“What if no one likes me?”
           
Smiling around the hair tie clamped between his teeth, pulling several stubborn hairs into place, Chris smiled. “That’s ridiculous, sweetie. You’re the world’s best friend.”
           
Seven year old Madison frowned, chewing her bottom lip as she watched her favorite show; the one about the lions who owned a whole library. “Everybody at St. John’s is so different. What if I don’t…..”
           
“Fit in?” Chris held the ponytail’s base between his thumb and forefinger, whipping the hair tie out of his mouth, wrapping it around the pinched hair. Finished, he sat back on his heels to inspect the results.
           
The ponytail on the right stuck straight up like radar antenna; the newly finished one on the left drooped towards the ground. Great, Chris thought, my daughter looks like a lopsided alien. Shaking his head, he re-applied himself to the left ponytail to match it with the right one.
           
Madison spied her reflection in the television and frowned. “Daddy, that’s not right at all.”
           
Chris laughed quietly. “It looks a little weird, doesn’t it?” he asked as he gently pulled it apart.
           
“Yeah, and if I have weird hair on my first day in school, I’ll stick out like a big old freak,” Madison quipped forlornly, her face far too serious for someone so young.
           
Chris sighed. Madison was bright for her age, so she’d always exuded a slightly more mature air than the other kids, but for she hadn’t acted herself in months. He missed her ear to ear grins and belly-shaking giggles, which had been absent since the accident. 

He got them out of her occasionally; she was “daddy’s girl” after all and he still had the magic, but for the most part his silly, exuberant, hyperactive little girl had turned into a dark-eyed waif repressed by sadness unfit for her youth.
           
Chris’s stomach twisted. Death did that to people, especially seven year olds. He worried because she wasn’t grieving, compartmentalizing her sadness just as effectively as an adult.  It was human nature to cry, rage, and despair when someone vital – like a little girl’s mother – was lost, but so far, Madison hadn’t shown much emotion.  She’d descended into a rock like seriousness eating his heart away just as much as any amount of crying could.

Another hair slipped through his fingers, and he pressed his lips together while working doggedly at her ponytail, as if he could balance the cosmic scales by fixing them.
           
“I’m gonna stick out like a big sore thumb,” Maid pronounced with the sage wisdom of a second grader.
            Twist; twist. Oh, geez…that’s not even close! “Why do you think that?”
           
Madison shrugged, fidgeting slightly. “Lotsa reasons. They’re all Catholic, and I’m P’esbyterian.”
           
“It’s Presbyterian…hold still; I don’t want to make you bald on your first day.”
           
Madison smirked, and Chris saw a flicker of her old self. “Not funny, daddy.”
           
Chris snorted. “I certainly thought so.” He gathered hair between his fingers. “Catholics aren’t that different, Madison; it’s not like they sacrifice cats…”
           
Madison made a face. “Yuck. That’s gross.”
           
“….and we all go to church on Sunday, right?”
           
“Yeah, but they have all those weird prayers, and communion wafers are yucky.”
           
Quick fingers not quitenimble enough fumbled, dropping the hair tie intended for Madison’s pony tail. “Nuts.” He scooped it off the floor and asked, “What else?”
           
Madison considered. “Most of those kids are rich. We’re not rich.”
           
Chris answered ruefully. “No we’re not, honey…but we’re certainly not poor, either.”
           
“Yeah, but we’re still not rich. All the kids looked at me weird when we visited. They think I’m poor.”
           
Chris frowned in disbelief.  “Madison, how can you possibly think that?”
           
“ ‘Cause they looked at me with their noses wrinkled, like this,” Madison said as she gave her father an example in the television screen’s reflection.
            “Be careful about squinching your nose like that, it might get stuck that way.”
           
Madison exhaled noisily. “Uh uh, daddy. I asked Ms. Truman that at Bible Class last Sunday, and she said that’s not true.”
           
Chris snorted. “Yeah, right….have you seen Ms. Truman? She obviously didn’t listen to her parents when they told her that.”
           
Madison’s face melted, her delicate hands flying to her mouth, as if God would punish her for laughing. “D-a-d-d-ie,” she huffed between giggles, “t-t-ha-t’s n-n-ot nice!”

Chris allowed himself one more grunt, figuring he was toeing the line at ripping on his daughter’s Sunday School teacher. “But so true,” he whispered under his breath. He cleared his throat and said, “Well, that can’t be all. What else?”

Madison’s laughter faded as she looked down at her blouse and skirt, “Well, I’m not in dress code either.  I’m supposed to be wearin’ a green plaid skirt with a green sweater, and I’m all blue instead.”

Chris started, because he’d forgotten to discuss this with her. “Well, I talked to Sister Rita, and she said because you’re a late register you can wear any solid color skirt and blouse for the rest of the first marking quarter until your uniforms come in.” He twisted the hair tie again around her ponytail. “How’d you know about that, kiddo? I didn’t mention it because…”

Madison smirked as she said, “ ‘Cause you forgot?”

“No,” Chris said quickly, trying to save face while scrambling to hide his embarrassment at getting caught out by a seven year old, “I just didn’t want you to worry.  Besides, how’d you find out the dress code colors?”

“The student handbook says so.”
           
“What student handbook?”
           
Madison sighed theatrically. “Daaaddy…it came in the mail two months ago.”
            Chris frowned, confused. “How’d I miss that?”
           
“ ‘Cause you’re the funny, messy one, and Mom’s….”
           
Mom’s the organized one. The thought fell unfinished into a gulf of silence yawning between them, swallowing up their brief moment of levity, and Chris’ heart clenched as he saw the expressionless mask slip over his daughter’s face.

He swallowed tightly.  Licking his lips, he barely managed, “Well, it’s not a problem. Sister Rita told the teachers all about it.”
           
“I’ll still look different,” Madison said in a flat voice, “and kids’ll say stuff.”
           
“Well,” Chris said lightly, trying to re-inject the feeling of levity they’d enjoyed only moments before, “if they do, just tell me, and we’ll have them arrested for being meanies.”
           
Her eyes flickered slightly, but her face remained impassive, stone-like. “Daddy, people can’t be arrested for being mean.”
           
“Sure they can,” Chris replied as he unwound the stubborn hair-tie and reapplied it for what he desperately hoped was the last time.
           
A slight tremor of the lip upwards, but no smile. “Nuh-uh.”
           
“Sure can; says so right in the student handbook.”
           
The little girl shrugged her shoulders in a gesture so dismissive and grownup it made his heart ache. “Doesn’t matter anyway.”
           
Chris frowned at both pony tails, sure this time they were at least a little even. Oh, for Pete’s sake, he moaned, now the right one is messed up! Out loud he asked as he untied the hair tie from the right ponytail, “Why not?”
           
“ ‘Cause you’re a writer, not a policeman. You can’t arrest people.”
           
Chris chuckled lightly at her precociousness. “Oh. Well, I’ll make a citizens’ arrest, then.” He wound the tie around the right ponytail, tugged them both lightly upwards one last time, cocked his head, closing one eye as if judging a famous work of art, and then sighed. “Okay kiddo,” he said, snatching a mirror and handing it to her, “how does that look? It’s not Hillary Duff, but it’s not Oscar the Grouch, either.”
           
“Daddy, Hillary Duff’s so….yesterday.” Madison looked in the mirror, squinted her eyes and shrugged. “It’s okay.”
           
“All right,” Chris said, turning her around by the shoulders, “let’s make a last minute check and see if all the lights are green….”
           
“Are you going to die someday too, Daddy?”
           
A flash of saddened anger filled him at Madison’s sudden, impromptu query, threatening to erupt like a geyser long held in check. He was angry that Miranda had been taken from them; that Madison had to wrestle with questions of mortality no child should have to face. 

Struggling to keep it from showing on his face, he reached out and grasped her tiny shoulders, squeezing firmly, careful not to hurt her. “No, sweetie…God, no. Not any time soon.”
           
It was a lie; because there was no way he could promise that, and the worst thing was, he could see in Madison’s eyes she knew it was a lie, too.
           
A small shake of the head. “But you can’t say that,” Madison whispered. “Remember when Peanut died last year?”
           
Chris frowned; he remembered the small tiger cat had passed away shortly after school let out, and Madison had been inconsolable for days. “I do, sweetie.”
           
Madison stiffened a little as she spoke, “I asked Mommy that night if she was going to die; and she promised she wouldn’t for a real long time; she promised…”
           
A black hole opened up inside as Chris struggled to contain the swirling emotions in his gut. He exhaled a sigh filled with every ounce of grief that had tormented him the last few months, and he reached out, cupping his daughter’s face lovingly. “Honey, I’m so sorry – Mommy never told me about that; she probably meant to, but it wasn’t long after that….”
           
He stopped, physically unable to utter the words, “she died”.
           
“Daddy,” Madison whispered brokenly, “how can you say you’re not gonna die for a real long time? Mommy said that, and….”
           
Chris swallowed thickly, and realized he had no answers for her; and also realized part of him had been secretly been glad for Madison’s silence, because it spared him these questions.
           
Chris blinked back hot tears as he said thickly, “Sometimes I forget how smart you are, kiddo.”  He patted his thigh. “Are you too old to sit in dad’s lap?”
           
Despite the heavy-hearted atmosphere, Chris almost laughed as Madison said with a leery look, “I’ll just sit next to you, ‘kay?”
           
Chris smiled. “Good enough, pumpkin.” His daughter scrambled her way onto the couch and Chris seated himself next to her, arm holding her close. She apparently decided she wasn’t too old to snuggle, and a pleasant warmth filled Chris’s stomach as Madison nestled under his arm.
           
“Honey, I’m not going to pretend I know more just because I’m a grownup.  Bad stuff can happen anywhere, anytime. We could hide out here for the rest of our lives, but something bad could still happen to us here.  It’s part of life; we have to try our best not to worry about it. If we spent all our time worrying about the bad stuff in life, we’d never enjoy the good stuff.”
           
Madison crinkled her nose in confusion, snuggling closer. “I don’t get it.”
           
“Well, take Peanut. What if we spent all our time being sad about her?”
           
Madison’s brow furrowed with silent thought. “We’d be sad all the time and never get another cat.”
           
Chris nodded. “Right. We’d never be able to enjoy another pet, because we’d be so sad about the one we lost, even though there are probably lots of great other pets out there we could have fun with someday.”
           
Madison sat up, peering at Chris suspiciously “Are you gonna get a new mommy someday?”
           
Chris laughed, even as his heart ached. “God no. I don’t know if I’ll ever be ready to do that; not for awhile, anyway.”
           
Madison flounced back onto the couch, fiery, juvenile determination burning on her cheeks. “Good,” she whispered under her breath, “Me neither.”
           
“The point is not really about replacing Mom…because we’ll never be able to do that,” Chris managed despite a dry throat. “It’s about living after bad things happen. We can’t be so scared of more bad things that we miss all the good things too.” He paused, brushing his daughter’s bangs off her forehead and added huskily, “I don’t think Mom would want us to do that.”
           
Madison sniffed, a solitary tear trailing its way down her rosy cheeks. “Me neither,” she whispered, “but how do we do it?”
           
“Do what, sweetheart?”
           
“Be happy after….mommy.”
           
Chris sat silently for several seconds, feeling horribly inadequate to answer her.  He exhaled a long, hard breath and started slowly, saying, “You don’t pretend not to care. It’s important to feel things and let them out, so feeling bad isn’t bad.”
           
Madison cocked her head, looking at him with such inquisitive eyes, it was easy to mark her older than she really was. “Howcum we gotta let it out? Won’t that make us feel sadder?”
           
Chris sighed, ruffling his daughter’s hair and looking out the window. “At first, yes. But we can’t hold it in forever; because it will build up, and then when it comes out, it’s even worse.” He leaned back a little and met Madison’s dark-eyed gaze. “What happens when you shake up a soda can?”
           
Madison blinked, a small light coming to her eyes. “When you open it, everythin’ explodes all over.”
           
Chris nodded. “The same thing happens to us if we hold it inside too long.” He paused, searching her eyes carefully. “Do you understand?”
           
Madison looked down at her hands as she twisted her blouse’s hem. “I guess so,” she whispered, “a little.” She bit her lip. “Do I gotta cry?”
           
Chris chose his words carefully, instinctively sensing this was a moment that couldn’t be forced, and was better off left to develop on its own. “Yeah,” he whispered, “everybody cries; it’s perfectly okay.” He paused before adding, “Cry when you’re ready, kiddo. No rush.”
           
“I wanna be a big girl, though.”
           
 “Sweetie, you are a big girl.”
           
Madison looked down, kicking half-heartedly. “I heard a song on the radio last summer; about how big girls don’t cry.  I wanna be a big girl daddy; I don’t wanna cry.”
           
Chris allowed himself a wry chuckle. “Honey, Frankie Valli was many fine things, but a psychologist he wasn’t. You can be a big girl and still cry.”
           
“Promise?”
           
He kissed her head. “Promise.”
           
“I’m not ready to cry yet. Okay?”
           
He squeezed her affectionately again. “Like I said, kiddo…cry when you’re ready.”
           
“ ‘kay.” She sniffed once and asked, “Can you fix my ponytails? They look weird.”
           
Chris laughed, a small fire blooming in his heart at his daughter’s impish grin, gone for so long. He gestured with exaggerated flair, booming, “Off course, m’lady; I’m at your service.”
           
Madison smiled, the dimples on her cheeks defrosting from a long winter as she slid off the couch.  Chris resumed work on her beleaguered ponytails, and the following minutes wove themselves together into a tapestry of love, remembrance, and connectedness. Even though Miranda was still gone, the pain buried deep inside, Madison was there and so was he, and they were together. All things were right in the universe, even if only for this slice of time as a father braided his daughter’s hair.