Daddy Dearest

Chapter Six

Mr. Davenport POV

It takes all of my strength to keep my hands from shaking as I pull out a chair for her. She is so damnably pretty this morning and irrepressible in her youth that I feel like the very devil for having less than innocent thoughts about her.

"No headache or dizziness, sir," she says after telling me she preferred orange juice over tea. She nods and smiles at my wife who puts a plate of golden-brown scones and scrambled eggs in front of her. "Thank you, Mrs. Davenport. I would like to clean up the kitchen after breakfast, if I may."

Waverly steps back, surprised. "Oh, goodness, dear. You don't have to. Mr. D. and I have it handled."

"Please, let me." Melody reaches over to take her hand. "I would like to repay your hospitality."

Waverly chuckles, the corners of her green eyes crinkling like tiny fans. "You are such a darling. Well, I won't say no to someone offering to take on my chores for me. Thank you."

Charlie scoffs at her. "But you're here practically every weekend, Mel. We get it. Stop trying to make us look bad."

Melody looks down at her hands, seemingly embarrassed. Way to go, Chuck. I give my son a stern look. He really isn't doing very well with her. "Well, maybe you can play hero this time and help her with the dishes. She is our guest, after all. And then, when she's ready to go home, you can use my car and take her. How's that?"

Charlie seems skeptical, peering at me with his eyebrows raised. "All right, dad. Thanks."

"Good man," I mutter, palming the back of my neck. I turn away from them and return to the stove. "Melody, you want some bacon? Anyone else?"

"Me, dad!" pipes up Noah.

"Me, daddy, me," says Maddie in a chair next to Melody.

"Um, hello?" My teenage daughter walks into my line of sight. "Did everyone forget about dear old me? I haven't eaten a thing!"

"Aw, my precious girl!" cries my wife, walking over to give her a hug. "How can anyone forget about you? Ben, darling, will you make a plate for our dear what's-her-face here?"

Charlotte groans. "Ha-ha. Very funny, mother."

I laugh, shaking my head, as I prepare a plate of breakfast items for my daughter. Waverly woke up in a good mood this morning. She made sure I'd be in a similar disposition myself by diving under the covers and giving me a blowjob. It's been a while since she's done that. I returned the favor, of course, because I'm a gentleman like that. All and all, we were both pretty happy with ourselves when we went down the stairs this morning.

I hand the plate to Charlotte, who kisses me on the cheek before taking her seat between Noah and Maddie. I distribute the rest of the bacon to everyone who asked for it, saving one for myself, half of which I share with Waverly who eats it out of my hand. I put my arm on her shoulders and pull her close, kissing the top of her head, breathing her in. She slips her arms around my waist and holds me tightly.

Why am I so determined to ruin everything with Waverly? She's beautiful, intelligent, a wonderful mother to my children, and a great friend as well as partner. Maybe I'm experiencing early on-set midlife crisis. It's ironic because I berated my best friend and mentor for the very same thing when he started seeing Nancy Beckett, who was only eighteen at the time and also Melody's babysitter. At the time, Harry was a free man, since Meredith had been dead for five years.

I'm a hypocrite of the worst kind. Who would have thought that I would get infatuated with a young girl more than half my age and that she would be the daughter of the man who had been like an older brother to me? Before he died, he entrusted to me the care of his daughter and young wife. Poor Harry, left a fox to guard a chicken coop, he did.

Waverly pats my chest. "Looking a bit distracted there, Mr. Davenport. Where were you just now?"

I come back to myself, feeling slightly irritated. I hate spacing out in front of other people, even my own family. "Oh, sorry. Just thinking about the mess Monday morning will bring. I honestly don't know how I got roped into managing the yearbook and the homecoming dance committees. I didn't volunteer for either of these things."

Waverly laughs and kisses my cheek. "That's because you're a good guy... and a sucker. You can never say no to little old ladies asking you for favors."

I groan inwardly as everyone laughs. It's those damn nuns. I was conditioned to obey them in boarding school for years and haven't been able to shake the habit. I still have nightmares about it sometimes.

"How's the first draft coming along, dad?" asks Noah, throwing me a life saver.

My younger son is the only one of my children who shows any interest in my work at all. He has read two of my books, though I believe some of the themes to be too mature for him. One of my earlier novels features the intellectual son of a prominent British politician, in a deteriorating mental state, struggling to keep his sense of self, even as violent and eventually homicidal tendencies fester within him. I worry that Noah might think I'm some kind of mental case for writing about such deeply flawed people, but he seems to be more interested in the creative process than anything. 

"Not as well as I'd like," I tell him honestly. "I haven't been writing as much as I should."

"Writer's block?" he asks worriedly.

"Don't let Pam hear you say that," says Waverly. "You know she's been ragging on your dad for weeks now."

Pam has been my editor for eighteen years and agent for five. Officially, anyway. She and I had attended Oxford together and taken the same writing classes. She is and has always been a dragon. But she is a close friend of the family and the kids know her as Aunt Pam. "Ugh, let's not talk about it just now, my darling. My breakfast hasn't yet settled."

"I'm really excited to read your next book, Mr. D," Melody confesses with a shy smile. She ducks her head and raises her hands to brush her hair out of her face and hook the wayward locks behind her ears. The tops of her cheeks are pink. "I really liked the last one, about the historian who discovers he was related to Jack the Ripper."

Charlotte snorts in disbelief. "You read that thing? It was a million pages, practically a doorstop!" She turns to look at me. "You need to write shorter books, Paw."

Still basking in the glow of Melody's praise, I shrug off my daughter's teasing and only raise my eyebrow. "You should really be expanding your reading library, my darling. I've been telling you to get started on your college reading list."

"Lottie only likes those dumb YA books about girls whining about their boyfriends not texting them back," Noah tells me in a matter-of-fact tone, pushing up his glasses along the bridge of his thin nose. "Also ones with big texts and splashed with colorful pictures!"

My eldest daughter glares at him. "Shut up, nerd. Stop being such a little brown-noser."

"Charlotte, stop that," Waverly says in admonishment. "Apologize to your brother at once. What a very rude and mean-spirited thing to say."

Charlotte grumbles, but obeys her mother and issues a mumbled "sorry" to Noah, much to the glee of their other siblings.

Melody, however, is looking at my daughter with a disapproving frown. I've heard her chastise Charlotte about misbehaving toward my younger children. Melody thinks they should all be nicer to each other. Charlie teasingly calls her "Saint Melody" and I know the students at school call her "the Holy Virgin" and "Miss Goody Two Shoes." I think my children are very lucky they're friends with such a very kind person.

After breakfast, I order Charlotte to clean up her room and help her younger siblings with theirs, and Charlie to straighten up the den and the family room. Waverly kisses me and excuses herself to go to the garden. Meanwhile, Melody insists on cleaning up the kitchen, so I offer to scrape off the scraps from the plates into the trash and put away the leftovers.

Soon, she and I are alone together and I experience a tightness in my chest. She is facing the sink and I'm behind her with an island counter between us. I've got a stack of plates in my hand I'm supposed to walk over to her, but I can't seem to get my feet to move. I'm staring at the back of her head, marveling at the shininess of her black hair in the sunlight through the bay windows.

As though she could feel my gaze on her, she takes a peek at me over my shoulder and I immediately look somewhere else. "All right, Mr. D? Is there something wrong?"

I hear the concern in her voice and instantly want to reassure her. "No, my dear. Everything is fine. You've caught me in another reverie, I'm afraid."

"Oh!" Excitement in her eyes, she turns around to face me and grabs a dish towel to dry her hands. "You're thinking about the new book, aren't you? Is it a follow-up to the last one? You left a couple of things unanswered in regards to Mr. Weston and his relationship with Miss Perth."

I stare at her for a moment and curse under my breath. Had I missed some things? Pam never said anything and I never got any fan mail with any mention of loose ends. I didn't come across any reviews that brought it up, either. "What do you mean?"

Her eyes widen and her cheeks turn a very bright red. "Oh, no. I meant no offense, sir. I enjoyed the book very much."

I tell myself to take a deep breath. Did I have to pounce on her like that? "Speak your mind, Miss Plum. You're a very intelligent, young person. Your opinion matters to me."

She bites her lower lip, looking slightly embarrassed. "Please, forget I said anything, Mr. D. I read into things too deeply sometimes."

I approach her and put my hand on her face, lifting up her chin so I can see her eyes. "But Melody, that makes you the best reader. I'm proud you follow my work as seriously as you do because it makes it all worth it. I put so much time and effort into my work that having a reader who truly appreciates what I do, is a blessing to me. Your thoughts and opinions can only help make me a better writer."

She makes a goofy face by crossing her eyes and sticking out her tongue briefly. "Me? Help you become a better writer? You went to Oxford and have been nominated for the Man Booker Prize, Mr. D. I doubt I can do anything to help you."

I take the stack of plates from the counter behind me and hand them to her, which she accepts graciously. "You tend to sell yourself short, Miss Plum," I say, reaching out to brush an errant lock of hair out of her face to tuck it behind her ear. "You have a natural writing talent and an easy, effortless groove in your prose. You may someday become a force to be reckoned with."

The tops of her cheeks glow pink as she takes a step back to put some distance between us. "Oh, I don't know about that, sir. I just like to dabble a bit, that's all."

I know I should ease off and give her some space, since she is obviously uncomfortable with my nearness, but the devil in me can't let it go. She finds me attractive. If I have to hazard a guess, I would say she has a bit of a crush on me, so obviously I find her awkwardness endearing.

"You really should be more confident about yourself, Miss Plum," I murmur, ignoring that inner voice that told me to get away from her and leave the kitchen. "You're a beautiful and smart, young woman."

She looks down at her shoes, unable to meet my gaze, and pivots toward the sink. "Thank you, sir. It means a lot to me that you think so."

I put my hand on her shoulder and she stills beneath my touch. "You know I'm very fond of you, Melody. If there's anything you need, anything at all, please don't hesitate to come to me."

"Thank you, Mr. Davenport." She turns on the faucet and allows the water to sluice over her hands and the plate she's holding, but after a moment, she sets it down at the bottom of the sink and stares out the bay window, turning off the faucet. "To be honest, I have been feeling a little lost lately. I'm graduating high school next year and as you know, planning on applying to Stanford with C and C–and a couple of other places, too–but I've been worrying about Nancy. Ever since my dad died, she has focused all of her time and effort on me without doing anything for herself. I worry about what would happen to her once I leave for college. She doesn't have a lot of friends, you know. She doesn't date, either. I think she might be lonely."

I step back, humbled by her generosity of heart and maturity. I don't think I've ever heard my kids talk about anything in such a somber manner. At the same time, she also reveals her vulnerability as a girl worrying about a parent. "Mrs. Davenport has a book club that comes over on Wednesday nights. I can ask her to start inviting Nancy, if you wish."

I think Nancy has always felt awkward around other parents because she is considerably younger than most of us. I once overheard a woman talking to another during a Parent-Teacher conference at school, who said that Nancy has no business raising a child like Melody and being in charge of Harry Plum's money. The woman knew Nancy as a teen and didn't think she was capable of handling responsibilities that fate has imposed upon her.

But it is obvious that Melody is a credit to step-mother. She is kind, well-mannered, demure, and cares about the people around her. I can think of a few parents, including myself, who could learn a thing or two from Nancy Plum. Though I have smart, generally good children of my own, they are rather mean to each other and can be more than a handful at times.

Charlie has been irritable and less patient with his siblings lately. I know how it must chafe for a young man his age to live in a full, noisy house where he has nowhere to really go to be alone with his thoughts. He's getting ready to set out on his own and is starting to test the bounds of his independence. Charlotte, on the other hand, is more playful and light in spirit, though I know she suffers from her own insecurities and low self-esteem. She has expressed out loud that she wishes she were taller and willowy like her mother. Waverly is always quick to assure her that she was chubby and had spots as a young girl.

I realize the kids also suffer from the fact that both parents work at the school they attend. I am head of the English and Grammar department and teach eleventh and twelfth grades, while Waverly is the headmistress of the secondary school and works closely with the Mother Superior as the main administrator. I imagine they get teased by the other students at school about it.

I nearly jump out of my skin when I feel Melody squeeze my arm after drying her hands on a dishtowel. "Thank you, Mr. D. I'll let Nancy know. She doesn't really do much for herself in the way of a social life. I know she really likes Mrs. Davenport."

I nod and pat her hand. It has really gotten on the outside of appropriate that I should still be standing so closely with this girl, alone in my kitchen, when I should be in the garden with my wife, helping her with the weeds, or up in my office where I should be working on my word count for the day. "Like I said, Miss Plum, if there's anything you need at all..." I drop my gaze and stick my hands in the pockets of my trousers. "Well, I ought to be starting my day. I apologize for chatting your ear off."

She laughs softly. "No worries, Mr. D. I enjoy talking to you, too." She reaches out to touch my arm again. "I really appreciate you letting me stay here this weekend, sir. It's always a pleasure."

"Our home is always open to you, Miss Plum," I say awkwardly, fully aware of her skin on mine. "I'll leave you alone to do your chores. Let's talk later."

I turn away from her and walk out of the kitchen without looking back.