“Dats dunder,” she said, coming into the kitchen after getting out of bed.
“Yeah, yeah, Babay. That’s thunder. Just go back to bed, lie down and try to go back to sleep,” he said to his daughter.
“I’m scah-wahd,” she said
“Ain’t nothing tah be scared of Babay. Just go back to bed and don’t look out the window,” he said.
“But dere’s light,” she said.
“I know Babay, that was lightening. Just go to bed. Everything’s fine. Be in to tuck you in, in about a minute. Okay?” As he continued to sauté the onions and the bacon he was preparing for the baked beans he was working on, at eleven o’clock at night, that were going to cook at a nice and gentle two-hundred and fifty degrees for about eight to nine hours in the preheated oven. Ummm!
“I want juice,” she said changing the subject.
He stopped in mid stir. Looked at his daughter and smiled. Turned off the burner. “Okay Mama. Lets get you some juice,” he said gently.
He got her juice. Put in "The Red Shoes," on the DVD player. Sat down and held his daughter until the storm passed.
A little later she was sleeping in his arms and he kissed her tenderly on her forehead. Smiled at her and at the untouched cup of juice still on the coffee table.
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