The Institute, Daddy Issues(32)

Weird, but nice, I ad­mit­ted to my­self. Salt’s big hands felt like ma­gic and I couldn’t help re­lax­ing back into the couch as he con­tin­ued to rub me.

“Just be­cause we do not do these things for each other does not mean we should not do them,” he re­marked. “Any time you wish for a mas­sage, you have only to ask. You know this, Andi.”

“Ac­tu­ally, I didn’t know it,” I said. “But I do now. God, you’re good at that!”

“I am glad you like.” He star­ted on the other foot. “To­mor­row we will go to cos­tume shop and get you new shoes that do not hurt.”

“A new dress, too,” I said quickly. “I hate this one.”

“Be­cause you think is per­ver­ted?” Salt in­quired, rais­ing one eye­brow at me as he con­tin­ued to rub my foot.

“No,” I said guardedly. “Be­cause it re­minds me of one…one I had when I was a kid, I think. I didn’t re­mem­ber it un­til I saw my­self in that big, old mir­ror in the entry­way.”

“Is that why you kept star­ing at the re­flec­tion?” he asked. “I was wor­ried—you seemed…what is the word? With­drawn. Like you had gone some­place else—some­place I could not fol­low.”

I was sur­prised that my part­ner was so at­tuned to my emo­tions.

“Well, yes,” I said care­fully. “I guess you could say that. I was…re­mem­ber­ing. I…my dad bought me a dress like this one be­fore…be­fore he left.”

“Yes?” Salt asked softly.

“Yes.” I nod­ded. “He…he bought it for a Father/daugh­ter Valentine’s Day dance we were hav­ing at my school.” I didn’t know why I was telling him this but some­how I couldn’t seem to stop. My mouth kept mov­ing and as I talked, more and more memor­ies seemed to rush in from the dusty corners of my brain where I’d locked them away so many years ago. “We used to prac­tice for it,” I heard my­self say. “I would put on the dress and he would have me stand on his feet and dance me around the room. I looked for­ward to it for months.”

“This Father/daugh­ter dance—was it good?” Salt asked.

“I don’t know.” I looked down at my hands. “He—my father—left us about a month be­fore it happened. On the…on the night of the dance…” I cleared my throat. “I…I…”

“Go on,” Salt said, so softly I felt the words more than heard them.

“I put on the dress,” I said, still talk­ing to my hands. “I was sure—so sure—he would come back just for that stu­pid dance. After all, he’d bought me the dress for that ex­act reason. He said he wanted to see his ‘pretty little sweet­heart’ twirl­ing around on the dance floor in it.” I gave a bit­ter laugh that seemed to stick in my throat. “That’s what he called me—his little sweet­heart. I knew he wouldn’t stand me up—I knew he’d come back for the Valentine’s Day dance at least.”

“And did he?” Salt asked.

I looked up at him. “I’m sure you already know the an­swer to that. No.” I sighed. “No, he didn’t come back. I sat in front of the house for hours un­til it was way past my bed­time—way after the dance was over with. Fi­nally my mom came out and dragged me in­side. She kept say­ing, ‘he’s not com­ing back. I told you, Ant­oinette, he’s never com­ing back.’ Then she made me take off the dress and she stuffed it…stuffed it into the…the garbage…”

“Andi…” Salt’s voice was in­fin­itely gentle. He stopped mas­sa­ging my foot and reached out to cup my cheek in­stead.

I pulled away from his touch.

“You don’t have to do that—don’t have to com­fort me,” I said sharply. “I’m fine.”

“Then why are you cry­ing?” Salt asked softly.

“I’m not!” I put my fin­gers to my cheek and they came away wet. “I…I have some­thing in my eye,” I said, de­fend­ing my­self.

“I see much in your eyes,” Salt rumbled. “And none of it is very happy.”

“I have to go. I need to take a shower.” I pulled my feet off his lap and this time he let me.

I hur­ried past him, not look­ing at his face, and locked my­self into the huge bath­room. There I stripped off the aw­ful dress and threw it on the floor. In my head, I kept hear­ing my mother say­ing over and over that my father wasn’t com­ing back. But there was one other thing she’d said that I hadn’t told Salt—and now I was glad I hadn’t. She’d said…