Fly With You

Finally stepping out of the car after a three day drive, the nineteen year old girl was happy to be able to stretch her long legs and know that she wouldn’t have to get back in the car for days, if even that; she could lounge around for weeks if she really felt like it. She shook out her long, wavy blond hair before pulling it into a loose bun, glad to get the long locks that normally reached her lower back, off of her shoulders.

She smiled up at the house in front of her as the late spring breeze blew past her, small wisps of hair falling into her face. Grabbing her bags full of a year’s worth of stuff she had accumulated during her freshman year at college from the backseat of her small car, she practically jumped up the front stairs before shoving the front door open.

Dropping the bags at her feet, she called, “Dad?”

“Nelly?” she heard called back from the kitchen. Grinning to herself, the girl bolted down the long corridor and straight into her father’s awaiting arms. “I missed you, kid,” He said into her ear as he hugged her close and tight against his chest and wrapped her in his big arms.

“I missed you, too, dad,” she said, pulling back slightly to let her bright blue eyes scan over her father’s appearance. She hadn’t seen him since she had come home, to Chicago, for the holidays just over five months before. She was happy to see he had barely changed. His forty seven year old face had a few more age lines than when she left, the bags under his brown eyes were slightly more prominent than they had been in previous years, and his brown hair, once thick and shaggy while he was in his twenties, was thinner and losing its color. He was still a terribly handsome man at his age, and he was still in great shape.

It seemed he was doing the same to her, looking her over, examining her, and making sure she was still the same. Despite the obvious tiredness on her face from the long trip from her university in southern California, she looked just the same from the last time her father had seen her. Nelly as he had called her since she was a baby, short for Penelope, grabbed her father’s hand and gave it a light squeeze before telling him she had to use the restroom. Her father nodded, motioning for her to get settled. She grabbed her bags and headed up the grand, and grand it was, staircase up to the second level of the house.

Walking into her lime green bedroom, the same she spent her whole life in, Penelope let old memories rush back to her. Deciding she could unpack later, she moved into her connecting bathroom, splashing cool water on her face before deciding her aching legs needed to really stretch out. She loudly called out to her father, and less than ten seconds later, she heard him trudging up the stairs before his head popped past the door frame of her bedroom.

“What do you need, Nel?”

“You feel like going for a run? My legs are cramped from driving for three days…” she suggesting, remembering back to her childhood and teenage years when she had competed for her school’s track teams and how her father used to help her train by running with her all the time.

“Love to,” her father answered. “I’ll get changed and get ready.”

Penelope nodded as her father headed toward his own bedroom. Quickly changing into a pair of shorts and an old, baggy Chicago Blackhawks tee shirt, she made her way into the kitchen to grab two cold bottles of water. Walking back into the foyer of the large house, she waited patiently for her father to come down as well. Her blue eyes fell onto the table against the wall of the foyer, just outside her father’s office. She smiled lightly at the pictures she saw.

The first was of her father and her mother on their wedding day. It was her mother’s dream; a small, outdoor wedding with very few guests. Penelope, who could be a clone of her mother, Delia, let out a half smile as she stared at the picture. It was just after their first kiss as man and wife; it was windy, and her mother’s wavy, long blond hair - much like Penelope’s - was blowing all around her as she grinned at her new husband, who wore just as big of a smile.

The next was her father in the Chicago Blackhawks’ locker room surrounded by what seemed like hundreds of people, his gear still on and barely there facial hair on his face. He was hunched down, his mouth wide open as a teammate held hockey’s ‘holy grail’ - the Stanley Cup itself - above him, pouring the champagne from the bowl and into the awaiting captain’s mouth. He always said winning that cup was his proudest moment, until his daughter had been born, of course.

The third was of Penelope and her father from when Penelope was only a baby, barely a few weeks old. He was holding her tightly in his arms and to his chest, and she wore a miniscule Chicago Blackhawks jersey and a huge smile as she stared up at her father who stared down at his baby girl. The picture was a candid; having been taken by her mother in the heat of the moment, just knowing what she was seeing needed to be captured.

There were a few more pictures, and Penelope laughed, wondering why some of them were on display as if they were some major event. She shook her head at the one of her when she was five and headed to school for the first time, grinning up at her father who was taking the picture, one of her front teeth missing. The huge grin captured in the picture was the complete opposite of the look on her father’s face, behind the camera, she remembered. Her father was heartbroken to send his little girl off to school; she was growing up too quickly, he always said.

She didn’t have time to scan over the others before he her father was running down the stairs and smiling her way. “You ready?” He asked. “Think you can keep up?”

“Bring it on, old man,” Penelope laughed, handing him one of the bottles of water. He laughed, pulled the door closed and locked it behind him. The pair walked down the driveway, starting to run as soon as they reached the smooth surface of the newly paved streets of their neighborhood. Penelope was just so glad to be home. She loved college, she loved southern California, but she missed her father like crazy. She knew he missed her just as much. She didn’t know how he handled living in the huge house by himself. Penelope hated being lonely, which was one of the reasons she chose to live in the student dorms instead of having her own apartment like her dad had offered.

They ran in silence for a few minutes, no sounds other than their steady, in sync breathing and the sounds of their gym shoes hitting pavement. Penelope’s dad knew almost everything that happened with his young daughter at college; they talked almost every day, if they could. When they reached the park that was only a few blocks from their house, Penelope turned her head to look at her father as they kept in step.

“Hey dad?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you can tell me about mom?”

“I’ve told you about your mother before,” he started, confused by what his daughter meant.

“I know,” she smiled. “But I mean… how did you guys meet and start dating? I don’t think I’ve ever heard the story…”

Jonathan Toews, one of the best hockey players the Chicago Blackhawks had ever seen, took a deep breath as he slowed his pace a little, his eyes darting to look at his daughter. She looked just like her mother, except even more beautiful to him. She was his pride and joy. His proudest accomplishment was not winning the Stanley Cup, but instead it was raising his daughter, teaching her rights from wrongs, teaching her how to treat people, and giving her everything he could before sending her into the world.

Her hopeful look and small smile was enough to make the middle aged man give in. Completely stopping their run, he took a drink of his water, motioning for his daughter to join him on the bench along the running path.

Nodding his head lightly, he let out a small laugh as Penelope eagerly waited for him to begin his story, “Where do I start?”