Fiona's Father: The Riverville Hero

Warning: Mention of the murder of a child

“Houston, we have a problem,” Fiona rolled her eyes at her father’s comment.  The two were sitting at her play table, surrounded by stuffed animals and dolls.  The tea set was a birthday gift from Fiona’s parents, and her father was desperate to see it in action.  He had no idea that a real tea party didn’t include any tea.   

Fiona wore a light blue lace dress that was ten sizes too big.  She found it on top of her dress-up box of her mother’s hand-me-downs.  Fiona’s father had taken a flattened floral hat for himself.  Although he had already knocked over the teapot, the problem Fiona’s dad referred to was not this.  He had accidentally popped doctor Barbi’s head off is the problem he was referring to.  Fiona wanted to tell her it was fine.  He can pop the head back on and that she would rather have a tea party by herself.  But she didn’t have the nerve.  

He had his own problems.  Problems that didn’t involve Barbi’s head.  Actual problems.  It seemed to Fiona, her father was having the most fun she had seen him have in weeks.  She wasn’t exactly sure what the problem was, but was sure it had something to do with work.  He was rarely home and when he was; he buried his head in his laptop. 

“There we go.  All better.  Houston, we no longer have a problem,” he exclaimed as he screwed Barbi’s head back on and gleamed down at Fiona.  He looked at his watch and took off the flattened hat. “I’m sorry darling, but I have to go.”

“Do you have to?” Fiona asked.

“I do.  The bad people of Riverville won’t catch themselves,” he realized what a weird statement this was, especially to exclaim to a six-year-old.

Five minutes later, he kissed Fiona’s mother in the kitchen and found Fiona standing in the doorway, and kissed the top of her head.  And he was off through the front door.

“Why does daddy always need to leave?” Fiona asked her mother.

“Your father has a very important job solving problems,” her mother said.

“But if it’s so important, why is he so sad all the time?” Fiona asked.

Fiona’s mother stopped drying the glass bowl in her hand and leaned down to Fiona’s height.  “I think it’s time we have a chat.” 

Fiona’s mother led her into the living room, sitting Fiona next to herself.  Fiona’s mother fingered the rough fabric that was once a uniform shade of cream, but now, in its age, showed spots of stains and dirt.

“Do you know what your daddy does for work?” Fiona’s mother asked her.

“He works for the police,” Fiona responded.

“That is right.  Do you know what he does for the police?” Fiona’s mother asked. 

Fiona thought for a moment and then shook her head.  It never occurred to Fiona to ask what her father did for a job.  A police officer was a police officer.  A firefighter was a firefighter.  A doctor was a doctor.  And a teacher was a teacher.  It never occurred to her that there could be different police officers, firefighters, doctors, or teachers.  Were they not all the same?

“Your father has a very important job with the police force.  He is what is called an investigator.  Or you might know the title of detective.  Do you remember the stories of Sherlock Holmes I would read to you?”  Fiona’s mother had found a series of Sir Conan Doyle’s stories in a thrift store one day.  They were marketed for young children.  Fiona’s mother always knew this day would come and kept this series in her back pocket for when it did.

“Of course!  I love the one about the bicycle.” Fiona said.

“That is right.  Well, your father does something very similar to Sherlock Holmes but for Riverville.”

“That is so cool,” Fiona loved the Sherlock Holmes series and it gave her pride that her father did the same thing.  “But if he has such a cool job why is he so sad all the time?”

“That is a good question,” Fiona’s mother started.  “Like with Sherlock Holmes, he needs to solve problems.  He needs to handle some uncomfortable situations.  He needs to talk to unsavory people.  And he discovers unusual things about what people have done.  It is a lot for any human to take on and frankly, I would be concerned if he didn’t let his job get to him.”  

What Fiona’s mother didn’t tell her is that a few weeks ago a hobbiest fisherman found a little girl Fiona’s age face down in the creek.  Fiona’s father was the head investigator.  Finding a little girl was the uncomfortable situation.  The unsavory people he had to talk to were a bully of a father and a drunk for a mother.  The unusual thing he was discovering about these two was the two hundred thousand dollar life insurance policy they took out on their little girl a week prior. 

“Is that it?” Fiona asked.  

Fiona’s mother thought for a moment.  There were more problems she could divulge but nodded her head.  Fiona’s mother wanted to tell her more but Fiona was still pure in this world.  She didn’t yet need to know the details of her father’s job and the problems it brought him.  Fiona’s mother did her best to help him carry these problems.  It was not yet Fiona’s time to help.  Not yet.  Fiona’s mother wanted her little girl to continue to be a little girl for as long as the tainted world could not touch her.

“Good, because Mr. Snuggles is thirsty for tea,” Fiona jumped off the couch and helped her stuffed teddy bear drink from his cup.

Fiona’s mother watched Fiona and her innocence.  She said a brief prayer for god to watch over this little girl before returning to the kitchen to clean up the rest of dinner.  The problems of the world, and Houston, were not for Fiona to bear.