Twas the Night

That had been the plan, if he could have found the courage. He wasn't sure that he could, when the time came, but that had been the plan.

But now he couldn't do it. If he did, she'd blame herself. She'd blame it on what they'd just done. She'd blame it on the incest, and her part in it.

So now the plan had to change. He may not have had the courage to end is life, but now he had to have the courage to continue it. Now he had to have the courage to be honest with her, to tell her what he'd done, and what he'd been planning, at least as far as her education.

He had to be honest with her. She deserved that much.

He grabbed the cookie tin and strode with determination back up to the apartment.

* * *

As soon she saw the money, and he told her what it was for, and she realized what it must have cost him to save that much, she'd started to cry. The tears poured down, while her father looked embarrassed, and frightened, and confused. He probably thought they were tears of joy, not guilt.

He knew something was wrong when she sobbed. He moved to hold her, then froze. That was the incest, she thought with recrimination. Her own father couldn't even touch her now because of what she'd done.

She looked at him imploringly, and he melted before her eyes. He softened, and the fear left him, and he moved to hold her. She buried herself in his embrace. She buried her tears in his expansive chest. She moved a hand, mindlessly, ceaselessly, over and back across the curve of his large belly as she sobbed.

"I'm so sorry, Daddy. I'm so sorry."

"Sh, sh, it's okay. Nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart. Things happen. It happened. It was good. You're not a bad girl. You're not."

That wasn't it, she thought to herself. He didn't know. He didn't get it.

"No, Daddy, no. I am bad. I'm horrible."

"Sweetheart, no. You're generous. You're giving. You gave me the most wonderful experience I can remember."

He kissed the top of her head, and her heart raced. Somehow she felt joy, even amidst her fear and guilt and sorrow. It gave her the courage to continue.

"No, Daddy, not that. I mean, yes, that. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, but I did, and it's done. But there's more."

He held her, saying nothing, patiently letting her do things in her own good time. He was always patient. He had flaws and weaknesses, but he was patient, and strong in his own way. He definitely had strength.

She held him more tightly. She couldn't look into his eyes as she confessed. She stared over his chest at the wall.

She told him about school. He asked where she got the money, and through her sobs she told him about the Tiger Club, and her job as a Tigress.

"Is that what we did? What you do?" he asked.

"No! No, not like that, not with them. I never let them touch me. I never touched them, not more than I had to, not flesh on flesh. I never whored myself, not completely."

"Shush!"

He barked it at her, so that she froze. When he spoke again, his voice was more calm, but still firm.

"Don't use that word with yourself, sweetheart. That's not who you are. I understand what you did. It took courage, and strength. I know you're good. I know it. You have nothing to be ashamed of, nothing at all. And you're not that. You'll never be that."

She held him, and she cried, until she worked it out of her system. In time, she pushed her self up. She looked into his tired, worn face, and planted a kiss on his nose, and his forehead. She wanted to kiss him on the lips, but didn't think she should.

Abruptly, she stood. She forced herself to take a deep breath, and to stand upright, and to be strong, like he was.

"I have studying to do. I have a big test on Wednesday. If I do well, I'll have a solid B in the class."

"Good for you! You go, girl," he said, as he reached up and, without looking at her body, snapped her pajama bottoms and tops tightly closed.

Dahlia grinned at him. She felt her heart lighten. She felt everything, every care and fear, slipping away. She pranced, almost floated, to the table, feeling silly, and light, and foolishly happy. She looked back at him, smiling, watching him watching her.

She saw a strange expression on his face, one she didn't remember having seen there for years. She had very infrequently seen hope, and happiness. She'd seen admiration, and love. She'd seen a lot more fear, and exhaustion, and resignation, but most often determination. But this was different.

This was pride.

For the first time in many years, she saw pride in his face. She smiled, as she committed herself to her studies. A "B" wouldn't be good enough, not for him. She'd get an "A" if it killed her.

* * *

The rooms were hot. Dad had scavenged a fan. It was noisy, with the bent blades grating against the grill, but it gave them some relief from the summer heat. Dahlia needed it, to be able to study for her summer course load.

She wanted to quit her job as a Tigress, but Al wouldn't let her. The money was too good. They had to be practical. He made her quit her waitressing job instead, to have time to study, but she kept the job lap dancing, but only lap dancing.

He'd gotten lucky, too, for a change. He'd found a part time job as an assistant building engineer. The building owner was cheap, and Al had a knack for finding cheap workarounds to expensive problems. That the owner greatly appreciated. Someone more principled might have objected, but in this case, it was valued.

Soon, Dahlia would be able to quit her job as a Tigress, and go to school full time. They might even get an apartment in the building where Al was working, if his luck held.

As a full time student, Dahlia might even get a boyfriend. Her father kept pushing her to, more than ever after that night. He said she clearly had needs, and she couldn't let them drive her to make a mistake.

Dahlia wanted a man, and she would find one in time, but she'd never trust anyone the way she trusted her father. She almost couldn't imagine being with another man.

He hadn't tried to be with her again, and that disappointed her, a bit, but it made her proud, too. She hoped, at least, that they might get together come Christmas. She was sure that he'd do a store Santa gig again. He'd wear the suit. Maybe it could be their own special, new holiday tradition.

She could always hope.

She let him catch some peeks from time to time. She wore her Tiger Club outfits around the house. Not too often, not shamelessly, but enough. He was always the perfect gentleman, the perfect, respectful father, trying hard not to notice, or at least, not to let his eyes linger. She thought it was the cutest thing.

Now she was already shopping for enticing holiday clothing to give her hopes some extra help when the season came, things for her to wear when he wore his read suit. Things to get him in the mood, and to make sure he accepted this year's Christmas present when she offered it.

After all, Santa helps those that help themselves.