  He sure hoped so. “Do you need some help with dinner?”

  “If you’ll set the table, I’ll mix up some salad dressing.”

  He was taking plates out of the cupboard when his cell phone rang. He set the dishes on the table and pulled the phone out of his pocket. The number on the call display wasn’t familiar but he answered it anyway.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Mitch?”

  “Yes?”

  “Hi. This is Rory. Miranda’s teacher.”

  He’d known who it was as soon as she’d said hello. “Hi.” He’d been hoping she would call, but he hadn’t dared to hope it would happen this soon.

  “There was a bit of a…well…an incident at school this afternoon. Maybe Miranda has already spoken to you about it?”

  His thoughts went immediately to the ripped jeans. “No, she hasn’t. Nothing serious, I hope.”

  “Serious enough,” she said. “She and one of the boys in the class got into a squabble during afternoon recess. Franklin pushed Miranda off the stairs, and Miranda tore her jeans and scraped her knee.”

  “I noticed that, but when I asked her about it, she said she fell.”

  “I thought she might not tell you what happened. That’s why I called to talk to you.”

  “I appreciate the call.” What he didn’t understand was why Miranda hadn’t told him about it herself.

  “Unfortunately, there’s more. Miranda got up and pushed him back.”

  Mitch flashed back to his own childhood days on the playground. He hated to think of anyone pushing his daughter around, but he was glad to hear she could stand up for herself. “I guess kids will be kids.”

  That was met with silence.

  “Are you still there?” he asked.

  “I am. I was hoping you and Miranda’s mother would talk to her about this behavior, and about the appropriate way to handle disputes.” Her voice had taken on the same calm, cool tone she’d used that morning when she’d spoken to her students about putting on their thinking caps and their best manners. “Even though the other child pushed her first, she shouldn’t have pushed him back. There’s always a supervisor on the playground during recess and children need to ask for help when a situation gets out of hand and to learn that it’s inappropriate to take matters into their own hands.”

  Give me a break. “These kids are seven years old. Fighting back seems like a pretty natural reaction when—”

  “Mr. Donovan. The school has zero tolerance when it comes to bullying and aggressiveness. It doesn’t matter who starts a fight.”

  So now it was Mr. Donovan. “It sounds to me like Miranda’s the one who’s being bullied. Shouldn’t you be calling Franklin’s parents?”

  “I already have. I wanted to let both of you know what happened so you can discuss it with your children and help them come up with a strategy for dealing with these kinds of situations.”

  Seven-year-olds were supposed to have strategies? “Fine, I’ll talk to her…” As soon as he figured out what the hell kind of strategy she needed.

  “Thank you,” she said. “My door is always open. If you ever have questions or concerns about anything that’s going on at school, feel free to come in and talk to me.”

  So she could tell him to his face that he was doing a lousy job of raising his daughter? Not going to happen.

  “Thanks,” he said. “Is there anything else?”

  “No. Goodb—”

  He ended the call before she finished and shoved the phone back into his pocket. His mother had finished setting the table and was taking the casserole out of the oven. She looked at him questioningly. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “That was the teacher. Miranda got into a fight at school today.”

  “That explains the torn jeans.”

  “I wonder why she didn’t tell me what happened.”

  His mother laughed. “She didn’t want to get in trouble.”

  “But if some kid’s picking on her—”

  “Is that what the teacher said?”

  Mitch relayed the story, then he shrugged, still at a bit of a loss. “The teacher says I need to help her come up with a coping strategy.”

  “That’s easy enough.”

  It was?

  Betsy took the casserole out of the oven and set it on a trivet on the counter. “I agree with Miss Sunshine. Physical violence is never the answer. If someone’s picking on Miranda, she needs to ask for help. It’s too easy for situations like this to get out of control, and the next thing you know, someone gets hurt.”

  Good point. That was the last thing he wanted to happen to his daughter. “Can we hold dinner for a few minutes? I’ll go up and talk to her right now.” He might as well get it over with.

  “Take all the time you need. I’ll just pop this back in the oven and keep it warm.”

  “Thanks.” He still thought everyone was overreacting, and he sure as hell resented the implication that Miranda was a troublemaker. However, he didn’t ever want her to end up in a situation that put her at risk.

  “What are you going to say to her?”

  “Pretty much what you just said, I guess.” He’d never been any good at these sorts of things, which was why he’d always let Laura handle them.

  TWO DAYS LATER, Mitch arrived home from his night shift at the fire hall, dog-tired but in time to help his daughter get ready for school. Her teacher was once again the topic of conversation. When he’d talked to Miranda about the playground fight with Franklin, he had done his best to conceal his resentment over Rory’s criticism. Miranda, he quickly discovered, harbored no ill feelings toward her teacher whatsoever. She had simply declared that all boys, Franklin in particular, were poo-heads, and then she’d readily agreed to talk to a teacher if anyone tried to pick on her again. He’d been left feeling that what he didn’t know about parenting was only surpassed by what he didn’t know about little girls.

  “Miss Sunshine’s been teaching us how to hopscotch.”

  “That’s nice, but if you don’t hold still until I finish brushing your hair, you’ll be late for school and Ror…um, Ms. Pennington-Borland…” He felt silly calling her Miss Sunshine but using her first name didn’t seem right, either. “Your teacher will suspend your playground privileges.”

  Miranda laughed. “She would never do that. She’s super nice. When I grow up, I’m going to be a teacher just like her.”

  “Good for you.” Mitch worked the last tangle out of his daughter’s blond curls and planted a kiss on the top of her head. “There you go. For now you’ll have to settle for being the prettiest girl in second grade.”

  “Do you think Miss Sunshine is pretty?”

  Yes, he did. He also knew that if he told Miranda, then Ms. Pennington-Borland would know, too, and he couldn’t see any advantage to that. “I didn’t notice,”
he said.

  “When you get married again, I think you should marry her.”

  Dumbfounded, Mitch met his daughter’s gaze in the mirror. “What makes you think I’ll get married again?”

  “So you can be happy. And so I can have a mom who knows how to hopscotch.”

  His gut tightened. At least she hadn’t said she wanted another mom who loved to ride the cable cars. “I’m happy.”

  “You don’t smile.”

  He forced his mouth to do what his daughter claimed it didn’t. “I’m happy, princess. I promise.” Mitch set the hairbrush on his daughter’s dresser. “I’ll bet Grams is downstairs, waiting to walk you to school.”

  “When will I be able to walk by myself?”

  Gee, let’s see. Never? She was his reason for getting up every morning, and he intended to do everything in his power to see that nothing terrible ever happened to her. “Is your backpack ready to go?” he asked, deciding to ignore the question. This time it worked.

  “Yup. It’s by the front door. Did you sign my permission slip for the art gallery field trip?”

  “I did,” he said. “It’s stuck on the door of the fridge.”

  “Did you say you’ll be a chaperone?”

  “I did.” He wasn’t sure why, exactly, since Miss Sunshine didn’t seem to think much of his parenting skills, and since neither modern art nor a mob of second graders held any appeal. But it was what Laura would have done, and it was time he started being more involved in their daughter’s life.

  After Miranda dashed downstairs, he remembered the page with her speech that she had put in her pocket when he’d visited her classroom. Her torn jeans were still folded on the seat of her chair and sure enough, there it was. He unfolded the piece of paper and read it. Most of the words sounded like hers, but the printing wasn’t. He could imagine Miss Rory Sonora Sunshine Pennington whatever—man, how many names did one person need?—sitting on one of those little chairs next to his daughter, smiling her encouragement and patiently copying down the words she wanted to say.

  Despite being a father, he didn’t have much experience with children, but he had enough to know that Miranda was often a little too quiet, a bit on the moody side and far too serious for a seven-year-old. Right now she lived with an eccentric grandmother who had never quite managed to leave the sixties behind and a father who had, by all reports, forgotten how to smile. She could use a strong, positive influence in her life. Would he have chosen a high-spirited teacher who was clearly the product of a couple of misguided hippies herself? No. But in spite of his own uncertainty when it came to Miss Sunshine, he had a feeling she might be just what Miranda needed right now.

  ON SATURDAY MORNING, Rory woke to the sound of her cell phone ringing. She opened one sleepy eye and peered at the clock. Ugh. This was the last morning she’d wake up on the sofa bed in Annie’s tiny living room, and she had a big day ahead of her.

  Moving into her new apartment.

  A dress fitting.

  Dinner and drinks with the girls.

  Even so, she hadn’t planned to be up this early. Neither had her cat. He hoisted himself off her feet and looked very annoyed as she shifted and grabbed her phone off the coffee table. It was her father.

  “Hi, Dad? It’s awfully early. Is everything okay?”

  “Sorry, sugar. I always forget about the time difference.”

  “No problem. You know I love to hear from you.” The cat arched his back, turned around twice and settled back onto her feet.

  “I got an e-mail from your mother. She said you found a place in the old neighborhood, so I’m calling to wish you a happy housewarming.”

  “Thanks, Dad.” She was constantly amazed that her parents still communicated. Maybe they should have used e-mail when they were married. Of course, being separated by an entire continent didn’t hurt, either. “It’s a gorgeous old house, half a block off Haight Street and really close to the school. I have the attic apartment, and Betsy—she’s my landlord and a friend of Annie’s, and she even knows Mom—has the rest of the house.”

  “Sounds wonderful, Rory. And how’s your new job working out?”

  “I love it. My students are awesome, and the school’s great.” The day before classes had started, she’d walked through each classroom, imagining herself there as a kid. “And I’m so happy the girls and I are finally living in the same city again.”

  “That’s right. How are they?”

  “Jess is the same as ever, Maria’s baby is due in a couple of months, Paige and her husband are separated, and Nicola’s getting married. We’re getting together this afternoon to have our bridesmaids’ dresses fitted. What’s new with you?”

  “The latest book is doing well.”

  That was an understatement. “How many bestseller lists have you hit with this one?”

  “Oh, one or two.” He never mentioned them unless she asked. He was genuinely modest about his success, and it was one of the things she admired most about him.

  “The reviews have been fantastic, Dad.”

  “You’ve been following them?”

  “Of course I have! When’s your book tour?”

  “We leave on Monday.”

  She wondered if he’d tell her what he meant by we or if he’d make her ask. “You’re coming to San Francisco, I hope.”

  “I haven’t seen my itinerary yet. My assistant is handling those details.”

  And there was her answer. Her father had a thing about assistants. Especially young female assistants. Rory didn’t know if he started dating these women and then hired them, or vice versa. Either way, they never lasted.

  “How old is this one?” she asked.

  He chuckled at that. “Older than you.”

  She didn’t ask by how much. “I’m looking forward to meeting her.” What else could she say?

  “What about you?” he asked. “Seeing anyone?”

  An image of a tall and seriously good-looking firefighter flashed into Rory’s mind, which was crazy. He was the father of one of her students and most likely married. Which reminded her, in spite of everything that had transpired this week, that she’d forgotten to look at Miranda’s file. “No, Dad, I’m not. I had a busy summer, and then there was the move here and getting settled into a new school. You’ll just have to get used to having a daughter who’s an old maid.”

  She laughed and so did he.

  “Still sworn off kids and commitment, I see.”

  She preferred to think of it as swearing off all the chaos and emotional turmoil that went with the kind of commitment he was talking about. Kids she could handle, but marriage? No way. “May I remind you that I haven’t had the best role models?”

  More laughter. She could joke about this with him. With her mother, not so much.

  “I look forward to meeting the guy who finally changes your mind.”

  Like that was going to happen. “Give it up, Dad. Not going to happen.”

  “I’m a patient man, sugar.”

  “Enough of your sweet talk. You’ll call as soon as you know when…if…you’ll be in San Francisco?”

  “Of course. You can reintroduce me to Haight-Ashbury, and I’ll take you out for dinner.”

  She wanted to ask if it could be just the two of them, but that would sound childish. “Hope to see you soon, Dad. Love you.”

  “Love you, too, Rory. Have fun today, and say hi to the girls for me.”

  “You bet. Bye.”

  She set her phone on the coffee table and glanced around the tiny living room. It had been very generous of Annie to let her stay here while she looked for an apartment, but this place was barely big enough for one person, let alone two plus an overweight cat. She wriggled her toes under the big black-and-white ball of fur curled on top of her feet. “Time to get up, sleepyhead. It’s moving day.”

  MITCH WAS UP EARLY on Saturday morning. He had always liked weekend mornings, especially when they coincided with his days off. When Laura was alive, the three
of them would have a leisurely breakfast and then head out for the day. After the accident it had been all he could do to drag himself out of bed in the morning. Looking back, taking an extended leave of absence had been a bad decision. Not nearly as bad as shift work, though, and having to leave Miranda with a series of irresponsible babysitters who spent most of their time on the phone, or with a nanny who turned out to have a taste for vodka.

  Much as he loved his mother, moving back into her place wasn’t an ideal situation, either. He’d always said he would never live in this neighborhood again, but this arrangement meant that when he was at work overnight, Miranda was well cared for and he didn’t need to worry about her. Or at least he worried less.

  Starting today, he decided, things would be different. His mother had gone to the park with her tai chi group, so he and Miranda were on their own for breakfast. After he helped the new tenant move in, he and his daughter would spend the afternoon at Fisherman’s Wharf. Miranda would love it, but it also felt like the right thing to do to honor his wife. Strangely enough, that hadn’t seemed necessary until he’d met his daughter’s teacher. Being attracted to another woman was sure as hell not the way to honor Laura.

  He filled two bowls with cereal and topped them up with milk. No match for Laura’s blueberry waffles, but it was a start.

  “Here you go,” he said, sliding a bowl in front of Miranda.

  She sat across the table from him, still wearing her favorite pink Sponge Bob pajamas. They were getting too small, he noticed. One of these days he should take her shopping.

  Or he could ask his mother to take her.

  No, he should do it.

  Miranda wiggled her loose tooth between spoonfuls of cereals. “When we go on the cable car today, I want to stand up and ride on the outside.”

  Mitch’s spoon paused halfway to his mouth. “I’m pretty sure they don’t let kids your age do that. It’s too dangerous. Besides, somebody’s moving into the apartment this morning and Grams asked me to stick around and give her a hand. We might only have enough time to go the wharf.”

  His daughter eyed him over the rim of her cereal bowl. “You don’t want to ride on a cable car, do you?”