Firefighter Daddy Read Online Free Page A

mother died.”
    Mitch felt his spine go rigid. Dead, died, death. He hated those words. No seven-year-old needed to hear them, especially about her mother, but his mother had no trouble using them. Tell it like it is, that was her mantra.
    Miranda, still filling the fruit bowl, seemed unfazed by her grandmother’s directness.
    Helping the new tenant move upstairs would take up at least half the day. He and Miranda could still spend the afternoon at the wharf, but there definitely wouldn’t be time for a cable-car ride.
    His mother picked up Miranda’s backpack. “Can you run this up to your room so I can set the table?”
    “’Kay.” She flung the bag over her shoulder and was headed out of the room when Betsy stopped her.
    “What happened to your jeans? Is that a hole in the knee?”
    Miranda swung around, instantly defiant. “I already told Dad that I fell at school. It was an accident.”
    “Miranda! That is no way to talk to your grandmother.”
    “Sorry.” But she still looked more insolent than contrite. “I didn’t mean to rip them.”
    “No problem,” Betsy said. “When you take them off, fold them up and put them on the chair in your room. When I have some time, I’ll mend them for you.”
    Instead of agreeing, Miranda marched out of the room and up the stairs.
    “Sorry about that,” he said to his mother after he heard his daughter’s footsteps in the hallway upstairs. “I don’t know what’s bugging her today.”
    “She’s had to make a lot of adjustments in the past couple of weeks. New home, new school, new friends. She’ll settle down once she’s had a chance to get used to everything.”
    He sure hoped so. “Do you need some help with dinner?”
    “If you’ll set the table, I’ll mix up some salad dressing.”
    He was taking plates out of the cupboard when his cell phone rang. He set the dishes on the table and pulled the phone out of his pocket. The number on the call display wasn’t familiar but he answered it anyway.
    “Hello?”
    “Hi, Mitch?”
    “Yes?”
    “Hi. This is Rory. Miranda’s teacher.”
    He’d known who it was as soon as she’d said hello. “Hi.” He’d been hoping she would call, but he hadn’t dared to hope it would happen this soon.
    “There was a bit of a…well…an incident at school this afternoon. Maybe Miranda has already spoken to you about it?”
    His thoughts went immediately to the ripped jeans. “No, she hasn’t. Nothing serious, I hope.”
    “Serious enough,” she said. “She and one of the boys in the class got into a squabble during afternoon recess. Franklin pushed Miranda off the stairs, and Miranda tore her jeans and scraped her knee.”
    “I noticed that, but when I asked her about it, she said she fell.”
    “I thought she might not tell you what happened. That’s why I called to talk to you.”
    “I appreciate the call.” What he didn’t understand was why Miranda hadn’t told him about it herself.
    “Unfortunately, there’s more. Miranda got up and pushed him back.”
    Mitch flashed back to his own childhood days on the playground. He hated to think of anyone pushing his daughter around, but he was glad to hear she could stand up for herself. “I guess kids will be kids.”
    That was met with silence.
    “Are you still there?” he asked.
    “I am. I was hoping you and Miranda’s mother would talk to her about this behavior, and about the appropriate way to handle disputes.” Her voice had taken on the same calm, cool tone she’d used that morning when she’d spoken to her students about putting on their thinking caps and their best manners. “Even though the other child pushed her first, she shouldn’t have pushed him back. There’s always a supervisor on the playground during recess and children need to ask for help when a situation gets out of hand and to learn that it’s inappropriate to take matters into their own hands.”
    Give me a break. “These kids are seven years old. Fighting back seems