Fatal, Family, Album

by Joanna Campbell Slan

  “Sometimes I think that Anya’s easy acceptance of her role as a big sister was only possible because…”

  “Because Brawny had her back?”

  “Yup. When Erik gets on her nerves, Brawny swoops in to distract him. When Ty’s crying gets annoying, it’s Brawny who whisks him away to give us all a chance to recoup. Lately, Anya’s been wondering about boys. I overheard her asking Emily if she’d ever been kissed.”

  “Emily? My niece?” Detweiler looked alarmed. His head was resting on his hand, which was propped up by his forearm as he faced me.

  “That’s normal, honey. They’re that age. I overheard them talking on the phone. I was eavesdropping. From Anya’s side of the conversation, I realized she has her sights on a particular guy, Mason, but she’s not sure about how to win his affection. I broached the subject, and she told me to back off in no uncertain terms.”

  “You’re thinking she’s discussed this with Brawny?”

  I used my fingertip to draw a lazy circle on the white tee shirt that covered my husband’s chiseled chest. “I’d lay money on it. Before Brawny came along, Anya would talk to Laurel, but Laurel’s been scarce since she and Joe got engaged. She’d sometimes talk to Rebekkah, but Rebekkah has gotten busy with school and Horace’s health problems. By default, Brawny became her ‘go to’ surrogate older sister.”

  Detweiler’s sigh was longer and louder than mine had been. “Taken to its logical conclusion, that means Anya not only lost a confidant, she’s probably feeling tricked as well.”

  Rubbing my temples with my fingertips, I did my best to cope with the warning twinges that signaled a headache on the way. “Yes,” I said. “Tricked, betrayed, lied to, and taken advantage of. You pick two. Anya is taking this particularly hard.”

  “Then your vote is to get rid of Brawny, ASAP.”

  I did my best to focus. The right words were important, especially when picking my way through a minefield like this one. “No. Actually I think we should ask Brawny to stay. At least that’s what I’m leaning toward.”

  “Explain.”

  “I’ve never seen Hadcho without his pants on. Or Clancy for that matter. Nor do I care to. Or need to. I know their hearts. I know they love me and my family. I know they’d do anything for us. It seems to me that Brawny’s in that same elite club. You know and I know that she’d lay down her life for us and our kids. If this gender situation hadn’t come to light, it would never have been an issue, would it? Her physiology has nothing to do with her relationship to us. Once I teased that out from the rest of this mess, I realized I was angry because Brawny didn’t trust us. So I was mad at her for doing exactly what I was doing now. Does that make sense?”

  “Sort of.”

  “She didn’t give us the benefit of the doubt. She figured we’d get all weird about her gender issues, and we did, but not for the reasons she predicted. I hate that she told us a lie of omission.”

  “Can we live with that? Can we forgive her?” he wondered out loud. As he did, he moved his arm so that he was lying flat on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. We looked at that stupid ceiling all the time when we were talking. I felt like I should grab a Sharpie marker, pull up a ladder, and write, “The answers are not up here!” on the surface.

  “That’s what I have to grapple with.” A wave of honesty swept over me, and I added, “Okay, I hate to admit it, but I am not totally sure how I feel about having a he-she nanny. It’s an ugly part of me, and I don’t like it, but I have to be honest with you.”

  Raising up on one elbow again, he leaned in for a kiss. “We’re in agreement. Totally. I am ticked as all get-out that they withheld this information, but I’ve been working hard to separate that sense of unfairness from the big question, Is Brawny good for our family or not? Can I accept her as she is? Can we accept her as a family? And that answer is crystal clear. We’re better off with her than without. I have tried to imagine our lives without Brawny. It’s not just childcare and housekeeping. She’s my workout buddy and coach. She protects our kids. She makes our lives easier. She’s been a good friend, stepping up and taking our part when there’s a problem.”

  “She helps out at my store. She worked some sort of hypnotism magic on my mother to make her manageable.”

  “If we could hire a replacement to take over those services, would you want to?” he asked as I admired the manly bulge of his bicep.

  “Maybe,” I said. “Maybe this is just a personnel issue. A hiring decision.”

  That shut us both up. We knew how hard it could be to find the right person. I added, “Even if we found a person who could do all that and do it at a price we could afford, we’d also have to find someone whose personality meshed nicely with ours.”

  “It’s more complicated than that. This is like finding the right roommate in college, because that person would live under the same roof and have to share our values.”

  “One hundred percent.”

  “And we’d have to break that new person in. Teaching her or him what the kids like, what we need, what our schedule is.”

  “To recap,” he said, “on one side we’ve got dealing with our hurt feelings and Anya’s rightful anger. On the other, we’ve got replacing someone who gets along with us and who does a terrific job helping us keep our show on the road.”

  “Hmmm.” I closed my eyes, blocking out everything but my gut reactions. The pain in my head was threatening to mushroom out of proportion. If I could muster up the energy, I needed to go downstairs and drink another eight ounces of water before the pain had me at its mercy. But first, we needed to bring this conversation to a conclusion. “At the risk of mixing metaphors, there’s an elephant in the room. Brawny’s identity and sexuality. We can’t just pretend she isn’t who she is. Although, nobody needs to know, do they? This isn’t anyone’s business but ours.”

  “Ours and the kids.” Detweiler rubbed his eyes, almost as if his body was sympathetic to the pain in mine.

  “Are we confusing tolerance with convenience? Are we using her because she’s helpful, rather than accepting her for who she is?”

  “Maybe.” His voice was soft but full of conviction.

  “What would we do if she wasn’t our nanny? If she was only a friend or a next-door neighbor? How would we feel about her? Are we willing to put up with this just because she’s a labor-saving device?” The words echoed in my head: Put up with this. Really? I thought I was a better person than that. I wasn’t “putting up” with anything. Brawny wasn’t hurting me. She wasn’t asking me to change my life, my standards, or my morality. She’d been born into a horrible situation, and bless her, she’d made the best of it. Who was I to label it “putting up with” as though she posed an ongoing problem in my life?

  Detweiler had taken note of my verbal misstep. His long fingers rubbed his neck as he worked to sort his thoughts. His silence suggested he was wrestling with the same issues that I was.

  “I can’t believe I used the term ‘putting up with,’” I said. “That’s not like me. That’s not the person I want to be. She doesn’t inflict any problems on my life. No one needs to know about her, do they?”

  “I don’t see why they should. It’s our business, and hers, but no one else’s.” He laced his fingers through mine. “If she wasn’t our nanny, I’d like her as a friend. Not just because she’s such a big help. I like being around her. She’s smart, well-read, and curious. She has an incredible work ethic. She’s loyal to a fault. I admire her. I like her sense of humor. It warms my heart to see her with Erik.”

  “And with Ty,” I added. “She looks at him as if he was the most important person in the world, even when she’s changing a poopy diaper. Until this happened, she was Anya’s rock, wasn’t she? Anya’s been leaning on Brawny more and more since Sheila’s been away in rehab.”

  “Anya can find her way through this. She’s a good kid.” Detweiler stretched out his arms, sliding one beneath me, so he could hug me.

  “I agree, but she is
still a kid. As much as I’d like to take the high ground here, we have to be practical. If Anya can’t find a way to accept Brawny, we have a real problem on our hands. I don’t have the energy to referee their relationship. If we could have discussed this in advance, things might be different. Unfortunately now we’re stuck dealing with Anya feeling that she’s been tricked.”

  “We all have,” he said.

  Once again I felt a slow burn of anger at Lorraine. How much did she know about Brawny and how much had she kept from us?

  Detweiler summed things up nicely. “It comes down to this: Either Anya can forgive Brawny or she can’t. If she can’t, we might have no choice but to let Brawny go.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Brawny was very understanding when we told her we needed a while to think things through. She’d acknowledged our desire not to make a decision right away with a brisk nod of her head and, “Aye. Ye take all the time you need. I’ll continue on as before, unless ye say otherwise.”

  “All that aside, we have to be practical. You’re okay with giving us time,” Detweiler said, “but the British government and the FBI need a quick response. Brawny and you and I need to get Kiki up to speed. Especially since we need to consider your situation.”

  “She needs to know everything.” Brawny’s expression changed from emotional to coolly professional.

  “Can it wait? I don’t think I can handle more intrigue this morning,” I said, even though I was burning to know why the two feds had visited. My curiosity was tempted by the ache in my head. “The kids will be up any minute. We have to get them dressed, fed, and ready for school, and then I’ve got to get to the store.”

  “It can keep for 24 hours, but not much longer. Unfortunately, there are a lot of moving parts, and most of this is out of our hands.” Detweiler sighed.

  “Out of our hands?” That didn’t make sense to me. My minor headache was causing a major disruption in my ability to think clearly. “Come again.”

  “Our hands, as in yours and mine and our family’s. But we’re not the primary stakeholders here. First and foremost, the American government has to make a decision. Visiting Brawny and me was part of that decision. It’s an operational thing.”

  I tried to nod as a way of signaling my understanding. Evidently Detweiler and Brawny had been dragged into something because they were well-respected in the local law enforcement community and could advise the Feds. After getting involved with Detweiler, I’d learned a lot about how law enforcement worked in our country. At any time, one agency or another would reach out to consult with locals under the assumption that the folks in the area knew more about their own turf. So the Feds’ visit hadn’t been a big deal. At least, that’s what I told myself. A glance at the time suggested anything more intriguing would have to wait.

  That’s how we back-burnered a discussion that would have been front and center under normal circumstances. By mutual agreement, we went on with our daily routines. I took two Advil and a glass of water, before going upstairs to shower and get dressed. Detweiler left to run his usual eight miles. Brawny woke up Erik and knocked on Anya’s door.

  The hot water and the drugs helped my headache, but now my stomach was tied into a knot. I couldn’t help but think about Brawny’s parents, and the difficulties they’d faced. How tough this must have been on them. Every child represents a dream. Long before the baby is born, you have fantasies about who he or she will be, and what your relationship will be like. The most fundamental question is, Are you having a boy or a girl? What would it be like to live with that being up in the air? The poor Macavity family! Poor Brawny! She never asked for this birth defect. And the doctor? He must have been at a loss, too. And then all the adults colluded to make what they considered the best choice possible…only it was the wrong choice.

  I ran my hands down my body and considered how lucky I was to have all the right pieces in the right places. Being raised the wrong gender must feel a lot like wearing the wrong size shoes, day in and day out. I winced thinking of how it might chafe.

  Feeling much more charitable toward everyone concerned, I dressed in a nice pair of dark green pants, a simple white blouse, a floral cardigan that picked up the green of the pants, and went downstairs.

  Erik was seated on his booster chair. Usually he alternates between spooning out his cereal and picking it up with his fingers. Today he only nibbled on a Cheerio while delicately holding it in his fingertips. Because he is biracial, his skin is the color of a vanilla latte from Starbucks. My Anya, on the other hand, is a true-to-life version of Snow White, but with platinum blond hair. Sitting side-by-side, they seem like two sides of a coin, because both are beautiful children.

  However Anya’s expression was anything but pleasant. She was one iota away from scowling. I decided to ignore it for the time being.

  “Erik, please eat your breakfast,” Brawny said. She jiggled Ty on one hip while she watched bread in the toaster. My little guy whimpered sadly as I lifted him out of the nanny’s arms.

  “Ty is not a happy bunny,” Brawny said. “Erik isn’t either. The sun isn’t shining today. Not yet.”

  This was her code for Anya being in a bad mood.

  I nodded to Brawny.

  The back door opened, and Detweiler huffed in, hot and sweaty from his run. “Good morning!” he sang out as he moved through the kitchen and raced upstairs to take his shower. Gracie trotted upstairs behind him.

  “Right.” I grunted as I cuddled Ty and carried him over to a kitchen chair. My youngest was becoming quite the butterball. Mindful of the need to be modest, I grabbed a dishtowel to cover his mouth and myself, and then I sat down. I’d only gotten him settled and latched on, when Brawny handed me a plate of toast, crispy bacon, and apple slices. “Tea comes next,” she said.

  What would we do without her? The thought popped into my head and crowded out everything else. Meanwhile, Ty fussed around. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable. Usually he attaches to me like a vacuum cleaner, but not today.

  “How are you this morning, Anya?” I asked.

  “Fine.”

  “What do you have going on today at school?”

  Before she could answer, Erik explained that they were adding big numbers today and learning to read real books. He was very excited about being able to read to himself, and he chattered happily about the Bob’s books and the new words he was learning.

  “Bob’s books?” Brawny asked.

  “Actually that’s Bob’s Books with two capital B’s. They were introduced here in the US thirty-five years ago,” I explained. I knew about them because Erik’s teacher, Maggie Earhart and I were friends. “They do a wonderful job of moving kids into reading.”

  “I can weed,” Erik affirmed.

  “The word is ‘read,’” Anya corrected him.

  “That’s what I sayed.”

  Anya leaned closer so that Erik could hear her more clearly and see her mouth form the letter “r.” “R-r-r-r-read.”

  “Weed.”

  “Whatever.” Anya shrugged.

  I noticed she’d poured herself a cup of coffee. Usually I don’t allow that. I knew Brawny didn’t serve coffee to my daughter. This was Anya’s none-too-subtle way of saying, “I’m a grownup.”

  But she wasn’t. Not at thirteen. I thought about saying something and decided to keep my mouth shut.

  A minute later, when Brawny asked her whether she’d prefer Grape-Nuts or granola, Anya pretended not to hear the question. I opened my mouth to correct my daughter’s behavior, but Brawny lightly grabbed my forearm.

  “Nay.” She spoke in a whisper. “Leave her be. Please.”

  Maybe she was right. I cradled Ty against my chest and noticed how warm he felt. My baby nursed weakly. When he unlatched, I grabbed the dishtowel off of him with one hand and moved him to an upright position. Lifting him higher, I moved Ty so that his face rested against my collarbone. Once he was balanced, I kissed the nape of his neck. It was scalding hot.

  �
��Brawny, I think Ty has a temperature.”

  I’d no sooner gotten the words out when Ty gurgled. Hot vomit squirted inside my collar and down the back of my blouse. I gasped but kept my grip on the baby.

  “He pooked!” Erik pointed a spoon my way. “Eoooo. Yuck! It smells!”

  Ty cried weakly. Drool and puke continued to dribble onto my blouse.

  “I’ll get ye a big bath towel and some wipes.” Brawny raced out of the kitchen.

  I used the dishtowel to wipe off Ty’s mouth. I was doing my best to calm the startled baby, when I heard a loud harrumph-ah-harrumph-ah sound, the precursor to puking.

  I looked away from Ty in time to see that Erik was heaving. I watched in horror as his stomach spasmed. Hoping to intercede, I hopped to my feet, but not gracefully because Ty’s weight proved cumbersome. I tried to grab Erik’s cereal bowl and hold it under his mouth like a basin. Reflexively, he turned his head away from me. With the force of a firehose, Erik spewed milk and cereal all over the table top.

  “Ew, gross,” Anya said. Holding her nose, she walked out from the kitchen.

  A part of me wanted to reprimand her. Another part was relieved she was gone. Anya has a notoriously touchy tummy. I didn’t need her getting sick, too.

  “Hang on while I grab a towel!” Brawny called from the laundry room. Erik burst into noisy sobs. He heaved once more. This time he vomited all over my leg. The force of it scared him because he couldn’t breathe while it lasted.

  “It’s okay. It’s okay, sweetie.”

  I had one boy sobbing in my right ear, and the other crying in my left. I smelled awful, and my headache started up again. I wanted to plop down onto a kitchen chair and cry, too, but I couldn’t because right then, Gracie wandered over to see what was happening and to help with cleaning up. “No, Gracie, don’t!”

  Brawny stepped out of the laundry room into the hall to see what the dog was doing.