The binder.
If she’d planned a test on that monstrous binder, I planned to spirit myself out under the cover of darkness and, if necessary, push my car to the end of the street before starting it to avoid detection. My little nugget of a baby would probably cheer me on to victory.
With each page in its own clear protector and weighing more than a small dog, this was the nanny/caretaker/au pair bible. No translation needed. Accept the words printed on the page and—when in doubt—err on the side of caution. If I could create something like it for our clients to monitor their social media, I’d be the darling of Virtual Strategies.
Mia detailed phone numbers of any person/physician/pharmacist/playgroup/neighbors Lily might or might not need, now or in the future. Lists of medicines, allergies, morning and afternoon snacks, approved meals for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, foods not approved, scheduled wake-up and nap and bedtimes, and even values to be encouraged.
Lily was either a high-maintenance three-year-old or Mia was reading too many parenting books.
While Lily napped, we had Binder 101 class. Mia reviewed each page, after handing me a pen and pad for notes. Stopping to ask if I had questions, she must have noticed my saucer-eyed, raised-eyebrow expression—like she’d poured spaghetti sauce on my head.
“It’s overwhelming, right?” She flipped over some of the pages. “I mean, it’s difficult to plan for every little incident that could happen when Bryce and I aren’t here. Being a mom is a 24/7 watch, but you’re never sure what you’re looking out for. Then you read all those awful stories about children drowning in pools, in car accidents, being abducted . . .” She pressed her forefingers in the corner of each eye to blot the tears. “Think about how protective you already feel about that sweet baby hanging out with you now.”
“You’re going through this book about everything that would or could happen to Lily, and I’m wondering how I’m going to do this alone.” I grabbed a water bottle from the refrigerator and paced, wishing I had a pacifier I could use to soothe myself. “I can’t afford to stay home. I don’t even have a home. Yet. But how will I pay for child care, let alone a certified nanny or au pair?” My voice quivered.
Mia closed the binder, and her eyes followed me as I paced. Past the white granite island and the custom cherry cabinets and the chef-inspired elitist oven that glared at me every time I walked by.
“It’s going to be okay. You’ll get it all together. I can help, and your family . . .”
I stopped and stared at Mia. If I didn’t think I’d break every bone in my hands, I would have slammed them down on the countertop. “Please, you’re my best friend; don’t be so condescending. It’s not going to be okay. Because I don’t even know anymore what the ‘it’ is. Wyatt doing something so idiotic by driving to God knows where the morning of our wedding? Then he dies? The epitome of idiotic. I find out I’m pregnant? My mother thinks I’m the picture in the dictionary under sin? Oh, and let’s not forget the baby gifts. The ones that aren’t for my baby. Again, only God knows what baby they’re for, and He’s not providing any information to help. So, nothing is okay in my life right now.”
I could actually take a breath that passed my throat, but at the expense of verbally throwing up all over Mia. I couldn’t win. I had to make someone else feel bad so I could feel better.
“I’m sorry your life is screwed up. I didn’t mean to sound patronizing,” Mia said, with more calm and dignity than I would have managed under the same circumstances. She pushed the binder to the edge of the table. “Sit down. I’ll get some tissues for you.”
She opened a cabinet and handed me the whole box of them as I slumped into the chair across from hers. Everything on my face was running. My eyes, my nose, even my forehead participated.
Mia stood behind her chair. Her hands wrapped around its carved wood spindles. “I hope being here will help. I’m in this with you as much as possible. But Livvy, maybe you’re investing your energy in the wrong direction. Where and why Wyatt left that morning might be questions you’ll never find the answers to, and you can’t move on if you’re stuck there. Whatever that ‘it’ happens to be, I know one thing for sure. It’s not about just you anymore. You have to think about your baby.”
“You’re right. Like Wyatt was thinking about the baby that might be his.”
“Have room for me in that place of yours?”
I didn’t need this to be a FaceTime phone conversation to see my grandmother’s expression to know she was serious, which made me both happy and nervous. “Are you planning to visit soon?”
“Hmmph. I might have to look for a place to live with you. Been working over your mother about her stubbornness. She may kick me out of the city,” Granny said. “I might have gone too far when I told her Jesus hung out with prostitutes and criminals, not with the righteous who followed the law just because it was the law.”
“Sorry I missed that.” I laughed, imagining the startled reaction of my mother to her own mother dressing her down. I doubted she pegged Ruthie for someone who’d use the Bible to confront her with her hypocrisy. “She texted me yesterday with the same questions she sends every other day: ‘How are you?’ and ‘Are you looking for someplace to live?’ Mia’s not as anxious for me to move out as my mother is.”
“She won’t admit it, but I’m sure she realizes now that you might stay in Houston. Make that your home.”
“It doesn’t feel like home yet, but it could. I’m too busy with Lily right now to start looking at neighborhoods and the classifieds . . .” The slap-slap-slap of little feet on the hardwood floors meant nap time was over. “It’s time for Lily to do something. I can’t remember right now—”
“Snack foist,” Lily informed me, combing her fingers through her hair and almost touching my nose with her own.
“Go feed that child,” Granny said. “And Olivia, maybe try voice contact with your mom. I know you’ve called your dad, and she does, too. If she’s a bit grouchy, don’t think it’s personal. Unless she’s never not grouchy when you call. Her hip’s bothering her. I think she’s more upset about not being able to keep up with your dad on the golf course than she is the arthritis.”
After a few weeks, the binder didn’t haunt me. Sometimes Lily and I stretched the limits. Snowballs weren’t mentioned in the good- or bad-food list, so we visited the snowball stand almost every other day. That way, Lily could pick out a new color and examine it on her tongue in the mirror when she finished. Of course, that meant no hiding the evidence. But to Mia, Bryce, and me, snowballs were a summer ritual, and I wasn’t going to deprive Lily of that experience. I made sure to write it in on both the list of acceptable foods and the one of acceptable places Lily could be taken.
When Mia had nanny interviews, she’d schedule them at home so they could meet Lily. But mostly for Lily to meet them. During those free times, I’d scout neighborhoods where a house the size of a dorm room didn’t cost mid-six figures. Some days I drove in circles because I was lost, and other days I spent in my apartment, investigating jobs, practicing my own naps, and trying not to think about Wyatt. Somehow his image had been layered into the insides of my eyelids, because it was his face I saw any time I closed my eyes to sleep. But the thought of those two baby gifts would shove its way into my night or daydreams, and Wyatt would disappear as my eyes popped open.
Mia hadn’t brought up the gifts or Wyatt since my binder-induced outburst in the kitchen. And I didn’t discuss her wanting me to let go of finding the truth. When the three of us were together at night after Lily had been bathed, read to, and tucked in bed, I’d ask Bryce’s and Mia’s opinions, meshing stories of their day with mine. But puzzle pieces were still missing. I’d even brought a copy of the map that showed Oakville. Maybe it would jog their memories of someone or something there.
As time went on, their enthusiasm about the subject of Wyatt waned. His name coming up in the conversation became a signal to switch topics. The glances between Bryce and Mia, the way the
ir eyes shifted to one another and not back to me, quenched any fire I had to ask more questions.
One hot Houston Tuesday, Lily wanted a snowball after her afternoon nap, so while she slept, I checked my wallet to make sure I had cash. The business card from Cara with the private investigator’s name was still there. Patiently waiting for me to not ignore it. I sat on the love seat in the den, staring at the card in my open wallet. That dreadful feeling I experienced the day I knew I had to call Mia to tell her I was pregnant resurfaced. But so did that whispering voice inside, the one that quietly tests if you’re listening to your heart. The one that assured me reaching out was the right decision.
I pressed the numbers into my cell phone, taking my time between each one, hoping Lily would wake and I’d have an excuse to stop. She didn’t. I kept going. All that was left to do was press the green button.
Another voice. Not the soft-spoken one. The screamer who pummeled my resolve. Stop. What are you doing? Once you press Dial, that’s it; you’re committed. Are you ready for this?
I canceled the call.
CHAPTER 22
Lily and I were coloring at the table in her playroom when Mia walked in and said she had a surprise.
“Is the surprise that you’re home early?” I smiled and replaced my tangerine gel pen with the silver one to shade the stars on my page. “I have an extra book if you want to join us.” I colored mandalas as art therapy. I’d read it was supposed to soothe the soul. Trying to draw one of the circles with those elaborate center designs wasn’t bringing me inner peace, so I bought a book with the patterns. Regardless, I appreciated having a semi-legit excuse to buy gel pens in more colors than I knew existed.
She looked over Lily’s page. “She has a great eye for color, doesn’t she?”
“She does. That’s why I’m copying her,” I said.
Lily nodded as she continued to fill in the flowers on her page with different hues of orange. “She not color good. But I teaching her.”
Lily’s nose grew closer to the page as she worked. I made a mental note to suggest that Mia have her eyes checked. Her attitude was beyond checking already.
Mia sat on the chair between us. “Lily, can you give me your eyes so I know you’re listening?”
Lily put her hands over her mouth and giggled. “You so silly. I can’t take my eyes out.”
“I know, sweetie. Remember, I explained that means I want you to stop what you’re doing and give me your attention?”
Saying “Look at me” would have been a faster route to the same end, but I stayed quiet because that might have been something I missed in the binder.
Lily and I both stopped and gave Mia our eyes. At dinner last night, she and Bryce informed me they’d hired a nanny who would be starting in the next four weeks. Even knowing that this was inevitable, I already missed Lily and felt a wave of sadness.
Mia reminded Lily about my being here with her, how I couldn’t stay always because I would be finding my own house. Her hands clasped on the table, Lily listened intently like a bitty congresswoman hearing testimony, her face void of expression.
“Where’s the surprise?” She looked toward the door and around where Mia sat.
Have to adore a kid who cut right to the point.
Mia leaned closer to Lily. “Do you remember meeting Miss Jill at our house? She had short black hair, and she wore those flowered rain boots because it rained that day.”
“Yeeesssss,” Lily said, a note of caution in her answer.
“Miss Jill called us, and she asked if she could be your nanny because she liked meeting you and knows the two of you could have a wonderful time together. She would be with you when Mommy works, like Aunt Livvy has been. You could do all the same things, go all the same places—”
“Will Aunt Wivvy still live in the backyard?”
Mia looked at me. I took that as a cue. “For a while, but then Jill will live there because I’ll have my own house.” Jill wouldn’t move into the apartment until one month after starting; they wanted to make sure the arrangement was working. That meant I had two months to find something.
“Will you still come to my house?”
“Of course, Lily. You’re my coloring-book and snowball buddy. And zoo. And park,” I said, but realizing at that moment that between working and having my own baby, my time for visits would be rare.
She turned to her mother, nodded, and said, “Okay,” then went back to coloring her flowers.
Mia looked at me and shrugged her shoulders, her face a study in amazement. I bit my lip to stifle a laugh. The night before, the three of us had exhausted ourselves stocking an artillery of answers for the barrage of questions we expected.
We didn’t plan on acceptance.
A lesson from Lily.
Lily had an important choice to make, and she had only fourteen seconds left to make it.
I knew the seconds exactly because I learned to set timers to expedite some of these life-altering decisions. “Lily Loo, your time’s almost over. You’ll be able to count down from ten in two seconds.”
“Noooooooo. I not weady.” She buried her face in her hands. “I not wooking.”
“Whether you wook or not, the time doesn’t stop. So, let’s have it.”
Sitting on her hand-painted flowered Lily bench, she plopped herself over from the waist, head in her lap, her arms dangling like two legs of an octopus, and sighed. “Poorpul.”
The buzzer went off, and she bolted upright. “No, no. I mean green. Green. Wivvy. I want green. Honest.”
“You, my darling, are destined for the stage. How about today you get both?”
On Friday afternoons, we played the mani-pedi game. At home. Because in the nail salon, she spent fifteen minutes collecting bottles of polish and carrying them to the nail station, finally finding one she wanted, only to change her mind two nails in.
I’d scheduled my third prenatal appointment and hoped, in a week, I’d see boy parts on that ultrasound screen. Even if he would one day want a mani-pedi, I felt sure he’d take less time picking out a shade.
I’d only painted one hand, alternating purple and green, which delighted her, when my cell phone rang. It was tempting to let it go to voicemail because I knew it was my dad, and I could answer the questions before he asked them. “I’m still doing fine; Houston is still great; I’m still looking for a place to live.” Everything still still.
But this time, he said my name like a warning. I asked him to wait while I settled Lily with a second snack and specific instructions about the nail polish. “Don’t touch. Don’t touch. Don’t touch.” I set the bottles on a shelf of her bookcase. “Got it?”
“No-o-o-o-o, I don’t got it.” She looked at me as if I’d grown fangs. “It’s there.” She pointed to the bookcase.
“I meant . . . never mind. I’ll get you a juice and be right back.”
I grabbed an organic, gluten-free, no-GMOs, rabbi-approved as kosher, Apple-y Ever After. I handed it to Lily, then sat in the rocking chair in the playroom.
“Okay, I’m here. What’s wrong, Dad?”
“It’s your mom.”
My stomach twisted like a wet towel being wrung out to dry.
“You know that little wooden stool we have? Your mom had it in our bedroom. Hardhead. Didn’t wait for me to get home to hang one of the new paintings she’d bought. She used the stool and forgot to move it, so when she woke up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, she didn’t remember it was there. Slammed herself right into the wall. And it was her bad hip that she hit.”
The roller-coaster ride ended. She’d fallen . . . not died, not had a stroke or been in an accident or any of the other soul-sucking possibilities. “That must have been painful. She okay?”
I watched Lily take a bite of her zucchini bread, then spit it out in her napkin. “Ick. Dat’s ick.”
Poor kid. She needed a brownie or a doughnut.
“She will be,” my dad said. “We went to the doctor today,
and he said she’s going to need hip-replacement surgery.”
“Putting you on speaker,” I warned Dad as I trucked to the kitchen again. I found my box of Wheat Thins stashed in the back of the pantry. Put some in a cup and gave it to Lily. You would have thought I’d just served her a slab of chocolate cake. She actually giggled.
I returned to the rocking chair. “Wait . . . surgery because she fell? That seems a bit extreme, don’t you think? Maybe you should get a second opinion.”
“Honey, we don’t need another doctor to tell us what we could see on the X-ray and MRI tests. And between your mother’s osteoporosis and the way she hit herself on the side of her hip, it’s definite.
“The surgery’s scheduled for next Wednesday. Olivia, I am expecting you to be here. For all the differences between you and your mother, it’s important to rise above that and come home.”
“I’ll be there. Of course, I’ll be there.” It surprised and irritated me that he even thought I wouldn’t be. “I’ll talk to Mia. She should be home from work in about an hour. We’ll make plans for someone to take care of Lily for a few days.”
She pointed to herself when she heard her name. I nodded and held up two fingers to let her know I’d be off soon. Sometimes two minutes stretched into ten, but I figured until she learned to read a clock, time could pass slower than Houston rush-hour traffic.
As soon as my father cleared his throat, I knew he was about to say something uncomfortable. Growing up, when I heard that sound, I braced myself because whatever followed, it wasn’t going to be news I welcomed. Consequences for low grades or staying out past curfew or telling my mother his business was down at the office or giving me the news about Wyatt.
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