This is the Good Life

This is the Good Life

(Or so they say!)

 

Chapter One

 

"Emma! Get UP!" Wonderful. Woken up by the oh-so-gentle screaming voice of my father, George McLaughlin. Yelling at me to drag myself out of my warm, cozy bed? I think not. It was June, the beginning of my summer vacation. I rarely went to bed before midnight (depending on what had occured the night before) and you don't even want to be around me if I'm woken up before noon. Granted, I can occasionally wake mySELF up earlier than that, but so help me if anyone else tries they are lucky to keep their hands attached to their wrists. Especially if they pull the blankets off of me. God, I hate that. That whole system was one of my many quirks, but I happen to like everything about me. 

I groaned and rolled over as the blinds of my window were thrown skyward. Bright yellow sunlight flooded my large room and shined down upon my peacefully resting face. It also happened to scorch the outsides of my eyelids. I had burned my cornea putting contact neutralizer in my eye a week ago. Go figure. "Da-ad!" I whined, then threw my multi-colored comforter over my head. 

"Emma Jade McLaughlin," Uh-oh. I knew I was in for it the second my dad used my full name. I honestly think my parents were the only two people on the planet who knew my middle name. Other than John, of course... but we'll get to him later. My dad continued, his voice taking on that deep timbre of the 'threatening parent'. "If you do not get your lazy ass out of bed THIS instant, I will head to the airport without giving you a single detail.

Crap. Any time the airport is mentioned in my household it means my dad was leaving for however long. It varied every time. You see, my dad works for some secret branch of the government (when I finally had the courage to ask him what it was called he went all serious on me and said 'That is something I will make sure you never have to know'. Whatever. But whenever my dad has left, seeing as he obviously can't take me with him if I can't even know who or what he works for, I've always been left alone to care for the house and animals for no more than a few weeks at a time when he leaves for his 'missions'. I've had some crazy parties in my time! 

I rolled out of bed and snatched my silky black robe from where I dropped it next to my bed last night. Pulling it over my tank top and shorts, I tied the cord and yawned hugely. Stumbling a bit and fighting off the minor hangover I knew was on the way, I followed my broad-shouldered father out to our fancy (yet understated) living room where he sat me down on our new(ish) gray colored couch. 

I pulled a hair tie off of my wrist and yanked my strawberry brunette hair into a messy bun, my bangs falling out and framing my oval face. "So, how long is it going to be this time?" I asked him, already knowing that he was leaving. Still in my half-asleep, half-drunk stupor, what he said next completely blew away the small part of my mind that was able to pay attention to him.

"Eight months," he told me in a grim voice. Holy hell, THAT woke me up! My hazel eyes popped wide with shock and my full pink lips dropped open. I did a double take, my brain still picking apart his words and analyzing them. How the hell did my father expect a seventeen year old girl to live on her own for eight months? Especially a seventeen year old girl who only claimed a part time job working at a stable. What was he thinking? 

I leaped off the couch once my groggy mind fully realized what my dad had said. "What?!" I nearly screeched. "You're leaving me for eight freaking months?! How can you do this to me? I'm you're daughter!" I ranted. My open-mouthed shock did not seem to affect my father. In fact, he seemed almost indifferent. That enraged me even more.

"Emma, I know it seems like a long time-" he began, but I cut him off almost as soon as he started speaking. 

"Seems?" I asked in disbelief. "It IS a long time!" I flopped back onto the couch, my hands falling into my lap to remain there, useless.

"Emma," my dad said again, much more calm than I was and with an almost pleading tone in his voice. "I have faith that you can do this! And it's not like I had much of a choice about this one, honey. This assignment was given to me by President Obama himself. If I turn him down then I'll get fired." My dad dropped his gaze, his voice softer. "And we both know that's not an option right now." I knew he was referring to the fact that my mother had left us a mere year ago to run off with some younger man that was obviously a better choice than the family she had already started. 

"B-but.. how am I going to afford groceries, and bills, an-and school supplies! And when school starts I won't be able to work as much and... and-" I began hyperventilating. Rapid bursts of air dragged between my lips, and I was aware of them, but they didn't seem to be filling my lungs all the way. Hell, not even halfway.

"Emma, calm down. Breathe." I tried to follow his advice and calm my stuttering heartbeat and faltering breaths. I stopped breathing altogether for a moment and when I began again I inhaled deeply, calming some of the tremors that shivered up my spine and were visible in my trembling hands. My father rubbed my back in soothing circles, reassuring me. His touch brought back fond memories of childhood, and I looked back on all the times I felt safe and warm in his protection. It also brought back how much more it hurt when he left and I, a little girl, longed for that protection. 

When I was finally under control again, my dad continued. "You don't have to worry about any of that. Trust me. I have it all taken care of." I eyed him with something close to suspicion. Knowing my father... well, you never really know with my father so I was prepared for anything. Reaching into his pocket, he withdrew a stack of bills, tightly clipped together and a couple pieces of thin, rectangular plastic. I soon realized that those pieces of plastic were sleek black credit cards. Just then, I noticed that my dad was wearing his travelling coat. Looking over to the kitchen, I saw his suitcases piled next to the door. Oh. He was leaving soon. 

"Here," he told me, and handed over the credit cards. "There's three cards there, each of them preloaded with $75,000." My hazel eyes once again grew wide. Would there be any more surprises today? I fervently hoped not. What was I going to be doing when he left? House shopping? Again, I hoped not. I quite liked my house. "I'm expecting at least a little change!" my dad joked. "On second thought, never mind. I have no idea what could happen."

"But Dad..." I began. "Why are you leaving me with so much money? I really don't get it. I mean... what am I going to need all this for?" I was never one to turn down gifts of cash, but this seemed downright outrageous. 

"Well, I already pre-paid all of the bills. Mortgage, National Grid, plumbing, and Time Warner are already taken care of. And any vet visits for the zoo wouldn't be enough to make a dent in the account." 'The zoo' was our inside joke for our four dogs and two cats. Very zoo-like. "But still, you have to pay for anything with your truck, school stuff, clothes, groceries, cleaning supplies- and yes, I expect you to clean! I do not want to find a maid here when I come home!" He then handed me the stack of money. I flipped through the inch of bills in disgust. They were all one-hundreds. My dad smirked. "Gas money," he joked again. My dad smiled and sighed, as if life was so easy. "Emma, I know we're not the traditional family. I'm never home, your mother's gone, and we have way too much money than we know what to do with... but I like to think that you and I still have a semi-normal father daughter relationship. And I don't want me leaving for so long to affect it, because no matter what my leaving so often has made you feel in the past... well, I love you more than the air I breathe. You're my baby girl." I didn't know when the tears started falling, but they were working up a storm now. A lump formed in my throat that was too infinitely big to swallow. I would miss him so much. A sob strangled over my lips as my dad clinched me into a tight embrace. 

"When do you leave?" I asked haltingly, the words muffled against his chest. I steeled my nerves.

"If I want to make it to the airport on time... now."I choked. I had thought I might have at least a few more minutes with him. I wrapped my arms around my fathers torso even tighter as we stood there for a moment, silent tears streaming down my cheeks.

"It'll be okay," he promised me. "I'll be back before you know it, and you'll be wishing you had the house to yourself again!"

And then it really hit me. I was going to have, basically, my own house for almost a year. I dried my tears as a nagging of an idea started to form in my diabolical  mind.