Faithful

She was five when her father read to her from the big book in his office. The one she had admired from afar since seeing it on the big shelf among the dizzying amounts of encyclopedias and informational texts. Her young brain was ravenous for knowledge, an unsuitable amount provided at the public school she begrudgingly attended. Books were attractive, and she liked to sit in Papa's big chair with the large ones in her lap and stare intently at the words of which she could only decipher a few. Just like Papa.

"What's it about, Papa?" she asked him when he seated himself in his deep brown leather armchair, tugging her into his lap. She still loved to sit with her Papa, even though Mom insisted she was getting too old.

He kissed the top of her head as her small fingers stroked the gold lettering on the cover of the heavy brown book. "Norse Mythology. Do you know what that is, April?" The small girl shook her head reluctantly, her big gray eyes riveted on the book, and he continued. "The Norse were a people, and they used these stories to explain why things happen. Like floods, earthquakes, and other natural disasters."

"Like the book Mom reads?" April sounded uncertain, remembering the time Mom told her about an ark with lots of animals on it.

Papa nodded, impressed she had made the connection, and then he grimaced. "Speaking of your mother, don't tell her I'm showing you this."

"Why?"

Giggles erupted in the small den as the professor tickled his only child, stopping once her cheeks turned red and pulling her closer to his side. "Because she doesn't like it. In fact she told me not to tell you about it."

"Why?" asked April again, looking up into her Papa's face expectantly. She liked that he never lied to her or made things up like Mom and other adults did.

"She doesn't believe in the stories and that the ones in her book are the only right ones."

April furrowed her dark red eyebrows. "But she doesn't know if that's true."

Papa smiled gently down at her, stroking the long wavy hair that rested down his daughter's back. "Exactly. Now, let's start at the beginning."

Mom came home from her errands a couple hours later, finding April and her father still reading in the chair. When they heard the door April gasped, struggling to get free and slide off the chair. She snatched the book up and ran with it to her room to hide it, able to hear her father chuckling quietly behind her. Once it was safely tucked underneath her pillows April hurried back down the stairs and towards the kitchen.

At the sound of raised voices she stopped turning and tip toeing into the living room instead. From there she could hear what they were saying and they wouldn't see her.

"Tanya, I don't know why you're so upset!" said Papa's voice, weary and frustrated.

There were slams and the rustle of grocery bags. "That's what's really at the heart of my problem, Sean. You don't understand how the things you do effect me and your daughter."

"What have I done now?" a groan and the scrape of a kitchen chair on linoleum.

Mom laughed humorlessly. "Let me rephrase that, actually. It's what you don't do. Rather than grading the papers I know your students are expecting back, or cleaning, or paying bills, or – god forbid – working on the book you've been telling me is almost done for two and a half years, you're content to do nothing all day long but spoil April."

"Spoil her?" Papa sounded confused and upset. April fiddled with the hem of her dress nervously as she listened. "Is that what you call spending time with her? I know it's a foreign concept to you."

"Don't you dare." the female voice in the room was deadly. "You know what I'm talking about. She doesn't ever want to go anywhere, and she doesn't want to play with any friends. I don't know if she even has any friends! All she ever does is sit with you in that room, or outside. And you coddle her, teaching her things that the school says she isn't ready for yet. You've probably screwed her mental development all to hell!"

Papa scoffed. "Are you hearing yourself right now? You're calling it a bad thing that I like to teach my daughter? And who the hell is the school to tell me what she can or can't learn? All they teach her in that underfunded, creation-sucking penitentiary is how to color inside the lines and write in cursive! When have you ever used cursive, Tanya? Tell me!"

"You're insane!" hissed his wife, obviously trying to keep her voice down. "Our daughter is not a robot for you to program to believe the same things you do, Sean! I know you had a shitty childhood, I really know, but don't you see what's wrong with this? With keeping her locked up in here like some experiment of yours?"

April frowned, standing hesitantly just inside the doorway to the living room. She didn't understand what they were arguing about. She liked being at home with Papa, and she liked learning from him. He was smart. Why was Mom so unhappy?

"No, Tanya, because unlike you I don't make every god damned thing about me." growled Papa, also keeping his tones low. "The only reason we have this argument every time you're home – which seems to be less and less lately – is because you're jealous that she loves me-"

Mom interrupted, as if she couldn't bear to hear the end of Papa's sentence, with hurtful words that April didn't understand. "Do you molest her?...Do you, Sean?"

A silence that was heavy and long fell in the kitchen. April bit her lip, feeling scared and unsure. She didn't like it when Mom and Papa fought, and they had been fighting a lot. About how much money Mom spent on her yoga classes and credit cards, how Papa left the house less and less, and how April didn't have friends and she was abnormal for her age. None of it made sense to the girl.

"What did you just say to me?"

April's eyes widened, unsure if that was her Papa in there anymore. He sounded so angry, like he was shaking. Mom was frightened, too. "You h-heard me. I asked you if you molest April."

The chair scraped again, louder and faster, followed by quick footsteps. Mom let out a muffled shriek, and there was a clunk of something hitting the counter. April listened intently, her heart beating quickly inside her ribs.

"I love my daughter more than anything in this world." Papa was definitely shaking now, his voice on the other side of the kitchen. Mom whimpered. "And because I show that to her every time I have an opportunity you accuse me of…molesting her?" there was another pause, and then Papa exploded. "You BITCH! You cold-hearted, shameful excuse for a mother!"

Mom started yelling again, and April knew that she had to do something. She didn't know what, but before she could think much about it she ran into the kitchen and screamed out 'Papa!'.

Papa was pressing Mom to the counter, one hand over her mouth and the other on her throat. Her hands were clawing at him but he didn't seem to notice. Until April came into the room. Then he stopped and quickly took a step back, looking over at her with manic eyes, panting. April stared back at him, her bottom lip starting to quiver.

"April."

---

Mom left soon after April came into the kitchen and she hadn't been back, so Papa was tucking her into bed. He usually did.

"April, I…" She glanced at Papa, settled underneath her yellow comforter. He was sitting on the edge of her bed near her arm, changed into a t-shirt and sweatpants and looking exhausted. Before going on her ran a hand through his hair, almost the exact same color as his daughter's. "I'm sorry about what happened earlier. I don't like fighting with Mom."

April wiggled her arms free from the blanket so she could pat the back of Papa's hand. "I know, Papa."

For a moment Papa looked like he might cry, moving his hand over April's and giving it a squeeze. "I'm still sorry. I love you, kid."

It still didn't make sense, and April didn't like being confused. So she sat up a little, turning and digging under her pillow for the thick book. When she handed it to Papa he smiled, setting it in his lap.

"How about we read some more tomorrow?" he suggested, eyes sad.

Disappointed, April nodded. "'Kay. First thing in the morning?"

"First thing." Papa set the book aside and leaned down, releasing April's hand to smooth her hair as he kissed her forehead. "'Night, little lady."

"Love you, Papa."

"Love you more."

He stood up, walking towards the door with the book under his arm. Before he could flip off the light April spoke up in a tentative voice. "Papa?"

"Hm?" he turned, hand on the door knob.

April swallowed, unsure about what she was going to ask. "If I want to ask the gods for something…what do I do?"

Grinning, Papa leaned against the door to answer her. "You pray to them. Just like Mom taught you to do."

"But I talk to them and not Jesus?"

"That's right…Why d'you ask?"

She shifted underneath her covers, wrinkling her nose. "It's a secret."

For a long moment Papa looked at her, his expression far away. April didn't know what he was thinking about, but it didn't matter with Papa. She knew that he would always be there, and that was enough for her.

"Okay then, woman of mystery. Get some sleep."

The light turned off and April was alone, looking at the purple glow of her nightlight. Mom would probably come home late or maybe in the morning, and the quiet arguing would drift down the hall. April wasn't sure if she would be asleep or not, because she had a lot she wanted to say.

Before she started April rolled onto her side, putting her back to her room and clenching her eyes shut. Then she clasped her hands together under her chin and started to talk inside her head.

"Dear Loki…"