"Save your pride, Number Three," he mocks their father, voice quivering and poorly accented. "Number Four has a long way to go yet! I believe he's still seeing tap dancing tigers and dehydrated elephants when he closes his eyes!"

He chuckles to himself, bringing the cigarette up to his lips for a final drag, letting the cherry burn all the way to the filter. He snubs the butt out on the concrete, holding his breath before he releases a long, slow exhale.

Pushing himself up out of the water, he pads over to her, holding out a hand to her. "You should go back to bed," he rests one fist on his hip, like he might admonish her. "It's long past your bed time, missy. And a Hollywood starlet needs her beauty rest. What will the tabloids thing if they see bags under your eyes?"