Love Love by Beth Michele Page A

those wicked
looks she always gives me. “Let’s just say I’m
starving.”
    She flips her hair back and saunters
toward her room. “Good. Now I can go to bed. You’ve given me some
good material to work with.”
    ***

 
     
    The
next few weeks fly by and my routine continues to be, well…routine.
The consistency helps me cope, but, at the same time, bores the
shit out of me. My job is going well. Dane and I have been seeing,
I mean screwing, each other periodically. Brad and I have been
hanging out at the coffee shop a lot. I’ve been getting there
earlier in the mornings so we have more time to chat, and we’ve
gone to a movie or two. Fran and I are doing what we always do.
Most of the time, though, I just feel like a shell. I’m pretty sure
if someone bumped into me, I’d shatter into a million
pieces.
    Fran has been getting earfuls of
sordid sex details and enjoying every minute of it. Apparently,
she’s enjoying every minute of Kyle too. They seem to be getting on
well and it makes me happy. I’ve been getting to know Kyle since
he’s been hanging out at our apartment a lot more, and I have to
say I completely misjudged him. I made assumptions when we met
based on his job, and I was way off. He couldn’t be sweeter to
Fran, and in fact, every Friday she comes home to a delivery of
lilies, her favorite flower. I like the way he wants to take care
of her, too. She hasn’t had much of that in her life aside from her
mom and me, and she needs it. I’m definitely keeping my fingers
crossed on this one.
    Today has dragged a bit, weekend or
not, and I’m ready to go home for a bath and some serious nesting
under my goose down comforter. But when I push open the door to the
apartment, I find Fran on the sofa, crying. I run to her and cup
her wet cheeks in my hands. “Fran, what’s wrong? What
happened?”
    The tears are sliding furiously down
her face and I’m worried. This isn’t like Fran. I pull her close to
me and just hold her. After a few minutes, she pulls back. “My mom
just called. My dad contacted her again, pressing her for my
information. He told her he’s changed. He’s not going to let this
go until he finds me, Gabby.”
    “ Fran, listen to me. You’re
not that little girl anymore. He can’t hurt you. I won’t let him
hurt you, I promise.”
    She looks at me with lifeless green
eyes. She doesn’t seem panicked or scared, more resigned. It’s
shattering to see my strong, independent Fran brought to her knees
by the possibility of seeing her father.
    “ That’s just it, Gabby.
Whenever I even think about my dad, I am that little girl. I don’t
want to see him again. I can’t see him.”
    “ So you won’t,” I say with
a fierce determination.
    I help Fran into her jammies and she
climbs into bed with me. I hold her all night long, and watch her
as she sleeps. Her ebony hair sprawled across the pillow, her long,
dark eyelashes hovering on her face. So beautiful, but so sad. Just
a vulnerable little girl who only ever wanted what every little
girl wants…a father who will love her and protect her against the
horrors of the world, not create them.
    ***

 
     
    Saturday morning I awake to a sleeping Fran. There’s not a
hint of her past lining her face, only peace. That’s what I wish
for her. As I watch her, I think of the struggle she’s had to
endure over the years and my issues seem so small in
comparison.
    I pull on my jeans, a t-shirt, my red
Converse, and then grab my iPod. Leaving Fran a quick note on the
kitchen counter, I slip in my earbuds and jam to “Candy Girl” by
New Edition while I suck on a Twizzler. I’ve got the perfect plan;
subway, fancy coffee, and those special chocolate donuts with
sprinkles that Fran loves so much.
    The Brew House is packed this morning,
but I spot Brad immediately behind the counter. It’s hard to miss
that dimpled smile. Although, I notice he isn’t smiling today. I
make my way through the long line, pulling my earbuds from my