When his cell phone rang, Blair glanced at caller I.D. and his mood brightened still further. He shut the game and set it down, quickly answering with a terse, “Who’s calling me during the day?”
“Daddy?”
“Who?”
“It’s me, Daddy.”
“Who?”
“Me. Sandra.”
“I don’t know any Sandra.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No, I don’t.”
Pause. “C’mon, Daddy…”
Blair laughed. “Okay. Just fooling. What’s up, kitten?”
“Did you remember this weekend?”
Blair thought his six-year-old daughter’s voice was the sweetest instrument in the world. “What weekend?” he said, wanting to lead her on.
“This one?”
“Uh-huh.” Not only was her voice soft and lilting, but oh-so-grown-up.
“What about this weekend?”
“Did you already forget, Daddy?”
“Forget what?”
“Your promise.”
“What promise is that?” he asked.
“You said you would take me to the fair at the shopping mall.”
“I couldn’t have promised.”
“You did, Daddy.”
“I did?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Well—if you say so.”
“I do.”
“Okay.”
“You will keep your promise?” Her voice rose.
Blair smiled to himself. He visualized his daughter’s beautiful blue eyes, the spitting image of her mother’s; God help him. And her curly, blond hair. Not nearly as curly as when she had been an infant, of course. But still special enough to draw attention wherever she went.
“Kitten,” Blair said to her now, “when it comes to you, I promise to keep my promise.”
“Then you’re still taking me?”
“Of course, I am. What time did I say I would pick you up?”
“Umm, I don’t remember, Daddy. I think you said early.”
“Good. Then early it will be. Nine o’clock, sharp. You won’t stay up too late the night before, will you? We can’t have you chasing the boys around the neighborhood.”
His daughter giggled. “All right, Daddy. I won’t chase the boys.”
“I promise.” She disconnected.
Blair sat staring at the phone, unable to wipe the silly expression from his face.