Always With You - Part Two(4)

Without another word or glance in Sophie's direction, I head to the office and, from there, to the door that leads to my apartment. My hand hovers over the knob for several seconds before I opt for knocking. I mean, she is a little girl. She needs privacy, especially from strange, grown men.

I brush my knuckles lightly over the wooden door, listening closely over the muted thump of the music for signs of life on the other side. I closed the office door, which is double-insulated, as are all the walls of the office and apartment, so it's surprisingly quiet. The music can still be heard, but it's more a soothing thump than an irritating noise.

"Who is it?" I hear a tiny voice call.

"It's Cash, Isabella. Did I wake you up?"

There's a long pause. "If I say no, will I get in trouble?"

I grin. This might be the first time I can actually see this little girl being mine. "No, you won't get in trouble."

After another pause, I hear the rattle of the knob just before the door swings open. Isabella looks out beyond me, like she might be looking for her mother, before she steps back and lets me in.

I leave the door open, both for her comfort and for propriety. She is a little girl after all and I am a perfect stranger to her. And we have yet to determine whether she's my daughter. I figure it's better to be extra cautious right now. 

The television is on and tuned in to the Disney channel. Isabella climbs back onto the bed, but doesn't get under the covers. I sit in the chair across from her, keeping a good distance between us.

"Not sleepy, huh?"

She shakes her head.

"Did you take your medicine?" I ask. She eyes me warily, not answering one way or the other. It occurs to me that she might be afraid I'll tell on her, so I lean forward until my elbows are resting on my knees and I lower my voice. "I won't tell your mom if you didn't."

She considers me for a few more seconds before she speaks. "It makes me feel funny."

"Funny how? Like sleepy?"

"Yeah, but it makes me feel sick, too. And I don't feel good the next day."

I frown. Maybe she's experiencing side effects that could indicate a need to change to another drug. "What's the name of the medicine? Do you know?" She shakes her head again. I shouldn't have even asked that. She's nine for God's sake. "Do you know what your condition is? The name of it? Why you have to take the medicine?"

Again, she shakes her head and again, I feel like the worst parent wannabe in the world. How do I engage a nine-year-old girl that I've just met and may or may not be my daughter?

Then it hits me. Something my mom used to do with me when I couldn't sleep. "I have an idea. Stay right there."

I get up and walk into the small kitchen. We left all the cabinets and the fridge stocked. There was no reason to take it, but honestly, it never even occurred to me. All I had on my mind was Olivia and her father.

I take down two glasses and a saucer and pour two glasses of milk. Then I spread out a handful of Oreos on the saucer and carry it all back into the bedroom. I hand Isabella the glass without the saucer on top. She takes it hesitantly. I sit in the floor in front of the bed, facing the television, and I hold up the saucer of cookies. "Here, have a cookie. It'll make you sleepy. Oreos and milk make magic when you put them together."

Isabella takes one, but she's frowning as she does. "I'm nine. I'm too old to believe in magic."

I nod. "I get it. But just try one and see. See if you don't get sleepy."

She watches me as she takes a bite of cookie and chews, chasing it with a sip of milk. I do the same, only I dunk my cookie in the milk before I take a bite. She watches me carefully. When she's finished, I offer the saucer again and she takes another Oreo. This time, she dunks it in her milk, just like I did, and brings the dripping circle to her mouth, biting it in half. Chocolatey milk runs down her chin and she grins, but doesn't stop chewing. I dunk another cookie and pop the whole thing in my mouth. She giggles around her Oreo, her teeth black in between, her chin still stained with run-off.

Isabella pulls her feet up under her and scoots closer to where I lean against the bed, dunking the second half of her cookie in her milk. It's a little thing that feels huge. Like we've reached some tiny yet significant milestone. Her ebony eyes glisten happily in the bluish light of the television and, for the first time, part of me hopes that this little girl is mine.

We finish the cookies and I set the saucer and our glasses aside. I leave my eyes focused on the television, but my attention is on Isabella. She watches the show intently, eventually leaning to one side to take her feet out from under her. She plays with her toes for a few minutes and I see her yawn twice.