I’ve seen my daddy cry only once in my life.

I know I’m only nine, but there have been plenty of times when Poppy cried, even silly times – like when Daddy surprised Poppy on his birthday with those tall brown boots that he wears almost every day – so I’m used to it on him. But seeing my Daddy cry was kind of like emptying the entire box of corn flakes out only to find there was no prize in there at all.

Daddy had been gone for a week. Poppy said he’d gone back to Ohio, to where Grandma and Grandpa Anderson still lived. Poppy’s family still lives there, too, but we always go together to visit them, like at Christmas every year. But for this trip Daddy had gone alone.

Poppy and I had had a good week together. Poppy lets me try on some of the gowns he made at work that are hanging in the spare room closet sometimes (which are way too big for me, but that’s what makes them fun), and I even have some matching high heels of my own that I keep in my room. Poppy does my hair (with flowers!) and lets me put on lipstick and blush and I get to parade out in the living room, working on what Poppy says is my “strut”. It’s a funny word and I’m not quite sure what it means, but it makes Poppy smile when he says it, and Poppy has a really nice smile. So we did that this week, plus baked cookies and read stories and did my homework together and Poppy started teaching me how to sew little things, like the buttons on his old sweaters.

But when Daddy came home tonight – back from Ohio – Poppy and I didn’t get to do anything like that. Poppy and Daddy went into their bedroom, and I tried to stay away –honestly, I did, because Poppy had his concerned face on – but I couldn’t help it. My homework was done and I didn’t feel like watching TV or reading, so I peeked through the crack in their door just to see what was going on.

Daddy and Poppy were talking softly on the bed. Daddy was facing away from me, and Poppy was staring at him, reaching up to run a hand through his hair. Daddy sort of slumped forward into his hands, and even though he was talking softly, I heard every single word he said then.

None of them were nice. I don’t mean to repeat them, but what Daddy said was:

“That fucking son of a bitch.”

He sounded angry and sad all at the same time, and Poppy opened his arms, pulling Daddy into them.

And then Daddy cried. Right there, on Poppy’s shoulder.

And not the kind of crying where you accidentally erase a hole into the paper when you make a mistake on your math ditto. This was the kind of crying you see on TV when someone’s puppy runs into the street and gets hit by a car and then doesn’t wake up again.

Daddy was shaking, and Poppy was holding him, and I stood in the hallway, peeking through the crack in the door. Daddy never spoke like that. I mean like, never. I heard some of the bigger kids at school say those types of words sometimes, but they always ended up getting caught and having detention from the teachers. I guess when you’re a daddy, though, there isn’t anyone to get in trouble with.

That’s when the phone rang.

I skittered down the hall and shouted, “I’ll get it!” so that it wouldn’t interrupt them.

Good thing, because it ended up being Lydia, my bestest best friend. She’d forgotten what paragraphs we’d had to read for science, so I took the phone to my room to look at my planner, which our teacher makes us write in every day.

“Did your daddy get back from his trip yet?” Lydia asked me, as I pawed through my backpack. I’d told her last week that he was leaving, and she’d remembered that he was gone this whole week.

My heart skipped a beat when I thought of Daddy, though – of his naughty language, and his crying.

“Um, yeah…” I found my planner and pulled it out, flipping to today’s assignment. I opened my mouth to read it off to her, but instead I paused and said, “Can I tell you something?”

“Sure!” Lydia responded.

I glanced around my room, making sure my parents weren’t standing behind me in the doorway. “Daddy’s really upset,” I whispered. “He came home and Poppy didn’t look happy and then…Daddy got upset.”

“Oh,” Lydia replied. She was probably hoping that I’d just change the subject and give her the science pages, because there was a part of me that felt that way too, like maybe I shouldn’t be talking about this. “I hope he’s okay.”

“Me too,” I said back. “I don’t know what to do.”

“Maybe you could do something nice for him?” Lydia suggested. “What does he do for you when you’re upset?”

I thought of those nights that I sometimes had nightmares and would wake up in the dark, scared. Daddy usually got me a glass of water and then stayed with me until I fell back asleep. He would sing to me, too - Somewhere Over the Rainbow. My favorite song from my favorite movie ever.

“He sings for me,” I admitted to Lydia. I’d never told anyone that before. Some kids in my class thought we were all too old to have nightmares, so I didn’t tell them I still had them. I didn’t want them to make fun of me. But Lydia understood.

“Ooh, that’s nice,” she said, and I could tell that she meant it. “Your daddies are so much fun.”

I thought of the tea party we’d had last month, the one with really fancy tea from France and real cupcakes Poppy and I had baked. Lydia had come over and we’d dressed up in our best Easter outfits and sung songs. Daddy had played the piano and Poppy had taught us how to mix the perfect amount of sugar with our tea. It had been an awesome day.

“They are,” I agreed happily.

“Doesn’t your Papa hate it when you call him Poppy?”

Lydia’s question made me laugh. “He doesn’t hate it. He pretends to, but he doesn’t. I never get in trouble for calling him that,” I explained with a grin.

“Oh.”

Just then, Poppy’s voice called me from the kitchen. “Kassandra!”

“Gotta go,” I said to Lydia. I rattled off the textbook pages (chapter six, paragraphs one through five, why couldn’t she ever remember to write this stuff down?) and hung up. “Coming!”

I stepped out of my bedroom into the hall, glancing over my shoulder towards Poppy and Daddy’s bedroom. The door was still closed almost the whole way, the crack in the door lit up from the inside. I walked into the kitchen and Poppy was standing at the counter, putting a jar away in the cabinet. He turned when he heard me come in.

“Who was that on the phone?” he asked, with one eyebrow up.

“Lydia,” I replied. “She needed to know what to do for homework.”

Poppy nodded like he understood, then turned back to the counter and picked something up off it. He then handed me a plate.

I looked down at the sandwiches on it. “Peanut butter and banana?” I asked, recognizing them immediately.

Poppy kissed my head. “Your favorite,” he agreed. “You know who else likes them?”

I hesitated. “Daddy does.”

Poppy nodded, a smile on his face. “That’s right, he does.” Poppy tugged playfully on my hair, which was long enough to hang over my shoulder. “Why don’t you go bring one to him? He could use a dinner partner.”

I hesitated again. “We’re not going to eat here?” I glanced over at the table, which was clear and ready to be eaten at. We ate there every night and Daddy told stories about his students at school and Poppy always promised to show me the latest drawings he’d made at work. What did he call them again? Oh yeah…designs. The latest designs, he always said.

“Not tonight,” Poppy explained gently. “Daddy’s had a bad day. He wants to stay in bed.”

I looked up at Poppy, at the worry in his eyes, the worry that his smile couldn’t wash out. “Did something happen on Daddy’s trip?” I asked, my voice barely loud enough to hear.

Poppy knelt down in front of me, fingering the end of my hair, sifting it between his fingertips. He looked me right in the eye, and then smiled again, but this time his smile was sad. “Kassie…” He smoothed my hair down on the left side. “Your grandfather has passed away.”

I didn’t quite understand. “Passed away?”

Poppy sighed and lightly squeezed my arm. “Yes, baby. It means he died.”

“He died?” I shrieked. I knew that word. That word meant…meant…“Grandpa Burt died?”

Poppy reached out and held the plate underneath my hands so I wouldn’t drop it. “Oh no! No, sweetie.” Poppy kissed my forehead to try to make me feel better. “Daddy’s father died. Not Grandpa Burt, Grandpa Anderson.”

“But…but…oh.” I didn’t know what else to say. I’d only seen Grandpa Anderson two times in my life. I didn’t really know who he was. Grandpa Burt on the other hand…I knew his birthday and his favorite color and the name of his car shop and what his shoes looked like. Then it dawned on me. “So that’s why Daddy is upset?”

Poppy looked at me with a curious expression, and I felt my cheeks heat up. I’d been caught. He knew I’d been peeking now.

But Poppy didn’t yell at me. “Yes,” he said softly. “That’s why Daddy is upset. He didn’t know Grandpa Anderson was sick. He just found out last week, that’s why he went on the trip.”

Oh. Oh.

I looked down at the sandwiches on the plate in my hands, where Poppy was still helping me hold them. “Okay,” I said. “I’m gonna go have dinner with Daddy now.”

Poppy grinned at me. “You go do that. Daddy’s waiting for you.”

I held the plate tightly as I walked down the hall, and I pushed Daddy’s bedroom door open with my shoulder. The TV was on, the sound quiet, and Daddy was lying on his side of the bed, facing the window across the room, his back to me.

“Daddy?” I called out softly, and he rolled over.

“Hi babydoll,” he said, and his voice was scratchy, like how I sound after a full day of yelling and playing tag at the park. “Is that dinner?”

I gripped the plate hard and nodded.

Daddy sat up in bed, the blanket still across his lap. He looked like he needed a nap. “Why don’t you come sit by me?”

“Okay.” I walked to his bed and placed the plate on it. Daddy reached and slid the plate closer to him while I climbed into Poppy’s side of the bed. Daddy leaned over and kissed my head, smiling. His eyes still looked sad.

And then I started crying. It just came up out of nowhere, and I couldn’t stop it. Daddy put the plate on his nightstand and pulled me to him, kissing my forehead, telling me it was all right.

“I’m sorry, Daddy,” I tried to say, but the words didn’t quite make it out. I didn’t know exactly what Daddy was feeling, but since he’d said bad words and cried and then Poppy said Grandpa Anderson died…well, I think all that just kind of jumbled up in me and I couldn’t help it.

“Don’t cry,” Daddy whispered, hugging me. “It’s okay, babydoll.”

I sniffled and nodded, and soon enough, Daddy had wiped my tears away with a tissue and we were both smiling at each other. Daddy didn’t look sad anymore.

He plunked the plate of food down on our laps, and we each picked up half a sandwich. “Cheers!” Daddy said, and we touched the bread together before taking a huge bite. Mine was so huge I almost swallowed a whole banana piece.

Poppy came in then, with two glasses of milk. He slipped into bed next to me, and the three of us shared the rest of the sandwiches. Daddy took the last bite of his sandwich and turned to me, smiling with his mouth open wide. His teeth were covered in mushy bananas and peanut butter and soggy bread, and I started giggling. Poppy scrunched his nose at him and went, “Ewwww,” and his face made me giggle even more. Daddy laughed too before swallowing it all down and Poppy made me take a sip of milk and a couple deep breaths to calm down so I wouldn’t choke on my food.

Then Poppy switched to the Disney channel on TV and the three of us snuggled down under the blankets to watch.

*

I only realized that I fell asleep when I woke up and the room was dark. The window across from Daddy was really dark, meaning it was probably super late at night. I looked to my right at Poppy – he was asleep. I looked to my left at Daddy – and I couldn’t tell. He was turned on his side, his back to me, like he had been earlier when I’d come in with dinner. I was about to go back to sleep when I heard a strange sound and froze. I listened again and—

It was Daddy. He was sniffling. And he was breathing funny…sort of fast and…like it was difficult to breathe. Like how I sound after I wake up from one of my nightmares.

I scooted closer to him and touched his back. He was warm, like always, and he turned. I scooted even closer and Daddy wrapped his arm around me, pressing a kiss to my forehead. We lay in silence, Daddy still breathing kind of fast, and then I started humming under my breath. I knew the song’s melody like the back of my hand, thanks to him.

After a few minutes of Somewhere Over the Rainbow, Daddy’s breathing went back to normal, and he looked down at me and smiled, a big grin that made his eyes light up in the dark. He kissed my cheek and whispered, “Love you, Kassie.”

I smiled back at him. “Love you too, Daddy.” I snuggled closer, and then suddenly Poppy was right up beside me. He reached across me and took Daddy’s hand, holding it tightly. Daddy told Poppy that he loved him too, and Poppy said it right back and kissed Daddy’s fingers.

Poppy explained to me later that Daddy’s heart was hurting, and it would probably hurt for a long, long time. But Poppy also said that we – me and Poppy – could help Daddy feel better just by being with him, just by spending time with him and doing all the things we normally did. I really wanted to do that, especially since whenever I was scared or hurting, Daddy and Poppy had always been there for me.

So there might be more nights of nightmares, and there might be more nights when Daddy needs me to sing to him instead of the other way around, but…

I think we’ll be just fine, because we always have each other, and Poppy said together, we can get through anything.