Rochelle woke up with a shiver of excitement. Her daddy's birthday was finally here, and it would be the best ever.
Daddy was always so busy, but today they would spend every minute together. She had it all planned.
First, she would serve him breakfast in bed. She would make his favorites—pancakes and bacon and eggs and grits and hash browns and toast and juice and coffee, all piled so high that Papa might have to help her carry the tray.
Then she and Daddy would fish in the stream behind their house. Daddy would smoosh soft white bread around a safety pin, and Rochelle would toss the line into the water. They never caught anything, but she loved to watch the silver minnows peck and peck at the bread until it was gone.
After a picnic lunch, she and Daddy and Papa would go for a long ride on the bike path that looped around the neighborhood. Daddy had to push her up the big hill, but Rochelle could keep up on the flat parts.
Rochelle couldn’t wait another minute. She tumbled out of bed and scurried down the hall to Daddy and Papa’s room, ready to wake Daddy with a hug and a kiss.
Papa stopped her at the bedroom door. “Shhhh,” Papa whispered. “Your daddy was up all night, helping to put out a fire at the paper mill. He’s asleep.”
“But - but - it’s his birthday. I have everything planned,” Rochelle said. She could feel her nose begin to burn, the way it always did right before she cried.
Papa shook his head and gave Rochelle a quick hug. “Sweetheart, the best birthday plan for your daddy is to give him a chance to rest.”
Rochelle stomped back down the hallway and into her room. The latch on her door sounded angry as she clicked it shut. She waited until her papa’s sneakered footsteps shushed down the stairs, then she flopped on her bed and pounded her pillow with her fists. Her day with Daddy was ruined, and she would have to wait a whole year for his birthday to come around again.
Knowing Papa was right didn’t help one bit.
An idea chirped in Rochelle’s mind. Of course—Daddy didn’t know! She had been keeping her plan a secret, so he would be extra surprised. As soon as he knew about his special day he would jump up, not tired at all.
Rochelle tiptoed down the hall so her papa wouldn’t hear. The door to the bedroom was open just a bit, and she crept inside.
Daddy lay in bed, deep asleep. Speckles of gray, dusty ash clung to the creases around his mouth and his eyes, even though he always washed up after a fire. Rochelle wrinkled her nose at the faint smell of smoke that rose from his skin. A bitter tang of soot settled on her lips, and she wished for a drink of lemonade.
She couldn’t wake Daddy—he looked worn out. But it was his birthday, and she wanted to be with him more than anything.
A tiny grin sneaked back onto Rochelle’s face. She knew a way she and Daddy could spend the whole day together, and he wouldn’t even have to wake up.
Rochelle tried not to move the air as she inched around to the other side of the bed, pulled back the blanket, and curled up next to Daddy. He snarfled and grumped like a fusty old bulldog. Rochelle squeezed her eyes shut, held her breath, and made herself small and still.
Daddy coughed once, twice, then snuggled deeper into his pillow. Rochelle snuggled in, too. She rested her hand, soft and secret as a moth in the moonlight, on Daddy’s arm. Then she whispered, “Happy birthday, Daddy,” and dozed off with a contented sigh.
It really would be the best birthday ever.
Leanne Franson lives in Montréal, Québec, Canada, where she draws in her home studio with her two cats and a Saint Bernard. She writes and draws comics when she is not illustrating the words of other authors. You can see her illustrations for children at http://leannefranson.com. She had lots of hamsters when she was small, and loves to take time off and travel to exciting new places.
