Words Just So

The Blue Door...continued (part 6)

“You always get strawberry.”

“You love strawberry.”

“I don’t like it so much anymore.”

“You don’t like it so much anymore?!” Richard grabbed Hanna from behind, lifting her up over his shoulders.

“I don’t like it so much anymore.” Hanna said matter of fact while tugging on her fathers ears.

“Well, what do you like so much?” Richard asked, taking his daughter’s hands into his, holding her steady.

Marta took one final lick from the sugar cone and threw it into a nearby trash can. Rebel whined.

“You can’t have ice cream, Rebel…right daddy?”

“We need to start thinking about dinner…and poor Rebel needs a drink.” Marta said picking Rebels’s sagging leash from the ground.

Marta pulled Hannah’s knit cap from her jacket pocket and handed it to her daughter. Hanna pulled the hat over her head and resumed holding her father’s hands.

The walk from the boardwalk back to the house was quiet. Hannah watched as seagulls dove in for their dinners of scattered french fries and bits of hot dog rolls. Rebel, exhausted from a day running on the beach held back, dragging her tired paws, thirsty and ready for sleep.

The steps leading up to the house were dusted with sand. Marta had meant to sweep that morning, but as always, time for these small details always seem to get lost.

“Duck” Richard said to Hanna before crossing through the front door.

“Duck” Hanna repeated.

Richard lifted Hannah down from his shoulders. The little girl ran into the kitchen, pulled a chair up to the sink, rushing to fill Rebel’s empty water bowl. Marta ran over to the chair to steady her daughter and take the bowl before the water had a chance to splash out onto the kitchen floor.

With the help of her mother, Hannah jumped down from the chair. Her favorite thing. She felt as if she were flying, soaring weightless for a moment through the air.

Hannah ran past her father.

“Go get cleaned up…” Marta yelled after her daughter.

“I’m exhausted. How does she have all that energy?”

“You got me.”

“We’re just getting old.”

“I can’t argue there.”

Marta straightened Richard’s collar.

“Should we walk or take the car.”

“I’d say pile into the car, but I could really use a glass of wine or two.” Marta smiled.

Richard smiled back. “We’d better walk then. I wouldn’t mind something to take the edge off myself.”

“What edge?”

“The gotta-go-back-to-work-in-a-week-edge.”

“Oh, that edge.”

Marta fiddled with Richard’s collar again before giving him a quick peck on the lips.