right,” he allowed reluctantly, “but if you get there and decide you want to come home—”
She closed her eyes and answered him, reciting the words as if they’d been drummed into her head. “I’ll call you to come rescue me.”
“Right.” Well, at least he’d gotten that across to her.
After his daughter crossed back to the bed, she deposited three more items into the suitcase, then snapped the locks into place. This was it. She was really going. With a sigh, he got off the bed.
“You have your cell phone?”
“In my pocket, Dad.” She tapped the slight bulge in the pocket of her candy-striped shorts.
Brandon nodded, casting about for a way to stall and squeeze out an extra minute or two longer with his daughter. “Good. And your charger? You didn’t forget your charger, did you?”
“In my suitcase,” she answered patiently. “Next to the whistle you gave me to blow in case I see a snake charging at me.”
He’d have to be deaf to miss what the tone in her voice was saying. “Okay, maybe I’m being a little over-protective—” he allowed.
Victoria flashed him a very knowing, tolerant grin. “You think?”
Taking her suitcase off the bed for her, he slung his free arm around her shoulders as they made their way out of the room. “But you’re the only daughter I have and it would be such a pain breaking in a brand-new one. Try to come back in one piece for me, okay?”
She pretended to take that as a serious request. “I’ll do my best, Dad.” And then, as they came to the top of the stairs, she looked at him and softened. “It’s going to be okay,” she told him as if she was the parent and he the child who needed reassuring.
“Yeah, I know,” he said, so proud of her it hurt.
They went down the stairs. Anastasia deliberately let them have a moment together and waited in another room until she could say goodbye.
Brandon turned toward his daughter as she reached the bottom step. “Victoria?”
She checked her purse one last time for the new essentials in her life: light pink lipstick and suntan lotion. “Yes, Dad?”
“You don’t think I’ve been an unavailable father, do you?”
Victoria glanced up from her search, snapping her purse closed. She did her best not to laugh. “Dad, if you were any more available, I’d have to run away from home.”
He saw a very real parallel in her reply. “Is that why you’re…?”
Because she was his daughter, she knew where this was going. They had a very strong bond and often had the same thoughts.
“No! Dad, you’re the best dad in the whole world. I’m a really lucky kid. You’ve always been there for me and I’ve never felt the lack of anything. I have no complaints. Except—”
“Aha, you do have a complaint.” Here it came. He braced himself.
When she spoke, she didn’t say anything remotely close to what he was expecting. “I think you need a girl friend.”
Stunned, he stared at her. “What?”
Victoria explained patiently, “Dad, you’re not getting any younger and neither am I. I’m going to start dating, going away to college. You need another hobby other than me.” She sighed and gazed at him. “How about Isabelle? She seems very nice. Gemma likes her and you know how hard she is to please. And I think Isabelle’s great.”
Just then, a car horn beeped three times, then twice. Victoria grabbed her suitcase. “That’s Marisol’s mom. I’ve gotta go. Tell me you’ll at least think about what I just said,” she implored.
He didn’t want to think about it. Didn’t want to think about Victoria dating or going away to college. It was hard enough for him to let her go for a sleepover for a single night, much less a semester…or even longer. But for her peace of mind, he murmured dutifully, “I’ll think about it.”
Victoria rose up on her toes and brushed a quick kiss to his cheek. “Thanks. Now, you’re not going to worry, right?”
“Right,” he muttered, his heart clearly not in the lie he was parroting back.
In a rare display of sensitivity, Anastasia had deliberately remained out of sight in order to give her son and granddaughter time together. But now, as if right on cue, the actress swept into the foyer, her electric blue caftan billowing about her, and encircled her granddaughter with her arms to give her a huge hug.
“Have a good time, Victoria. Learn a craft for me,” she instructed.
Victoria flashed a grin at her grandmother as she extricated herself from the hug. “Will do, Gemma,” she promised.
Isabelle had been hovering just within the family room, waiting until Brandon and Anastasia were finished. She didn’t want to interrupt a family moment, but she didn’t want to miss an opportunity to say goodbye to the young girl, or to tell her to have fun.
Not that, Isabelle judged, she needed instruction for that. Victoria, an obvious product of her father’s loving care and understanding, was the most levelheaded young person she had ever encountered. Love did that, she thought. Made a person strong and able to face anything.
In a way, she envied Victoria her secure upbringing.
“Have fun, Victoria,” Isabelle said, joining the small circle.
“I will!” Victoria responded with enthusiasm, eager to get going. Impulsively, she threw her arms around Isabelle and took the opportunity to whisper into her ear, “Take care of Dad for me.”
Surprised by the request, Isabelle drew back and looked at Brandon’s daughter. “I will.”
The answer came out automatically because taking care of people was both her vocation and her mission in life. A beat later, she realized how that must have sounded and hoped that Brandon hadn’t heard what Victoria had said to her.
“Would it offend your independent sensibilities if I carried your suitcase to the car?” Brandon asked her.
Victoria pretended that granting permission was a huge concession on her part. “I suppose so.” Her mouth curved, giving her away.
Father and daughter went out the door. To Isabelle’s surprise, Anastasia made no attempt to follow. She remained in the foyer. Her sniffling drew Isabelle’s attention back to her.
“Why is there never a tissue around when you need one?” Anastasia demanded, annoyed.
Isabelle dug into her pocket and produced a small packet of tissues and silently passed it to the woman.
Taking the packet, Anastasia sniffled again. “Should have known you’d be like a Girl Scout. Always prepared.” She made the pronouncement almost longingly, as if she thought self-sufficiency had its appeal.
“I think those
