Daddy's little Secret

part EIGHT

Dara Williams: before.

"I'm going to see daddy," I say to no one and follow with a heavy sigh. My dad and I had an argument the last time we saw, it was about the one thing I hated to talk about.

Marriage.

I didn't understand why he felt the need to pressure me or the need to start to rush me, I was just twenty two.

Ever since my mother had passed, he somehow felt the need to be a little bit motherly and try to fill her shoes. Sometimes it was weird, most times it was annoying. Yes, I had a boyfriend but I knew my father and I knew that he would never approve of Wale. So, I never mentioned it.

I had walked out on him on the day we'd fought, a very big sign of disrespect but I'd done it because I was sure I would have said something regrettable if I had chosen to stay there with him, in his kitchen.

But I hated it when I quarrelled with him, my conscience was never at peace. During the week, I'd drowned myself in work but today I couldn't. It's Saturday and I'm alone in my two bedroom apartment, bored, with nothing to do.

So I get up, get into my skinny jeans and head over to my father's house.

When I reach there, I find the spare key where it always is and let myself in, my dad is seated in the corner at his working desk and chair. He has about five books open before him, I can see that he's busy.

I sigh and drop my purse on the sofa in his living room and walk over to where he is.

"What are you doing?" I settle down in a vacant chair, turning one of the books to myself and then raising my head to look at him.

With his head still bent, his eyes still wandering the current page of whatever he's reading, he says, "O le ki'mi abi?"

"Ek'asan sir. What are you doing?"

He looks at me, takes off his reading glasses, gets up and walks to his kitchen, ignoring me.
I know he's still angry with me.

For the second time, I suspire then follow him. "Daddy, I'm sorry. Please don't pretend I'm not here."

He's poured himself some fruit juice from the fridge. He makes sure to take a few sips before he turns to answer me. "I'm not pretending, Dara."

"Okay. I said I'm sorry," I exhale. "You know I don't like fighting with you."

With the glass still to his face, he eyes me. "It's not my fault that you refuse to get married."

Here we go again. "Daddy please. Mi o fe ba'yin ja mo, e jor."

"Fine."

"So you forgive me?"

He shrugs, I rush over to him and squeeze him in a hug. "I love you sir."

"Whatever." But there's a smile on his face.

My dad never says the actual words back. Maybe he did when I was a baby but I don't have any memory of him telling me or my sister that he loved us, but he always showed it. Always.

I got my erratic attitude and temperament from my dad. Although whenever we were around each other, we were anything but temperamental. We only really showed it around other people, mostly strangers.

Fola on the other hand, had always been a sweet little thing, the complete opposite of me and daddy. She still is.

I walk to the fridge, there's a container with grapes in it. I reach for it and pop a grape into my mouth. "You didn't tell Fola this time that we fought."

I take off my sandals and walk into the living room to settle down on the sofa where my purse lies.

My dad responds, "Why do you say that?"

I shrug. "She didn't call me this time or even mention it in any of the conversations we had this week. O ya mi l'enu."

My father chuckles inaudibly, still in the kitchen. From the sofa, I look into the kitchen to see him shake lightly in laughter with his back to me.

I smile, propping my feet on the center table. "I can see you laughing at me daddy."

"Iwo omode yi, o serious. So you like it when I report you to your younger sister?" He's eating something now, it reflects in the way his words come out.

I reach for the remote control on the stool next to the sofa and turn on the television. I hear a phone begin to ring, my dad walks over to his desk in the living room and answers it.

"Hello?"

"Who is this?"

"May I help you."

I bend my neck to see his facial expression. He's confused, I mirror the same look and mouth the words, "Who is it?"

He gestures that he doesn't know and then proceeds to put the call on speaker. The person on the other end is speaking, "-member her. I saw your number in her journal."

What is this person talking about?

"Journal? Please who are you?" My dad asks, the worry creeping into his words.

"Let me help to jog your memory, Dr. Williams. I'm someone that knows what really happened to Grace Ajayi." A breath. "Do you remember now?"

I watch my dad, the look on his face is one of pure horror and disbelief. He swiftly takes the call off speaker.

I stand up, leaving my grapes on the stool, scared as well. "Daddy what's going on?"

He takes steps into the kitchen, trembling, leaving me without an answer. His phone is still glued to his left ear, while he remains horrified by whatever words are coming out of the phone.

I follow him but not immediately, not too closely. My heart pounding, my mind wandering and failing to come up with an explanation.

I watch as he looks outside through the kitchen window, not a single word leaves his lips.

"Daddy are you okay?"

A bullet flies through the window and lands finely in my father's head. His body drops to the tiled floors with a thump.

"D-d-d. Daddy." I whisper.

My head slowly processing the scene before me, digesting the image of the dead body lying in the kitchen.

I run to him and let myself cry. "No no no, daddy please please. Daddy no."

It's like I'm not even there. I watch myself as I weep and scream over my father's body, the intro to a series playing in the background.