How They May Be

Reality trickled back to me slowly. I was on my back, on my bed, one hand still pumping furiously at my shaft as I fouled my chest with my own seed. Disgusting. Repulsive. Sick, these fantasies, and I was sick to indulge them. I cursed myself silently as I wandered to the adjoining bathroom to clean myself off with a damp washcloth. I didn't deserve to call myself a father, didn't deserve the wonderful daughter that I had. God, but I ached with self-loathing. I just wanted to rip out the part of me that lusted after her, to be clean again, honest, proper. If only I knew how. The sole consolation I had was that with my arousal relieved, I was at least able to sleep. I dreamt that night of prison, of being trapped in a box that slowly closed in on me while Emily looked on pleadingly from without.

---

I was almost afraid to go downstairs the next morning, ashamed to face Emily after my actions that night. But when I mustered up my courage, I soon found to my surprise and relief that she met me with her usual cheer, as though nothing at all was wrong. She raised no queries about the kiss, nor even any eyebrows, and I began to hope that it might have slipped under the radar, that the kiss which to me had burned with so incandescent a passion had seemed to her nothing more than an ordinary goodnight peck. I must confess that a part of me was hurt at the realization, wanting her to feel the intensity of my craving. As though, if she only had a taste of my desire, it would infect her as well, drag her with me into this pit of incestuous lust. But the better part of me, the sensible part, was relieved that I had avoided alienating her, if by no merit of my own.

Later, at work, I received a reminder that made me wonder if my prayers had not been answered after all. The corporate retreat for upper management was only a week away - I had until Tuesday to confirm attendance. It was too perfect. A three-day weekend in Hawaii, a chance to get her out of my system. With perhaps undue optimism, I was suddenly sure that this was exactly what I needed - just a little time away from her skirts and her smiles, a bit of relaxation on the beach beside women to whom I was not related. Nominally, of course, the retreat was for 'leadership building,' but that barely even qualified as a smokescreen. In previous years, there had only been around six hours, total, of seminars and meetings, with the rest of the time given over to enjoying the scenery - as well as other distractions. Indeed, the retreat had developed sufficiently questionable a reputation that this year, accommodations were offered for spouses as well, in hopes of curbing some of the worst abuses. I allowed myself to be heartened again. A week's resistance more, and then a curative vacation. I had to believe that it would work - the alternative was unbearable.

By whatever contrivance, I did manage to believe it, and I was unreasonably cheerful as I returned home that afternoon, if not quite as carefree as I had been a week earlier. I waited until dinner to tell Emily, an affected casualness in my voice as I brought the matter up between bites of saté, as though it had only just come to mind. "Oh - you should know, I've got a company retreat to go to next Friday, so you're going to have the house all to yourself that weekend."

Her fork clattered softly against the plate as she looked up at me, chewing slowly, a daub of discontent in her eye. "Already?" There was a wintery disappointment in her tone. "It feels like you just had one."

"It does, doesn't it?" I laughed quietly, apologetically. "But really, it's already been a year since the last one. Time flies, huh?"

"I guess." Her eyes fell to the table as she pushed around a piece of tofu glumly. "Do they really need you to be there?"

"Not exactly," I admitted. "But honey, we went over this two years ago, when I went the first time. There's a lot of, well, keeping up appearances in my job. I kind of need to poke my head in occasionally, look like a team player. You said that you didn't mind, or I wouldn't have started attending these in the first place."

"I know, I know," she flashed a sheepish little smile that made my heart skip a beat. "I mean, I don't mind, not really. It's just..." Her sigh sent a shiver down my spine. "The house feels so lonely without you there, you know? I don't sleep well. I get - not scared," she said defensively, as though pre-empting an erroneous thought, "but fidgety. Like I go a little bit crazy without you." And she glanced at me through her eyelashes, her lips quirked in amusement.

"Well, I, um." I stammered softly, my damnable mind insisting it saw flirtation on her face. "Ah, I think most girls your age would be glad to get their parents out of the house for the weekend. You could have a little party, or-"

I was honestly glad when she interrupted me, a sudden energy in her expression. "Wait, hold up a minute. You said this is next Friday? A week from today?"

"That's right." I nodded, took a steadying sip of my iced tea. "The sixteenth, I believe."

"But that's perfect!" Emily smiled a dazzling white, wide enough for me to see the one crooked tooth on the left side of her mouth. "The school has some teacher training program thing that day - we don't have classes. I could go with you!"

She looked so pleased with the idea, I knew I had to let her down gently. "I wish that were possible, sweetheart. Unfortunately, it really isn't supposed to be a family vacation. The company makes all the arrangements for the plane tickets and the hotel, and they don't want us taking our kids along." I chuckled softly. "At least, not right now. They just started making room for spouses - who knows, maybe in a year or two, I'd be able to take the whole extended family with me."

"What?" Emily demanded sourly. "So you could take someone you're married to, but you can't take me?"

"That's about the size of it," I nodded.

"Well, that's just idiotic." She shook her head petulantly. "If they let you take someone along, it should be whoever you want."

"You're quite right," I agreed with an easy unconcern. "But you can't fight bureaucracy, corporate or otherwise."

With a snort of frustration, Emily turned her gaze back to her plate, idly twirling some noodles around her fork. There was a bit of empathic discomfort at her irritation, but I knew that she would recover soon enough, and I was pleased besides that everything still seemed to be set. I had high hopes at that moment. Hawaii would be my sanatorium, to cure this disease of the soul. But I felt a stab of unease a minute later as I saw the mischievous smile begin to break out on Emily's face.

"You know," she began slowly, "if you're allowed to take your wife with you..."

I saw immediately where this was going, and firmly shook my head, trying to cut her off. "Honey, no, that's a terrible-"

Emily continued on, undeterred. "We could just say we're married, and then I'd be able to go along!"

"-a terrible idea," I finished with a sigh. "Really, that's...God, I can't even express how much is wrong with that." And I buried my face hopelessly in my hands.

Emily giggled at my melodrama, reprimanding me lightly. "Oh, don't be so mopey. Come on, what's wrong with it, then?"

"Okay, number one, let's go with the fact that we'd be lying." Despite the seriousness of the situation, Emily's cheeky manner inspired a certain giddiness that I could not entirely suppress.

"A harmless, tiny lie, to get around a rule you admitted is silly." She gesticulated broadly. "To go to Hawaii." A slight pause, then she asked "Um, it is in Hawaii again?"

I nodded confirmation, and she repeated adamantly, "To go to HAWAII."

"Fine, fine. Two..." I desperately tried to solidify some objections that I could actually dare to voice. "Two, you can't just say you're married. There's all sorts of official supporting information involved."

"Oh, don't be absurd, daddy." Emily rolled her eyes cutely. "They're not going to ask you to fax in your marriage license or anything. At most, you might have to talk to one or two people and say 'Hi, I'm Mark West, and this is my very darling wife Emily.'"

This prodded a laugh out of me. "Just like that, huh? 'Very darling' and all?"

"The best lies," she intoned sagely, "are those that contain a grain of truth."

More laughter bubbled irrepressibly to the surface. When Emily was happy, she simply sparkled, and it was impossible not to be elated in her presence. "God, you're terrible. Um." I shook my head. "Well, that takes us to the third problem - nobody could actually look at us and believe that we were married."

"Oh?" She arched an eyebrow inquisitively. "Because nobody would buy that you would marry an unsightly little Greek-nosed girl?" Her mouth dropped into a moue, her eyes daring me to agree.

"Heaven forfend," I returned drolly. "Just the opposite, in fact. It quite stretches credibility to claim that such a beautiful young woman would willingly shackle herself to an old fogey like myself. We aren't exactly a natural couple."

But she had an answer for this, as well. "I'll say I married you for your money." A moment's reflective glance. "Well, not actually say it, obviously. But, um, put forth that impression. Honestly, daddy, that's not a hard one at all. I'll bet a bunch of the men at this thing have wives that are half their age."

"Well..." I admitted weakly.

"Exactly." With a definite smirk now, Emily drummed her fingers triumphantly against the table. "Anything else?"

Running low on objections, I straightened up my expression and edged as close to the truth as I could manage. "Honestly, Emily, I just don't think it's very appropriate. Even pretending, it doesn't seem right. I'm your father, after all."

"So?" She met my gaze levelly, staring me down. "It's just a little bit of play-acting. It's not like we're going to have to make out to convince everybody we're really married."

"Ah..." I blanched at that, eyes nervously darting away. "I guess that's true, but still..."

"Besides," she went for the jugular, "I seem to remember you promised to take me to the beach whenever I wanted. I've decided I want to go next Saturday. And not just any beach will do."

"Oh, come on," I protested half-heartedly. "That is not at all the spirit in which I intended-"

"You promi-i-ised," Emily interrupted musically, with a playful grin. "Unless you'd rather go back on that. And destroy every last bit of faith I've ever put in you. Your call, daddy."

I clasped my temple in exasperation, but could not keep from smiling. "Sweetie, you really need to teach me how to be so charming while being so unbearable. It seems very useful."

She hummed happily as she shook her head. "I'm afraid it can't be taught. It's a knack."

"Well, maybe that's best, for everyone's sanity." I sighed as my hopes for cleaning my mind disappeared down the drain. "I guess I don't have much of a choice. At least I might get a nice severance package when they fire me for sneaking you in."

"That's the spirit," Emily effervesced. "Focus on the positive."

---

Emily's victory held her in high spirits for the remainder of the evening, and me along with her. Only after we retired did I really have the chance to worry about what it implied for me. Pretending she was my wife - there was a nervous little thrill of excitement in the idea, joined by a twofold guilt. Guilt at the romantic interest it implied, of course, the miserable failing with which I had been struggling for a week now, but also at the subtle disrespect to Irene.

It wasn't that I couldn't let go. I had accepted her passing, I think, as much as a man can ever accept the loss of someone he genuinely loved. I stopped wearing my ring perhaps a year after her death; it rested now with its twin in her old jewelry box, atop my dresser. That I had not tried to find a new wife had less to do with Irene than with Emily. I had not wanted my attention and care for her to be distracted by attempts to woo some new woman. I wondered, now, if that had not been yet another mistake. Perhaps having a step-mother would have been better for her. Maybe I would not be so fascinated with her now, if I had not lacked someone to share my bed for so long.

But the memory of Irene remained important to me, and this new scheme was troubling. It was as though Emily was taking on the persona of her mother, and that seemed somehow profane, even beyond the sexual implications. To masquerade oneself as the dead, as part of a petty ruse. Perhaps I was merely being too sensitive. Emily rarely spoke of her mother, and no doubt did not see this as so specific an imitation. To her, 'my wife' was a role, not a person. I shook my head and resolved to put the matter out of my mind. I had enough troubles as it was, without worrying if this pretense would arouse angry ghosts to haunt me.

The week before the trip passed with surprising rapidity. I managed to avoid any further slip-ups, thanks in part to a greater caution in my behaviors towards Emily. I tried wherever possible to keep some small barrier between us; a table, a newspaper, even the bowl of popcorn when we sat down for a movie that Thursday. The bit of added psychological distance helped me keep my head. But I was always sorely tested when she swooped in for a hug, and there was nothing I could do to keep her out of my dreams.

She featured in them nearly every night now. Sometimes innocently, a simple companion in the surreal wanderings of imagination. Often unabashedly lewdly, nude and writhing beneath me as I sated myself upon her body. But in the dream which bothered me most she was neither. I dreamt myself in the cathedral of my childhood, the air thick with incense, staring up at the figure of Christ on the crucifix. The sculptor must have been truly skilled, for the expression on the face of that effigy remains clearly with me to this day - at once agonized and at peace, brow heavy with the wrongs of those who came before and those who were to follow, but with eyes that forgave them all. I turned to see her, standing in the aisle, glowing with an inner light. She wore a dress of white lace, so long and layered I imagined it must have weighed as much as she did, and a veil which gauzily streamed down past her shoulders. Emily, my little girl, so lovely my heart seemed to swell up in my chest.

She walked up next to me, and suddenly I saw how the cathedral was crammed full of people, every pew full of faces I couldn't quite resolve. But then, I didn't truly try. My gaze was fixed on Emily, on the small but joyous smile which graced her lips, the faint redness of her cheeks, the tiny tears in the corners of her eyes. Words blew over me like a summer wind, warm with promise, and our eyes closed shut as I leaned down to kiss her. There was no guilt in it, no racing pulse or aching soul, nor any fear at sharing this kiss before such an assemblage of people. Before God Himself. Instead, there was a feeling of peace, an overwhelming sense of rightness. It seemed in the dream that this was love perfect and pure, love as it was meant to be, as though there was no contradiction between the roles of father and lover. She was my nirvana, and I felt complete in a way that I have only briefly touched, a handful of times in my life.

When I awoke, it took several minutes for those feelings of peace to fade away, for the gnawing of worry and self-loathing to clutch again at my mind. This dream in particular troubled me for its very restraint, for the purity of emotion it raised in my heart. Lust is always unreasoning; a lust that offends the senses can almost be forgiven on those grounds, that it is only an expression of the bestial in man. But this was something more than that, something deeper, and I shuddered to think what it might signify.

Emily, for her part, was quite excited about the coming excursion. She purchased what seemed an entirely new wardrobe for the three-day trip, making even heavier use than usual of the credit card I had given her three years back. I spoiled her, yes - I would be among the first to admit it. But we had the money to spare, and there was nothing I liked better to spend it on than her. Normally she was only too eager to show off her new acquisitions, but this time she secreted them away, insisting with a supercilious wag of her finger that she wanted me to be surprised.

Finally, Friday rolled around again, and I stood at the bottom of the staircase with my luggage at my feet, glancing impatiently at my watch. "Come on, honey, we don't want to miss our flight," I called upstairs. "It's a long drive to the airport."

"I'm coming, jeez," Emily's voice drifted back, and I winced to hear the clatter as she wheeled her bag down the stairs. It came to a stop just around the landing, and I heard her announce "Okay, daddy, now close your eyes for a second."

"Sweetheart, we don't have time to play around here," I protested.

"Oh, the flight's not for hours yet," she chided firmly. "It'll only take a minute."

I sighed and shut my eyes. Showing off her new clothes, no doubt. While Emily was hardly as obsessed with fashion as some girls, she definitely found a certain satisfaction in it. "All right, they're closed."

Her footsteps twinkled lightly down the staircase and came to a stop perhaps a yard in front of me. "Okay, you can open them again."

I opened my eyes, and almost didn't recognize the woman before me. "My god." I was stunned into cliché. "Who are you, and what have you done with my daughter?"

Emily giggled and twirled about, the skirt of her dress flaring up a few inches. "Do you like it?"

"I can't tell. I'm in shock." Emily had virtually transformed herself - she looked half a decade older, like a woman in her early twenties, and I struggled to see by what sorcery she had managed it. Her dress was the most obvious change. It was a light affair, patterned in tightly chaotic black and green, with puffy shoulder cuffs and a skirt that dropped down to just under the knee. Its neckline was mature but fairly modest, a vee that just barely touched the uppermost bulge of her bosom. Studying her face, I could see also that she had applied subtle cosmetics; her lips were a deeper red, her lashes darkened with eyeliner. Her hair was styled in artful disarray, loose midnight locks dropping down to obscure her lambent eyes. And I noted the glittering of tiny diamonds at her ears.

"I don't usually like to wear heels," she confessed, raising her right foot up on its toe. "They're uncomfortable, and they're supposed to be bad for your feet. But I thought they would be a good fit for this." My gaze drifted down her leg, hesitating briefly at finely-toned calf, to take note of the charcoal pumps that raised her a good three inches from the floor. It was a sign of how radical her makeover was that I had not immediately realized how much taller she appeared.

"Well, you look..." I shook my head, amazed. "You look very nice, pumpkin. Very professional. Grown up, really."

"Mmm," Emily hummed as she took a step closer, a distantly floral scent wafting off of her - she'd put on perfume, as well. "What do you think, should I dress like this every day?"

She did look lovely. But then, when didn't she? "I don't think you need to." Reaching out, I absently brushed an errant lock of hair to the side of her face. "You have a great natural beauty about you, honey. All this - the fancy clothes, the makeup, the jewelry - just strikes me as painting the lily. It might make you fit in better among the people who need such things to be beautiful, but to my eyes you look your best unadorned."

"Aww." She smiled and bit her lower lip shyly, an endearing blush spreading on her cheeks. "That's sweet, daddy."

"Well, it's true." I didn't really have anything else to say, but her gaze held me spellbound. I stood there beaming foolishly at her for a while, until my quickening pulse kicked me back to my senses. "Anyway, ah, we've got a plane to catch."