What Daddy Needs 7

Justin leaned against the closed bathroom door listening to the sound of his sister vomiting. He knocked timidly on the door then pushed it open a little and peeked in. Phoebe knelt on the floor resting her head against one arm draped over the toilet bowl. She opened her eyes when she heard the door, but she didn’t lift her head.

“Are you okay?” he asked stepping into the bathroom.

She nodded then, gripped by another wave of nausea, rolled up onto her knees and started to heave again.

Justin turned and ran to the top of the staircase. “Dad!” he yelled at the top of his lungs.

“Justin, stop bellowing and come down here if you want to speak to your father,” his stepmother said angrily from the door of the living room.

“Dad!” Justin yelled again as he started down the stairs.

“What is it, Justin?” Jake asked coming to the bottom of the steps from the direction of the kitchen.

“Phoebe’s sick,” Justin said continuing down the stairs as Jake started up, taking the steps two at a time.

He paused for a second in the bathroom doorway as his teenaged daughter emptied what was left in her stomach. She wiped her hand across her mouth and sat back, turning to lean against the wall. He went to kneel beside her, gently stroking her hair.

“Not feeling so good?” he asked softly.

Phoebe shook her head. Her dad stood up and took the liner out of the small plastic trash can by the toilet. He helped Phoebe to her feet and kept a steadying arm around her shoulders as he guided her back to her room.

He settled her back onto her pillows and set the trash can on the floor next to her bed. Sitting down carefully beside her he brushed a damp tendril of hair back from her face. Phoebe closed her eyes and curled up on her side.

“It’s probably just a stomach bug,” Jake said rubbing her back.

“I know,” she mumbled.

“I’ll bring you some peppermint tea and dry toast then you can go back to sleep,” he said rising to his feet.

He left the room. Phoebe dozed off to wake up what seemed like a few minutes later
to her dad caressing her cheek. He helped her sit up and she sipped the tea and ate the piece of toast he’d brought her. When she finished she sank back onto her pillow and smiled wanly at her dad.

Jake leaned down and lightly kissed her forehead. “Just take it easy today, kitten,” he said as he straightened up. “I’ll call and check on you later.”

Phoebe nodded and closed her eyes. Her dad stood by her bed for a few minutes more watching her as she drifted back to sleep.

Downstairs he leaned in the doorway of the living room. His wife, Lorraine, lounged on the sofa paging through one of her magazines. She looked up and smiled.

“Phoebe is staying home from school today,” he said. “She’s not feeling well.”

“She probably has a test she doesn’t want to take,” the dark haired woman said petulantly.

“She’s throwing up,” he said straightening away from the frame. “Just let her be. I’ll call in a while and check on her.”

Lorraine sat up and swung her feet to the floor as he started to turn away. “We’re still going out tonight, right?” she asked. “We promised the Jacksons.”

“I don’t know,” he answered without turning around.

Lorraine jumped up to follow him to the door. “It’s not like she has to watch Justin,” she said. “He has a sleep over tonight.”

“If Phoebe isn’t feeling well I’m not going to leave her here alone,” he said the irritation beginning to sound in his voice.

“We haven’t been out in forever,” she whined. “Phoebe’s a big girl. She’d be fine . . .”

Jake slammed his open palm against the door and his wife jumped and shrunk away from him. “I said we’ll see how she feels later,” he said, his voice tight.

He took a deep breath as Lorraine retreated to the living room. With a final glance toward the stairs, Jake opened the door and left. His wife sullenly returned to paging through the magazine. She couldn’t wait until her spoiled step daughter was out of her house.


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Phoebe turned off the TV when she heard the front door slam. Rising to her feet she started up the hallway toward the front of the house. She met her father on his way to the kitchen. He didn’t look happy.

“You’re home early,” she said as he brushed past her.

She turned and followed him into the kitchen, leaning against the black granite counter top of the island in the center of the room.