daisy7

Daisy slouches on the chair in her hospital room, gazing out the window,
with her elbows resting on the sill and her chin in her hands. The gloomy
scowl on her face matches the dull gray clouds in the sky.

The door to her room opens behind her, and she hears footsteps on the
linoleum floor.

"I didn't invite you in!" she snarls, not bothering to glance over her
shoulder. "Shut that damn door, and be sure you end up on the other side of
it!"

The footsteps cross the room toward Daisy, and then someone takes hold of
her chair and spins it around before she has time to stand up.

"That wasn't how I expected you to greet me." Mr. Brown levels a
disappointed frown at the startled girl in the chair. "Would you like to
try again?"

"You should have knocked or something," Daisy says sulkily. "How was I
supposed to know it was you?"

"Nobody else deserves to be spoken to that way, either." Mr. Brown sits
down on the edge of the hospital bed and sets a paper bag on the floor by
his feet. "The nurses said they haven't been able to do a thing with you
all day."

Daisy stares down at her bare toes, unable to look Mr. Brown in the eyes.
"I thought you weren't coming."

"I told you I'd be here as soon as I got everything settled."

"So what?" Daisy shrugs. "Lots of people say they'll do things and bail
out as soon as they get a chance."

"Well, I'm not lots of people." Mr. Brown puts a hand on Daisy's knee.
"You need to learn to trust me."

"Why should I?" The girl brushes his hand away as if it means no more to
her than a stray piece of lint.

"Because I haven't given you a reason not to. Judge Ramsey made my wife and
me your legal guardians this morning, so we'll be your parents from now on.
It'll be a lot easier for everyone if you make up your mind not to fight
us."

Daisy sits for a moment, speechless and still. A little smile starts to
play at the corners of her mouth, but the expression in her eyes remains
wary.

"Ruthie is at home now, fixing things up for you," Mr. Brown goes on. "The
judge called your birth mother and told her to have all your stuff boxed up
by noon, and I drove into the city to get it."

"Thanks. Sorry I bit your head off, and--" Daisy lets the sentence drop,
then picks it up again. "And sorry I didn't trust you."

"Trust takes time, I understand that. But there are some other people you
ought to apologize to, wouldn't you say?"

"The nurses?" Daisy shakes her head. "No way! they kept barging in here,
poking and pawing all over me, even after I asked them a zillion times to
leave me alone!"

"They were doing their jobs, honey." Mr. Brown gets to his feet and points
at the paper bag on the floor. "There's a set of street clothes in the
sack. I'll wait in the hall while you change, and then we'll walk down to
the nursing station so you can apologize."

"Like hell we will!" Daisy erupts out of her chair and folds her arms
defiantly across her chest. "You can't make me say a word to those old
biddies!"

Mr. Brown looks surprised for an instant, and then a spark of exasperation
flashes in his eyes. Daisy watches his face intently, waiting for his mouth
to draw down in anger, ready to dodge the balled fist or the backhand blow
that is bound to be thrown.

But Mr. Brown leaves his hands at his sides. He stands motionless for a few
seconds, obviously composing himself. Then he steps quickly toward Daisy,
crowding against her and setting her slightly off balance. He grips her by
one shoulder and pushes her easily down into her chair. She winces as her
bruised bottom lands on the hard plastic seat.

"You and I are going to get something straight right now, Daisy," he says in
an even tone, bending down so that his face is almost touching hers.
"You've got the right to feel hurt and angry about your past and scared
about your future, but I won't put up with your back talk. When I tell you
to do something, you'll do it. No mouthing off, no cursing, no calling
people names. Are we clear on that?"

Daisy shrinks back, but Mr. Brown keeps his hand on her shoulder and lets
his eyes bore steadily into hers.

"If your buns weren't already sore and swollen, you would have earned a trip
across my lap the first time you got smart with me." He still doesn't raise
his voice. "Are we clear?"

Silence hangs heavily in the air for a long moment. Then Daisy nods slowly.

"Good." Mr. Brown lets go of her shoulder, and his face softens into a
smile. "Go ahead and get dressed, then meet me in the hallway."

Daisy lets a smile flit across her own lips, too. She has to respect Mr.
Brown a little, she decides. He seems to be a hell of a nice guy, but he
definitely isn't a pushover. It's been a long time since she's had to
answer to anybody, and his quiet strength somehow makes the world seem safer
to her. He walks out of the room, closing the door behind him, and she puts
on the T-shirt and the pair of sweat pants she finds in the paper bag.

"God, I love these clothes," she says aloud as she ties her tennis shoes.
"I'll never wear a blue skirt and a white blouse again for the rest of my
entire life."

Daisy gives herself a quick look in the mirror above the sink in her room
and steps out into the hallway. She and Mr. Brown walk together toward the
nursing station.

"Do I really have to apologize to the nurses?" Daisy asks. "I'll try to be
decent from now on, but can't we just hurry up and hit the road?"

"By snapping at those women all day, you made their work a lot harder than
it had to be," Mr. Brown says. "Whenever you get the urge to cop an
attitude, you better be willing to set things right afterward."

"That makes sense, I guess," Daisy admits. She feels warm inside when she
gets another smile of approval from Mr. Brown.

The two of them approach the nursing station. A tall, thin woman with a
frizzy perm is sitting behind the desk, lost in a sea of paperwork. Two
younger nurses are sipping coffee nearby. Daisy glances at each of the
three women in turn, then studies her tennis shoes.

"Hey, sorry I've been such a crab today," she says. "I guess I should have
given you all a break."

The woman behind the desk presses her lips into a tight, sour smile, hardly
glancing up from the chart in front of her. But one of the coffee drinkers
reaches out to shake Daisy's hand before she sets down her Styrofoam cup and
answers the ringing telephone, and the third nurse hugs Daisy warmly and
offers Mr. Brown a sheet of paper.

"Those instructions will help you take care of Daisy at home. Basically,
put cool, damp cloths on the bruises and give her Tylenol when she needs
it." The nurse smiles at Daisy. "You take it easy for a week or two, you
hear? No gymnastics or roller blades or anything that might make you fall
on your bottom before your tailbone heals up."

"How about slam dancing?" Daisy grins back. "Naw, seriously, I'll be
careful. I'm still pretty sore."

"I hope you get better right away." The nurse walks with Daisy and Mr.
Brown to the elevator. "Do you want me to grab a wheelchair to take you
downstairs?"

"No, I'll be fine. Thanks for everything," Daisy says. "Maybe I'll see you
when I come back for a checkup next week."

The elevator door opens, and Mr. Brown steps inside, motioning Daisy to
follow him. The nurse waves quickly at the girl and hurries off down the
hall.

In the parking lot, Mr. Brown helps Daisy climb into his old green pickup
truck.

"You don't have to coddle me," she protests as he boosts her onto the high
seat. "I've just got a few bruises, nothing major."

"And you've got nothing to prove to me," Mr. Brown laughs. "You're a feisty
bird, and I know it, but it won't hurt you to be coddled now and then."

The first few drops of rain splatter onto the hood of the pickup as Mr.
Brown pulls away from the hospital. Daisy listens to the rhythmic
swish-squeak-squeak of the windshield wipers and watches as the well-lighted
businesses in town give way to streets of houses. She gets an uneasy
feeling in her stomach as the houses start to thin out, and by the time the
highway is lined with stubble fields and cow pastures, she has gotten
downright queasy. Mr. Brown had said his daughter had a pony, so Daisy had
figured he lived on the outskirts of town or something. But way out in the
middle of nowhere? She must be at least a million miles away from her old
life. Will she ever see her friends again? What could kids stuck out in
the sticks possibly do for fun?

Mr. Brown turns the truck off the highway and onto a narrow dirt road. He
passes a gas station, a ramshackle convenience store, and a folksy little
diner. There are a few houses, too, and after that, only fields again.
Daisy bites her lip, hard, as anxiety swirls in her mind. She turns her
face toward the passenger window, hoping Mr. Brown hasn't noticed that her
eyes are moist with tears.

"What are you thinking, Daisy?" His words suddenly shatter the silence in
the truck. Daisy shrugs mutely and shakes her head.

"Your life has changed in a big way, honey, and worrying is okay." Mr.
Brown slows the truck and splashes through a muddy pothole in the road.
"You'll settle into your new home just fine before you know it."

"What if I don't want to?" Daisy sounds like she might choke on her words.
"I miss my mom and my friends. I've never been so far out of town before.
God, the nearest movie theater must be a hundred miles away."

"Well, not quite that far." Mr. Brown smiles. "Things will feel strange to
you for a while, I won't argue with that."

"Maybe my mom will change her mind and take me back," Daisy whispers, not
really believing her words.

"No, sweetheart. She gave up her parental rights, she can't reverse that."
Mr. Brown pulls the truck off the road and moves close to Daisy on the vinyl
seat. He puts an arm around her. "You have a new family now."

Daisy swallows desperately, but a wave of sobs rushes up in her throat
anyway. She sees her flawed but familiar past slipping out of her reach,
and her shoulders start to heave as the grief spills out of her. Mr. Brown
sits quietly beside her while the rain rattles on the roof of the truck. He
cuddles the girl in the curve of his arm long after she has stopped crying.

"Sorry about that," she says finally. "I didn't know I'd end up stranded in
the boonies, though."

"You don't ever have to apologize for your tears." Mr. Brown rummages in
the glove box till he finds a package of tissues. "It might take some
getting used to, but life in the boonies isn't all that bad. I should have
told you what to expect."

"Well, you did tell me one thing." Daisy wipes her wet eyes. "Did you
really mean it when you said you would spank me for getting smart with you?"

Mr. Brown nods. "I meant it. I had a long talk with Judge Ramsey this
morning, and frankly, he didn't think it would be wise to put you into my
custody. He said you could turn out to be a real handful."

"I can't blame him, to tell the truth." Daisy manages to smile
halfheartedly. "I was eleven the first time I got hauled up before him, and
I've seen him pretty often since then."

"What did you do to earn a visit with the judge the first time, do you
remember?"

"I got busted for shoplifting. It wasn't much, though, I only snagged a
bottle of nail polish."

"The theft probably didn't hurt the store owner a whole lot, but how did you
feel about yourself afterward??"

The question surprises Daisy. She can picture the long ago day at the
drugstore in vivid detail. She had waited with her friend Anna Jane, trying
to hide her fear behind a cocky smirk, while the angry cashier called their
parents. Anna Jane had cried when her dad walked in and scolded her for
bringing shame on herself. Daisy hadn't known why, but she had felt kind of
cheated when her mom finally hit the scene and laughed about the incident as
if it was some kind of a joke.

"You may pull off a lot of stunts, but even if the world never knows about
them, you pay a high price," Mr. Brown explains. "Every time you do
something you know is wrong, it gets a little harder for you to believe in
yourself."

"Oh well, I quit believing in myself ages ago." Daisy shrugs. "I guess
that means I can do whatever I want now."

"No, it means you'll have to live by my rules till you learn to tell wrong
from right. My daughter Penny gets her bottom tanned when she needs it, and
so will you." Mr. Brown looks earnestly at Daisy. "I'll say one thing for
sure, though. I'll never lay a hand on you in anger, not ever. You won't
always like the lessons I have to teach you, but you don't have to be afraid
of me. Do you understand that?"

Daisy nods, searching the face of the stranger who has all at once become
her father. She wonders if he really will spank her. She thinks back on
the long line of men who have paraded through her childhood--the ones who
have beaten her and yelled at her and locked her in closets for hours at a
time, and she knows, deep in her heart, that Mr. Brown is different.

"We better head on home," he says, firing up the truck again. "Ruthie is
going to think we drove off into the sunset."

"Do I have to call you Mr. Brown still?" Daisy asks,feeling sort of awkward.
"I mean, from now on?"

"No. Now that the reform school is behind you, feel free to call me Stan.
Some day you might even choose to call me Dad, but I won't push that on
you."

"Okay, Stan." Daisy smiles gratefully. "Are we almost to your house?"

"Our house," he corrects. "You'll see it as soon as we round the next bend
in the road."

Daisy Lane, 11-2000