When the Bough Breaks
c.2001
by Patti

He woke up alone bathed in tears. It wasn’t his first morning alone and sadly, it wouldn’t be his last. Rolling over onto her side he inhaled softly, preserving the scent left on the pillow. It needed to be rationed; after all, it had to linger for the rest of his life.

Reluctantly, he pulled away and stood from his bed, reaching for his robe, which also was touched by her scent. He couldn’t escape from it, not that he wanted to. All Lance wanted to do was run to her. But there was nowhere for him to go.

He padded softly downstairs to his office, deciding to forgo his coffee for now. He took a seat at his desk and began sorting through piles of papers, trying to make sense of the melee. The papers made everything so final: hospital bills, medical releases, all the forms and bills from the funeral home. Everyone wanted his money, and he wished that he didn’t have to spend it like this. Mechanically he signed checks and entered figures, all the while gazing at the silver picture frame in front of him.

“I want you to have a recent picture of our little family for you to remember me.” Her voice still echoed in his head.

“Of course I’ll remember you, Theresa. You’ll be home soon, taking all of my blankets like you usually do.”

A wry smile came to his face at the memory; of how close he came to getting his way. Lance was sure that she’d be fine. The tumor was malignant, but the doctors were hopeful.

But there were complications.

All at once his life turned to shit by a man in green pajamas and a face mask.

He picked up the picture and lightly traced his wife’s face. He softly moved his finger to the other little face in the picture. Chelsea.

What is she gonna do with out a mother?

Chelsea meant the world to him, but he didn’t know the first thing about being a father. He missed more dance practices and recitals than he cared to remember. Countless Halloween costumes he had only seen discarded in a pile of fabric on the floor next to her plastic pumpkin filled with goodies. Late meetings and promotional trips caused him to miss family dinner more than he would have liked. His family was his world, but his work was his life.

He made excuses, to Theresa, to Chelsea, and to himself. But she didn’t mind. Never did she make him choose work or family. She always knew how important his work was for him. And Theresa never doubted the importance that she and Chelsea held for him.

She, on the other hand, was perfect. Perfect mother, perfect wife… perfect. He didn’t deserve her. And now he didn’t have her anymore. Here he was, former pop star, turned manager, turned CEO and perhaps one of the most successful men in the country, frightened. Of his seven year old daughter.

What if I fuck up? He pounded his fist against the hard cherry-wood desk, tears falling freely from his eyes. I don’t know how to be a dad. I can’t take care of her the way I should. He silently questioned the photo of his wife.

She could stay with Mom and Dad, he thought. Or with Stacy and Ford. God, Joey would be a better father than I could be. Frustrated and exhausted he lay his head down on the desk and wept.

The smell of chocolate invaded his senses. “Daddy,” a small voice called. He raised his head and saw Chelsea, the spitting image of her mother, precariously holding a tray with two cups.

“I brought you some cocoa.”

Lance smiled, his first real smile in six days, and took the tray from her. Resting it on his desk he then pulled the small girl on his lap so she could reach her drink. Lance held his and saw that Chelsea had given him the mug she made Theresa for Mother’s Day. And she was drinking out of Lance’s favorite Dr. Seuss mug. He took a sip and gave himself a chocolate moustache that matched his daughter’s. Giggling she snuggled up against him, and he hugged her closer.

“This is delicious honey. Thank you.” A smile lit her features and she buried her small face in the crook of his neck in embarrassment. He felt her hot breath on his skin as she exhaled and just for a moment there was no doubt in his mind that he could do this. He could be the father she needed him to be. He would be.