troublewillfindme

All things considered, he is lucky he is able to partake in fatherhood as much as he is. Despite his own skill deficits in the field, and the constraints imposed upon him by the need to keep Sally’s existence a secret, he finds he’s still able to indulge in the traditional rites of parenthood.

His kitchen table is presently the site of a vast Lego empire, constructed over the past several evenings. Her art work is on the refrigerator. They spend nice afternoons in the backyard, Sally having decided that the swing set he’d built for her is her kingdom. There are family dinners, such that they are, gathered around Jack’s table. At night, he reads her bedtime stories and tucks her in, promising to tell off any monsters that may emerge from under the bed.

They are happy — a concept he never quite imagined possible. Not in any real sense, at least.

He just has one hang up, one simple, silly hang up.

He has pictures of her, more than he can count already. She grows so quickly, and has come so far out of her shell in the time since he first carried her from the lab and out into the late spring sunlight. It’s a miracle to look through them, to see the way his daughter has already changed; there are days he can’t believe he’s already watching her grow up in earnest.

He just wishes he could show those pictures off. He is proud of her; he really is. In a perfect world, her photo would be in his wallet and on his desk. There would be pictures around the house and around Jack’s house, on the mantel and on the walls.

It is too great a risk, though, and he knows it.

He scoops Sally into his arms and holds her close.

What he lacks in imagery, he makes up for in reality.