Ten seconds Later

Posted on November 5, 2012

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“Perfect.” I declared from behind my camera.

“Are you sure? The sun is in our eyes. Was I squinting?” My partner asked, even as our son pulled the hat off his head and threw it up in the air.

“Daddy, can I see?” My daughter broke loose from her Papa’s hand and bolted toward me. She promptly tripped and fell, planting her white-gloved hands in the mud of the gutter and banging her chin on the curb.

“Oh, hell,” I muttered as her cry pierced the peace of Sunday morning.

“My gloves!” Our little princess wailed. “I muddy, daddy!” She apparently didn’t realize she was also bleeding.

“I told you the gloves were overkill.” My partner declared.

“Come on, Princess, let’s get you inside.” I kept my voice steady. “We need to deal with the mud so your coat doesn’t stain.”

Snuffling, she took my hand. “We’ll be late.” My partner observed.

“It’s a three hundred dollar coat she’s worn twice. You go on ahead.” As always, I was left to be the sensible one. “It’s not her recital, anyway.”

I led my daughter back into the house, ignoring the boy’s howl as my partner planted the hat back on his head and ordered him to keep it there and hurry along.

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Posted in: fiction