They exchanged conspiratorial smiles.
He hadn’t cared much for babies until he held Ellen in his arms seconds after she was born. Never before had he experienced the unconditional love that he felt for his daughter from that moment forward. There were mornings now he dropped her at school, and watched as she walked away, leaning against her heavy backpack, ponytail flapping. He’d sit there and look at her, thinking how lucky he was to have her as a daughter. Sometimes she would look back like, “Dad, go!” And of course, he did. But he couldn’t wait to see her again. He was a highly-regarded federal prosecutor, but his favorite job was being Ellen’s dad.
Ellen picked up the Game Boy and flicked it on. Its annoying, all-too-familiar tune filled the air.
Kevin watched his daughter squinting at the little screen, oblivious to the world around her. He went back to the ice cream, now without competition.
Less than an hour ago, he and FBI Special Agent Bud Marcello had been seated side-by-side at the prosecution table in San Francisco’s Federal Courthouse. As Ellen had watched from the public benches, a jury had convicted a prominent Santa Rosa City Councilman of bribery. It was Kevin’s last federal trial for the next year, and the final case of Bud’s long and illustrious law-enforcement career.
Tomorrow, Bud Marcello was retiring from the FBI after 30 years, while Kevin was heading to Holland where he had landed a one-year assignment to prosecute war criminals in The Hague at the United Nations’ sponsored International Criminal Tribunal for the former Yugoslavia.
After twenty years as a federal prosecutor, Kevin was looking to do something different for a year, and at the same time, he wanted Ellen to experience living and touring abroad before she got to the age where she wouldn’t be seen with her parents.
When he returned to California, Kevin planned on landing with a prestigious law firm where he could try civil cases in federal court and make enough money to fund Ellen’s college education. Ellen was a straight “A” student. The day before, she had completed the fifth grade. To Kevin, she was Ivy League material already; Harvard, Yale, Princeton – none were too good for his little girl.
A trip to the Ghirardelli Chocolate Factory, with its large clock tower overlooking San Francisco Bay, was Kevin and Ellen’s tradition whenever he finished a trial. As he heard Ellen exclaim in frustration while pressing the buttons on her Game Boy, Kevin got up and filled two cups of water from the dispenser.
Ellen finally paused her game and looked up. “I was thirsty. Thanks, Dad.”
“Ready to head home?”
“We have to look at the machines on the way out.”
Ellen took a swig of water, got up from her chair, put the Game Boy in its case, and headed for the rear of the soda fountain. Kevin followed, snatching a napkin from the holder as they left. He caught up with Ellen and handed her the napkin without a word. She knew the routine. Grimacing, she wiped her mouth and handed the dirty napkin back to Kevin as they reached the exhibit showing how Ghirardelli chocolate was made. Ellen studied the placards, which she read every time they came here. She examined the machinery used in making chocolate candy.
“I wonder what the chocolate will be like in Holland,” she said.
“The Dutch make some of the best chocolate in the world. They’re famous for it. I hear they even sprinkle chocolate on their toast.”
Ellen’s face lit up. “Now that’s a habit I could get into. But I’m really going to miss my friends.”
“You’ll have all kinds of new friends.”
“I’ve lived in the same house since I was born. I’ve gone to the same school since kindergarten. There’s only a hundred kids there, and I know them all. There’s more than a thousand kids at The American School of The Hague. And it’s in a foreign country where I don’t know the language.”
“Scared?”
Ellen nodded.
“So am I,” he admitted. “A little, anyway.”
He put his arm around her shoulder as they watched the sea of milk chocolate wash back and forth in the large vat.
“Hey, have I ever steered you wrong?” he asked confidently.
“You made me take those drama lessons and play in that dumb softball league.”
Kevin grinned sheepishly. “Besides those two.”
Ellen rolled her eyes, then reached for his hand and cupped it in her own. Kevin loved it when she let him hold her hand. He knew it wouldn’t last much longer.
They strolled out of the ice cream place and into the parking garage. When they got to their minivan, Ellen grabbed the Game Boy and resumed the challenge.
Kevin didn’t object. He had slain his dragon in the courtroom today, and now Ellen was trying to slay hers.
As was their tradition, Kevin maneuvered the van over to the part of Lombard Street known as “The Crookedest Street in the World.” Ellen paused her game as the Andersons’ van joined the procession of cars carefully snaking their way down the switchbacks of the famous crooked street. She waved happily to the tourists who stood at the bottom of the street, snapping pictures.
Kevin and Ellen had been down this street dozens of times, but they still shared in the thrill.
“I wonder what it would be like to live on this street,” Kevin said.
“Oh, I don’t think I’d like it, Daddy. Too many tourists and too much traffic. And it’s so steep; you couldn’t possibly ride a bike here.”
“Good point.”
“I like our house in Santa Rosa. It’s on a nice, flat dead end street where I can ride my bike, and has lots of trees, and our creek. There’s too much concrete in San Francisco.”
Kevin agreed. San Francisco was exciting to visit, but he loved living in Santa Rosa, with its safe, family-oriented atmosphere, beautiful rolling hills, and an abundance of parks and nature trails. Their house backed up to Annadel State Park, where he ran along meandering footpaths whenever he could. It was one of his great pleasures.
“Did you find out about our house in Holland?” Ellen asked.
“Yeah, I got an e-mail this morning. We got the one I was hoping for.”
“What’s it like?”
“A lot different than what we’re used to. Three stories tall, but really skinny. They call them row houses because a bunch of houses are together all in a row.”
“Will I have my own room?”
“Better than that – you’ll have your own floor. The downstairs has the kitchen, living room and dining room. The second story has the master bedroom, an office, guest bedroom, and the bathroom. The third level has two bedrooms. You can have one for yourself and one for your friends.”
“Cool!”
“There’s a canal in front that runs down the middle of the street.”
“Can I swim in it?”
“I don’t think so. But I hear that sometimes it freezes over in the winter and people ice skate on it.”
“Great! I hope Mommy packs my skates.”
Ellen looked worriedly at Kevin. “Will we do the Breakfast Club in Holland?”
Once a week, he drove Ellen and two of her friends, Jordie and Britt, to school. They set out early in their minivan, picked up her friends, and then stopped for a donut, muffin, or croissant to eat on the way. Kevin had been doing this since kindergarten. The three girls called themselves “The Breakfast Club.” Kevin was their driver and an honorary member, mostly because he always paid for the goodies.
“I’d love to, but I think you’ll be biking to school. Everyone does it in Holland. And our house is only about ten blocks from school.”
“Wow! Will I get to pick out my own bike?”
“Sure.”
“I’m going to get a purple one with a bell.” Purple had become Ellen’s favorite color recently, after one of her friends had observed that pink was for little girls.
Kevin drove the van north, past the Marina Green and the stately Palace of Fine Arts, and on to the Golden Gate Bridge.