A Home For Kiwi

It surprised me when she started to talk.  For weeks, she had refused to utter a word.  I rolled down the window of Lisa's old truck.  I didn't want to miss what my Anna finally had to say.

"Daddy, Daddy, I wanna show ya sumpin!"

"What is it baby?"

"Git outta Momma's car so you can see."  Anna pleaded with her voice and her bright, blue eyes.

Her fuzzy blond hair floated about in the breeze.  It was finely matted at the back of her head from leaning against me to sleep and watch TV.  Lisa used to wear her hair teased out when we first met, but she styled it that way on purpose.  I was no good at brushing my baby's hair.

I obeyed my little angel.  I stepped out of the old Ford, crunching the gravel beneath my boots.  As I slammed the heavy metal door behind me, the dust settled on Anna's bare feet.

"What is it darlin'?  I crouched down beside her, my wide palms completely enveloping her narrow shoulders.  "Whatdya got there?"

She was cradling something in her skirt.  Her dirty fingers clutched the fabric close and tight.  A careful peek revealed a tiny tree frog glowing green in a white, cotton cocoon.

Loosening her grasp a bit, Anna stroked its head with the tip of her pinky.  She looked up at me and smiled.

"He's cute," was all I could think to say.  My tears returned, having just been brimming before.    

And then she said, "Daddy, don't sit in Momma's car no more.  Help me with Kiwi."

I let myself fall back on the ground and blinked hard at the clouds.  Everything was always too much.  But then I sensed the grace of Lisa's patience.  I took a deep breath.  Exhaling slowly, I asked, "You want some kiwi, baby?"

"Nooo, Daddy.  I named the froggy Kiwi.  Help me with him.  Puh-lease."

I pulled her down into my lap and held her hard.  Rocking back and forth I buried my face into the top of her head.    She smelled so sweet.

Patting her bottom, we stood up together.  I brushed us off and  led Anna away from the truck.  "C'mon little one.  Let's make Kiwi a home."

photo credit: en.wikipedia.org

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This piece is a work of fiction inspired by this week's the speakeasy prompt.  Click on the button below to read the prompt and the other amazing writers who hang out there.  On Thursday, you can vote for your three favorites.  Have fun!