Page 125 of Dancing in the Dark

“So, so much. He adores you, baby. He always wants to spend time with you. But sometimes, like tonight, he’s so tired that he simply can’t stay up a minute more. And that’s okay too, isn’t it? Like how you want to stay awake those nights he’s out late, but sometimes, you can’t. Bodies need sleep to be healthy.”

Considering, she looks him up and down. “He’s being healfy right now?”

“Well…” I study his odd posture, the uncomfortable kink in his neck, and the fact he’s on the floor and not, say, in his bed. Then I snicker. “Yeah. His brain said today’s done, and now it’s time to rest. But I bet if we let him sleep all night tonight, he’ll wake up tomorrow feeling so much better. He might even wake up and dance around the apartment and try to make you laugh.”

“He makes me laugh a lot of the time,” she giggles. “He’s pretty funny sometimes.”

“I know he is.” I study the lock of hair resting across his brow. “Your daddy being funny is half the reason I want to be his girlfriend.”

Her eyes widen and grow playful. Fifi said girlfriend!

“He tells jokes all the time,” I mock-whisper. “And they’re funniest when they’re not funny at all, because that’s when he gets goofy and tries to overexplain them, which actually makes them even worse and less funny.”

She snickers. “He’s pretty silly.”

“Uh huh. And he can dance, did you know that?” I carefully, so very gently, pull her off his lap and onto mine, but only so I can inch to the left. Then two inches. Three. Slowly, we help him onto his side so he’s not forced to sleep sitting up, then I grab a cushion from the couch and place it under his cheek. “Your dad has danced with me twice, Moo.”

“Like silly, crazy dancing?”

I shake my head. “Like dancing in the dark.”

She exhales a contented sigh.

“I love it when he dances with me in the dark. He’s so good at it, baby. I think he must practice with you, because the two times when it was my turn, I could tell he was already so good.”

She bobs her head up and down, then she leans closer and whispers, “He learns all of my routines wif me. And one time, he danced at Miss Debbie’s. In front of all the other kids, too!”

“Really?” I try to imagine a world where Detective Fletcher gets up in front of a dozen first graders and shows off his skills. “I wish I got to see that.”

“He was nervous.” She lifts her hands between us. “He was shaking. But I was crying, and I didn’t wanna even practice anymore. I didn’t wanna dance at all. So he said he would dance wif me.” She lowers her hands and follows them with her gaze. “He was being very brave that day.”

“See?” I boop her nose with the tip of my finger. “He loves you that much. Now…” I tap my chin and consider what the hell we should do. “Do you think you can pick him up and carry him to bed?”

She chokes out a strangled laugh. “No! He’s bigger than me by a billion. I can’t carry him.”

“Well, I don’t think I can carry him either.” I study the cushions and consider… “What if we make a pillow fort?”

She gasps. “Really?”

“Uh huh. We’ll build it around him. We’ll do it really quietly so he doesn’t wake up, then you can go to the bathroom and make sure you get everything out. Then we’ll all go to sleep.”

“Together?” she whispers. “Can I sleep in the pillow fort too, Fifi? Or will you make me go to my bed?”

“Make you?” I make the psht sound in the back of my throat. “These are your cushions, baby. This is your apartment, and he’s your dad. If you want to sleep in the pillow fort, then who am I to say you can’t?”

“So…” Her brows pinch with confusion. “Can I?”

I bark out a laugh and remember too many words make for a convoluted sentence that five-year-olds don’t always understand. “Of course you can.” I pull her closer, instead of lifting her off my lap and pushing her away. Plopping a kiss on her cheek and getting caught up in the hug she wraps me in, I draw a shaking breath and bathe in her grumbling, grunting, squeezing embrace. “Thank you for that. You’ve been practicing your hugs too, I see.”

“I practice my hugs even more than I practice my dancing.” Jumping up, she trips on her dad’s legs and flops belly-first to the floor with a room-shaking thud. Gritting her teeth, she looks back at him—still asleep—then at me. “Oopsie.”

I snort. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah!” She bounds up again and races around, searching for cushions. Pillows. Teddies. “Blankets, Fifi! We need blankets.”

“We sure do. Lots and lots of them.” Slower than her, I climb to my feet and make my way into the hall, past Mia’s room and into Charlie’s. I bundle the blanket from his bed in one arm and feel a little bad knowing I won’t be able to put it beneath him for comfort, then I take the top sheet and ball it in the other.

It’ll be our fort roof.