The Doctor's Fake Nanny(5)

That was something else I had noticed about Sophie, something that was a  little bit different than the kids I was used to from my class. It was  normal for kids her age to still be physically affectionate with the  people that they trusted. They were all about the hugging and the  sitting in your lap during story time. It wasn't quite the same with  Sophie, though.



In the short amount of time I had spent with her I had already noticed  that she craved affection on an entirely different level than the  children I was used to working with. She lusted after it the way a  starving man salivated over a crust of bread, like she hadn't been loved  enough in a long, long time. Did that have something to do with her  mother not being in the picture? Did David not give her the attention  and security she needed? Because make no mistake, affection was security  for a child.



Knowing that she was loved was every bit as important to Sophie's safety  as her knowing that she would be fed or have a bed to sleep in at  night. I couldn't help but wonder if David didn't have enough time for  her or if he simply didn't care about her all that much. Maybe she was  just too low on his priority list. I could add that to the ever-growing  list of things I needed to learn about Dr. Wyatt, but for now I was  going to make sure Sophie knew how much I wanted her around. At least in  that respect I was sure that I could do some actual good.



"It is food. It was my favorite when I was your age. I hope you like it too."



"What kind is it?"



"Pancakes!"



"Yes! Can we make shapes? Can we make the cakes in shapes?"



"We can try. Wanna help me do it?"



"Yuppers I do. I'm a real good helper. Real good."



I laughed and grabbed a step stool so that she could stand beside me at  the massive counter. The kitchen looked like it hadn't been used in  years and I felt a little bit bad about messing it up. I wasn't entirely  sure I was allowed to be cooking in here. I felt a lot less bad about  it once Sophie started helping me, though. She looked so completely  excited and that was worth any kind of disapproval I might get on the  part of her father. Her chubby pink face was covered in flour and syrup  and her pink towel lay forgotten on the floor. As she dumped syrup  directly into the batter-a strategy I was unfamiliar with but more than  willing to try-she let out a crow of delight and satisfaction.



"Bullseye!" she shouted, hopping from one tiny foot to the other.



"Bullseye!" I laughed, slipping one hand behind her, just in case her little victory dance caused her to lose her balance.



"We're a team, right?"



She asked me in such an earnest way that it brought tears to my eyes. I  hardly knew this little girl and she already thought of us as being a  team. It made me think of Nikki with such clarity that I began to ache.  She used to be my team, my partner in crime. She had actually called us  that, too. She used to tell me we made a good team, right before we got  into trouble for something stupid we knew we shouldn't have done. I  missed her. I missed her so, so much.



"Well, what do we have here?"



I turned quickly, feeling sheepish, as if I had just been caught doing  something I shouldn't have. David stood in the doorway watching Sophie  and I doing our little cooking dance, just the faintest hint of a smile  on his face.



Was he mocking me or was he pleased? It was hard for me to say, so I  tried to just ignore the expression completely. It was hard to do. I had  to admit, he really was a good-looking man. In some ways it made it  easier to dislike him and in some ways it made it easier. I had never  seen him quite like this, though, and it was slightly unnerving. He  hadn't yet tamed the unruly curls of his hair or tied his always smart  tie. He looked more human this way, more like a normal man with an  actual life.                       
       
           



       



I smiled at him tentatively, wondering if he would join us in the  pancake extravaganza, but he remained where he was. It seemed that he  would rather just observe than participate and I wondered how often that  was the case. Maybe that was part of the reason Sophie was so starved  for attention.



"What we have here is pancakes. Sophie has some very unusual methods for  making them. Seems like she's all set to be a little inventor."



I thought that would make him smile, but instead his eyes clouded over  and it was clear that he had gone to some other place in his head. It  didn't look like it was a cheerful place.



"Is she? That's nice."



His voice was distracted and he made his way to the messy kitchen table  to go through what looked like thousands of papers. How did he find  anything on that table? I always felt like a cluttered environment meant  a cluttered mind. Is that what he had? A cluttered mind? If so, just  what was it that was distracting him? I had to wonder if it had anything  to do with the thing that led him to give my sister a medication that  wound up killing her instead of making her better.



"We made them for you, too! We made millions I think."



Sophie was off her stool and sprinting across the kitchen to him as  quickly as her fat little legs would carry her. She was so proud to be  making him breakfast and I cringed, hoping that they actually tasted  like food. Her creativity was admirable, but not necessarily the best  thing for the flavor profile of our breakfast. She reached him and went  to wrap her arms around his leg, but she was rebuffed.



I couldn't help it. My mouth dropped open in shock. I had never seen a  man shrug his daughter off that way. The motion had such an air of  finality to it that it made it clear that he had no interest in Sophie  touching him.



"Don't you want to see them, Daddy?"



That's when things got worse. Not only did he shrug her off, when he  heard the word "daddy" come out of her sweet little mouth he cringed. He  actually visibly cringed. It was very clear to me that he didn't like  hearing her say that, and if it was clear to me, it was clear to Sophie.



Sometimes people were so stupid when it came to children. It was like  they didn't think kids could tell what was going on around them. How did  they not realize that children picked up on everything? They could tell  how you felt in general and they could definitely tell how you felt  about them. No wonder she was so eager for attention. Her own father  acted like he couldn't stand getting close to her. That would do a  number on anyone.



He glanced up and saw me watching him, then stood abruptly. I'd never  had much of a poker face, that was a fact. I've always been one of those  people whose emotions are written all over their face, whether I liked  it or not. With the things going through my head watching that  interaction, god only knew what kind of expression I had at the moment.  Whatever it was, it was enough to make it clear to David that I strongly  disapproved of what had just transpired between him and Sophie. He  stood abruptly, tightening his tie in an almost defensive gesture.



"She's covered in flour," he said weakly, actually taking several steps  back from where Sophie sat on the floor. She looked up at him with hurt  and confusion and I continued to stare at him in poorly masked disgust.



"I've got to go to work. I wouldn't have time to change. Thanks for the  breakfast, ladies, really. But I'll have to take a raincheck."



That was all of the excuse he offered up and then he was gone, the door  to the kitchen swinging in his wake. If we had been in a cartoon, there  would have been burnt tire marks and smoke following closely behind him.  What a prick. In a very short amount of time I had become a hell of a  lot less conflicted about whether or not I should really try and dig up  the dirt that would ruin Dr. Wyatt.



Of course I should. Of course a man who would treat his daughter like  that would do any number of other things that would harm people, destroy  them. It was pretty evident that the only person he cared about was  himself. What was the point of feeling guilty for undermining a man like  that?



"He doesn't want me."



Sophie delivered the line like a little miniature adult. It was so  matter of fact it made my insides hurt, like it was just another part of  life that she would have to deal with. But then she started to cry, to  sob like she would die from the heartbreak of it all, and she was  totally and completely a child once again.



I went to her, got down on the floor next to her and wrapped my arms  around her as she crawled into my lap. All childish heat and salty  tears, she buried her face into my shoulder, cried until she was too  tired to cry anymore. I never told her to stop. A child should be  allowed to feel their heartbreak without being told to be quiet and put  on a happy face. All of us should, for that matter.