76 - Bounce

“Daddy?”  Stephanie materialized in Jon’s peripheral vision as he pounded out another mile on the treadmill. 

Dottie had sent the kids home with him this afternoon.  She said he needed them and the distraction they would provide, so he wouldn’t brood and pout all day.

He hated that she was always right.

“Yeah, Steph?” he panted, punching the button to start the cool down.

“Can I talk to you?”

Why is it that kids chose the most inopportune time to bond with their parents?  His head was so not into the parenting thing at the moment.  It was stuck on Petey and the dozen unanswered calls and text messages he’d issued.  Jon had the sinking feeling she was going to pull a vanishing act on him.

That’s why Dottie said you needed the kids today. Get your head someplace productive.

“Gimme just a minute.”

His daughter obligingly sat on the weight bench, swinging her crossed leg and staring out into the overcast New Year’s Day.  He felt her eyes on him, and for once, she seemed to be really looking at him, carefully, from head to toe.  It was disconcerting, and he wondered if it was the prelude to what she wanted to talk about.  If so, Jon may not be strong enough to handle what was on her teenage mind.

The treadmill slowly ground to a halt and he lifted the gray terrycloth towel to wipe the sweat from his neck and face.  He then grabbed up the water bottle on the floor, spinning the cap off and taking a deep drink before plunking himself down on the bench next to Stephanie.

“What’s up, kiddo?”

“Do you love Petey?”

Talk about something coming out of left field. 

“Was Mom right when she said that today?  Because I didn’t even know you two were friends.”

Well, hell.  Stephanie had been gone when he and Dottie finished talking, so Jon had assumed she left when Petey did.  Evidently, she’d been lingering in the hall and listening to their conversation – or, rather, his screaming and Dorothea’s conversation.

He bent forward, propping his elbows on his knees as the beads of perspiration rolled down his back under the sweat-soaked t-shirt.

“It’s complicated, honey.”

“How is it complicated?  Either you love her or you don’t.” 

Good Lord, she was her mother’s daughter through and through.  No bullshit tolerance whatsoever.

“I care about her,” he hedged.  “Beyond that, I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you tell us you were dating her?  At least me,” she pouted with a disgruntled ‘hmpf’.  “ You know I like Petey.”

Because they weren’t dating.  They were doing things he didn’t even want spoken in his baby girl’s presence.  He didn’t even want to think about them in her presence.

“We haven’t been dating.  We’ve just been talking and hanging out.”  If teenagers could make a distinction between hanging out and dating, he wasn’t above exploiting the terminology against one of their own.

“Daddy…”  Stephanie rolled her eyes.  “So do you think you might love her?”

He drained the last of his water and put the bottle next to his foot, buying a piece of time.  “It’s just not that easy, Steph.  I wasn’t just blowing smoke when I said it’s complicated.  She’s not an easy woman to know and we’re so different.”

“But, Dad,” his daughter said plaintively, gripping his forearm.  “It doesn’t matter that she’s all Goth and you’re all… Democrat.  Petey speaks your language.”

Jon twisted his head to the side and looked at his daughter with disdain.  “Is that girl-speak for something that would make sense to an old man?”  

Apparently that was supposed to have made sense to an old man, because Stephanie rolled her eyes at him again.  “How long have you had the entertainment system in the living room?” she demanded, crossing her sweatshirt clad arms over her waist.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“How long, Daddy?”  His girl was nothing if not tenacious.

“Two or three years.”

“And how many times do you mess it up in a month?”

He scowled at her.  “How did this turn into a forum on my ineptitude?”

“Daddy…”

“A few,” was the only concession he would make.  Jon was still wondering what the hell this had to do with anything.

“And how many times have you messed it up since Petey taught you how to use it?”

Light bulb.  He now saw where she was going.  “None.”

“Exactly!”  She beamed at him proudly.  “Because Petey speaks your language.  Who else could have taught you to use an iPad in an hour?  Seriously.  Because you know it would’ve only taken ten minutes until you were aggravated with me or Jesse.  Even less for Uncle Tony.”

Was it scary that the child was starting to make sense?  She had given him expanded proof of what he’d told Richie – Petey understood him for some damn reason.

The question now was… did he understand her?

Jon quickly ran through what he did understand about Petey.

One:  She didn’t want to be represented by statistics.  She wanted who she was to define her, not her date of birth, hair color, eye color or home town.

Two:  Her confusion.  Her quirky recitations always let him know when she couldn’t make logical sense of someone or something. 

Three:  Her passion.  She shared her body without reserve and argued with that same unbridled passion.

Four:  Her strength.  He knew he’d hurt her feelings more than once, but she’d never let it show.  Petey had only squared her jaw and either given it back to him or walked away with dignity.

Five:  Her kind nature.  His paperweight and Stephanie’s scarf were only small examples.  The way she'd held his hand through Tony and Dorothea thing was a huge one.

Six:  Her playfulness.  Their sex hadn’t been all hot, intense coupling.  He’d found that a playful Petey surfaced from time to time, making him smile and adding to the experience.

Maybe he understood a lot more than he was giving himself credit for. 

Jon looked his daughter up and down, tipping his chin at her.  “When’d you get so smart?”

“Oh, it’s been forever now,” she said carelessly, waving a hand at him.  “So does this mean you love her?”

His face split with laughter.  “Let’s not go rushing things.  Besides, did you ever consider she may not love me?”

Stephanie leapt to her feet, pulling at his arm.  “Well you have to ask her!  Go find her!”

“Whoa.”  Jon held firm to his seat, eyes dulling.  “That’s not as easy as it sounds, Steph.  She’s gone to be with her family, and I don’t know where that is.  Petey hasn’t been answering my calls or texts, so I can’t ask her.  She'll eventually come back to work.  I may have to wait until then to talk to her.”

“Hey, Dad?” 

Jon and Stephanie both swiveled their heads toward Jesse's voice.  He was hovering in the doorway, looking distinctly uncomfortable at interrupting the father/daughter moment.

“Whatcha need, Jess?”  Jon waved him into the room.

“Umm.  Mom texted me and said I should bring your phone to you.” 

The muscles that had been loosened from his run now knotted painfully in Jon’s neck and shoulders.  Whether Jesse knew why he’d received those orders from his mother or not, he was carrying with him an aura of foreboding.    

Accepting the phone with dull eyes, Jon flicked at the screen with both of his teenagers hovering in front of him.

There was a single text message waiting.  From Tony.

[8:30 PM]TONY: PT just quit and isn't taking my calls. I don't think she's coming back, bro.

He stared at the words until they blurred, all the while trying to make them mean something other than the shitty news they really were.  It wasn’t a success.  He still knew exactly what they meant.  The new bottom line read that he was screwed unless she deigned to answer his – or someone’s – calls and give up some information on her whereabouts.

Now what was he supposed to do?

“What’s wrong, Dad?” 

Jess was the one to ask the question, but Jon directed his response to Stephanie.  “Looks like Petey’s not coming back.”

“Well you have to find her then!”  The teen’s response was immediate and fervent.  “Can’t you hire a private detective or something?  You can’t let her just leave, Daddy.  You just can’t!” 

He could hire a private detective, but what did he really have to go on?  A name that he wasn’t entirely sure was real and the huge state of Pennsylvania, if that’s where she really was.  It could take a while.

Isn’t a while better than never?  Do you really think you can let her go now?  After every-damn-body in your life has jumped on your ass in the last twenty-four hours and made you realize there’s more here than you thought?  Coulda, shoulda, woulda isn’t how you roll, Jonny.

“You’re right.”  He pushed to his feet and headed for the door, mentally rifling the Rolodex in his mind.  Who could he call at nine o’clock on a Sunday night?  New Year’s night for that matter.  “I’ll be in my office if you guys need me.”

He stopped suddenly and turned, pulling Stephanie into a tight, sweaty hug and pressing a fierce kiss to her temple.  “I love you.”

She returned the hug without complaint, and grinned up at him when he released her.  “Don’t tell me.  Tell her.”

His laughter echoed off the windows.  Slapping Jesse on the shoulder, he jogged from the room.  “Don’t push me, kid,” he warned playfully over his shoulder.  The playfulness left as soon as he hit the stairs, and a determined gleam took up residence in his eyes.

It felt a whole lot like he was being boxed into a corner and having his life dictated to him.  That had a tendency to piss him off.  He was very productive when he was pissed off.