Fireworks leapt up into the faraway sky and burst and glittered against the dark. The flickering lights shone in little fingers through the window and withdrew, picking up the crumpled sheets of paper and strewn pastilles over the floor, and the desk on which the sleeping little head of the girl rested.
Her face was buried into her little arms crossed for a pillow and draped with a coverlet of golden hair. The cracks, pops and whistles from the distant fireworks did not wake her, but the tender hand which settled on her did. The girl woke softly.
“Dad?”
“Come on princess. It’s time for bed.”
“I … finished it,” she yawned and sat back blearily in her seat, balled her little fists and rubbed her eyes.
“Yes you did.” Her father looked down at the desktop and the image of the phoenix the girl had so devotedly toiled over. “Mommy’s going to love it.” He gently put his arms around her and lifted her up to his chest.
“Mom,” the girl seemed to wake from her trance. “Where is she?”
“She’s not home –”
“I want to show it to her.”
“You can show it to her tomorrow.”
“No!” she insisted with a tired croak. “Tonight … It has to be tonight. Please.” She looked up at him with her dreamy eyes.
“Alright.” He lowered her slowly to the floor and brushed the hair from over her drooping eyes. “Tell you what. You go leave it in the art room. She’ll find it when she comes home.”
The girl rubbed her eyes again and the drowsy little head bobbled. Eyes half-shut, she toddled over to her desk and patted down the top as though blind, took the picture and sleepwalked out of the open door and down the hall.
Just as he was about to follow, the twinkling of lights in the bedroom window stole through the corner of his eye. They were not fireworks. The flashing lights of the motorcade proceeded down the final road.