A Dad for Billie by Susan Mallery Page B

would you like?”
    “The pool.” Brown eyes glowed with excitement. “And ice cream.”
    “I think we can manage that.”
    “All right!” Billie raised her arm and held her hand open. Jane hit it with her own, then paused for the high-five to be returned. “You’re the best.”
    “Thank you. You’re somewhat of an exceptional child yourself.”
    “I know.” Billie grinned, then ran from the room.
    Jane pulled out sandwich fixings and the salad she’d been planning on having for herself. After spooning the lettuce and vegetablemixture into two bowls, she used raisins to make eyes, Chinese noodles for hair and a ribbon of honey-mustard dressing for a mouth. If the plate looked interesting enough, Billie often forgot that salad meant vegetables. It wasn’t that she didn’t like green food, it was more that she felt it was her job to protest eating them. Kids, Jane thought with affection and a flash of longing that she could have had four more just like Billie. It would have been a handful, but more than worth the effort. Her daughter brought her joy and fulfillment. She gave her all the love and—
Crash!
    “Billie?” Jane called as she wiped her hands on a dish towel and walked out of the kitchen. “I told you not to throw your ball inside. What have you broken?”
    “Nothing.” But the small girl stood beside the living room coffee table and stared at the broken remains of what used to be a glass. “It slipped.”
    “You didn’t throw your ball?”
    Billie shuffled her feet. “Not really.”
    Jane waited.
    The girl sighed. “Yeah, Mom, I threw it.” Her shoulders slumped in a defeated gesture. “I’m sorry.”
    “Thank you for apologizing. However, sorry doesn’t replace the glass. We’ve been over this before. No ball throwing in the house.”
    “I know.” The words came out as a whisper. “Here.” She held out her ball.
    Jane took it.
    “Where do you want me?” Billie asked.
    “The hallway. Facing the back wall.”
    Billie shuffled forward slowly, out of the living room, then down the hall until she reached the far wall. She sank to the floor and stared at the blank space. “How long?”
    Jane glanced at her watch. “Ten minutes.”
    Billie leaned her forehead against the wall. “I really didn’t mean to do it, Mom.”
    “A time-out means no talking.”
    “Sorry.”
    Parenting was tough, Jane thought as she moved back into thekitchen and set the timer for ten minutes. The punishment hurt her as much as her daughter, but Billie wouldn’t believe that for about fifteen or twenty more years. After sweeping up the broken glass, she continued with the lunch. She finished the last sandwich when the timer went off. There was a shuffling noise in the hall.
    Billie appeared at the doorway. Tears created two clean streaks down her freckled cheeks. Her lower lip thrust out as she swallowed.
    Automatically Jane held out her arms. Billie flung herself against her mother and held on tightly. “I still love you,” Jane murmured against her hair. “You’ll always be my favorite girl.”
    “I’m sorry, Mom,” Billie said, then hiccuped. “I didn’t mean to break anything.”
    It was the stress of moving, Jane thought as she blinked away her own tears. Usually punishment didn’t faze Billie, except that she found the time-outs boring. But sometimes, like today, they affected her deeply. With her bubbly personality and outgoing nature, it was easy to forget that she was still just an eight-year-old little girl.
    “Let’s forget about it and eat lunch. Okay?”
    “Okay.” Billie raised herself up on tiptoe and gave her a salty kiss. “I love you, Mommy.”
    “And I love you.”
    Jane gave her a last squeeze and pushed her toward the table. Billie looked at the salad and then at her. A tentative smile tugged one corner of her mouth. “I’m not fooled by the clown face.”
    “But you’ll eat it.”
    Billie stuck a raisin in her mouth. “Maybe.”
    Jane poured lemonade for both of