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HE SAID HE'D BE BACK IN TWO DAYS.
Every time dad went on a business trip, he'd buy me rocky road ice cream and tell me where he was going and when he'd be back. It was a little tradition we had established when I was 3 after he left to go to Dubai for a meeting without telling me and I freaked out. I was crying, screaming, throwing things at Rhodey and Pepper when they trying to get me to calm down. It was so bad that dad had to leave in the middle of the meeting to fly back to Malibu and make sure I didn't burn down the place.
I was seven when it all started. We were sitting in the corner table at a Baskin-Robbins, it was always Baskin-Robbins, both of us chewing on our mini marshmallows. "Kid," he said. "Afganistan, two days. To show off Jericho."
I nodded, mumbling "bring me back a rock," and shoving another spoonful of ice cream into my mouth.
He chuckled. "Kid, I don't know what's up with you and your rocks." I sighed dramatically but didn't offer a response. He caved in about 20 seconds like I knew he would "All right, I'll bring you back a rock," he said with a smile, spooning more ice cream into his mouth.
And that was that. That was the last time I had seen my dad before everything changed. Before Iron Man had risen from the ashes.
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I was sitting in the living room of our Malibu mansion with an Egyptology book propped open on my lap. I found it laying around the house a couple of hours prior and the cover was shiny so I immediately reached for it. I heard footsteps coming towards me so I bounded up because Dad was supposed to come back that day. But instead, I was met with Pepper carrying a pint of Ben and Jerry's rocky road ice cream. I crashed back into the couch. I loved Pepper but she would never get it right. Her trying, though, meant something was wrong and that was terrifying.
"Hey, sport." she greeted with a strained smile. Her eyes were red and puffy like she had been crying.
I was confused. "What's wrong?" I asked cautiously.
She didn't reply. Instead, she grabbed two spoons from the kitchen and plopped down next to me on the couch. "Your dad," she paused. "He got held up with some people. He might not be home in a while." She stopped, looking at my eyes for any signs of emotions that could somehow tell her what to do next. Surprisingly, dad was always better with this stuff than Pepper.
Her words didn't inherently insinuate something bad but the ice cream in her hands and her puffy eyes worried me. Even at age seven, I could absorb my surroundings enough to know that something was wrong. "What kind of people?" I asked. "When is he coming back?"
She inhaled softly, almost like she was bracing herself. She handed me a spoon and made sure I took a bite before she continued. Ben and Jerry's Rocky Road was good, maybe even better than Baskin-Robbins', but it didn't taste right. "Bad, bad people," she said, her voice dipping slightly. "I don't know when he'll be back, sport."
