Gaberialla "Gabby" Richardson at 27 years of age seemed to be adrift to her father, mother and even in casual observations from me next door. Never leaves the house, bought a dog that the parents have to care for when she heads out to Houston, or Florida or to whichever Coast. Didn't seem to have a plan.
"I don't really know what she does," her father Camron told me after talking Iowa football in the driveway, waving at her leaving for the gym. "It's some sort of internet thing."
My daughter's in her early 20s, son's in his mid-20s and they are experts in Tik Tok, Snapchat, IG with a sprinkle of Facebook. I dove into Tik Tok traveling, and now when my wife's out of town, it's my guilty pleasure so I understand the time hole it can be. I also have accounts in most social media and do understand their workings, their additions and a little how they can generate revenue.
"She has to be an influencer," I've told my wife Mel and friends, who casually notice how fucking hot Gabby is, the complete package of fitness, curves, hair, naturally dark skin, height and a sexy high pitched voice.
"Her giggle is infectious," Mel said after chatting with Gabby, Camron and his wife Anne.
"So is her cleavage," I joked seriously, getting the 'you're a dirty ol' man' look from Mel.
Gabby would dress up, do her make-up and take pictures in the back yard, frolicking and posing. Flying off to places, her parents taking care of the dog, we could see her doing that for a company or just to represent products.
In the summer I would smell the distasteful aroma of weed from the back patio, and see random cars in the driveway when Gabby was alone house sitting. Cameron and Anne were very well off and owned property in New York, Texas and a lake house and were gone a lot, leaving Gabby there.
I would time my yard work to when she was laying out, often she would surprise me when I turned a corner, or her mom and she would start out for a run. My face had to be wide with a smile, my eyes darting down to obvious places.
Those lurid thoughts started to disappear when one vehicle replaced the assortment, a black truck with college plates, and a thin, professional man who would wave and talk to my wife started showing up regularly. Gabby said she met him at his tailgate at an Iowa football game and officially called "Kyle" her "boyfriend."
The calendar turned to January 2024, Camron and Anne made their usual trek that would start in Texas and end up in New York. They let us know Gabby was house sitting and they'd see us in April sometime.
"I'm sure you'll see Kyle a lot as well," Camron said, giving me that somewhat disapproving father eye roll. "He's been good for her...settled her down some."
Sexually speaking Camron and Anne were very appealing, a few years younger than I, but both retired already having had great jobs with great benefits. He was about 5'6" but worked out a lot, his upper body and arms quite large, balding but dark, Mediterranean skin. Anne, maybe an inch taller, you could see her past beauty in her current beauty and had taken to jogging with Gabby. I have a thing for women in running gear.
Kyle was young, and I imagined hung, if he was to command Gabby's attention.
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The forecast for the week was foreboding, a large winter storm that could shut things down for days. My wife Mel decided she needed to help our daughter winterize her apartment and bring her an emergency kit for Jessie's car. I had meetings the day before the storm was to arrive so it left me at home.
"We used to put the plastic up, I can do that," Mel said. "It's really the car kit I'm most concerned she has, and of course she wants Pho for dinner."
"I'm concerned about you going out for dinner, some models have it starting at 5 p.m., not 10 p.m." I warned Mel, who scoffed at the forecasters, waving her hand in the air.
That night, at 6 p.m., I got the call from her, "I'm staying up here, it's really coming down."
"Told you!" I boasted and then said the obvious. "I hope you still fit your daughter's clothes, cause you're going to be up there a few days."
"Her sweats for sure," Mel said. "Enjoy your few days with the dog."
The snow set in and piled up six inches overnight and kept gong. Work was closed, though I did a lot from home, and I periodically went out to clear my driveway. My snowblower wasn't the biggest, so I couldn't let it all pile up, and after plows go through it's nearly impossible to to get out if you don't clear what they put in even with your driveway cleared.
After the first couple times that day I noticed no-one was doing Gabby's drive. I had seen her out with her dog, videoing and taking pictures in the snow. I was bored so I cleared the base of the driveway, her sidewalks, and then the rest.
My dog Kaiser hates the snow, but it was time and I went out with him, forcing a walk down past the first four houses. Coming back I heard a familiar infectious giggle chasing a growing larger by the day golden lab.
"CeCe!" she said loudly, the dog finding Kaiser and after about 10 seconds of floppy, large puppy, Kaiser started growling at her dog. "Oh, I'm sorry..."
I picked up Kaiser and told Gabby it was alright, CeCe still bounding around us, not harming anything.
"Kaiser's just a grumpy old man, like his owner," I said.
"You're not grumpy, or old...Hey thanks for clearing the driveway, but not my thing. CeCe and I are soooo boorrrrred," Gabby said like a spoiled 8 year-old. "At least you have company with your wife, Kyle's in California..."
"Mel's stuck at our daughters until the roads clear," I said, seeing Gabby's eyes actually study me for a moment.
"Well that sucks for you...we're both just bored at home with dogs then...see ya!" she said, her perfectly fitting long coat, the hood highlighting her appealing face.
I was thinking about going to bed, had a nice chat with a man from Colorado, neither of us got off, I just edged some, and my phone notified me that there was someone at the front door. I was still in sweats, a hoodie and socks.
It was Gabbie.
