“Lighten up,” said Ryan. “She’s not going to hurt them.”
“How do you know? You don’t know her. I do.” Jessie peered out the window. Sandy was standing at the foot of the two-story playhouse. Even from inside, we could hear the kids shouting happily.
“Ryan and I will take the first watch,” I said. “Why don’t you go work on your stuff?”
“Could you move over to the window?” Jessie asked me. “I don’t think you can see her from here.”
Ryan asked, “What are you afraid of?”
“Who knows? She might let them do something dangerous.”
“The playhouse is totally safe, Jessie.” Ryan got a beer from the fridge and twisted off the top.
“Or she might take them.”
“You mean, kidnap them?” I hid my surprise.
“You never know. Maybe she hates me. It would be her way of getting even. Maybe I should stay.” Jessie chewed on a hangnail.
“They’re fine, babe.” Ryan went over and looped his arm around her waist. He pointed with the tip of his beer bottle. “Look how happy they are.”
Together the three of us stared out the window. We saw a grandmother and her grandchildren laughing and playing in the cold light of a winter afternoon.
Grumbling, Jessie went to her office. I told Ryan I’d take this shift, got my phone, and moved over to the family room where I could monitor most of the backyard. Sandy was standing on the second step of the ladder to the playhouse, and Christopher was digging in the sandbox.
I killed a few minutes checking email. When I looked up, Sunshine was carrying a bucket full of sand up the ladder into the playhouse. Sandy was pushing the little boy on the swings and talking to Jared, who stood near the play structure, hands in pockets.
I went back to my phone.
I was reading an email from a client when I heard screaming. I looked up to see Sandy chasing Jared across the yard, brandishing a shovel.
I jumped up and headed for the door, but Jessie was faster, almost knocking me down as she blasted past. While she grabbed the kids and hustled them inside, I ran after Sandy, Ryan at my side. Jared reached his house, skidded inside, and slammed the back door as Sandy swung the shovel with everything she had. The window shattered, whether from the shovel or Sandy’s language, I wasn’t sure.
Ryan grabbed the handle before she could wind up for the next swing.
“Sandy, stop,” I said. “What happened?”
Ryan pulled on the shovel, but Sandy didn’t want to let go. Her face was red, her mouth open as she panted. “He was touching her! He was touching her on her backside!” Sandy began kicking the door with her sneakers. The frame rattled, and safety glass dropped to the ground in chunks.
“Come here. Stop. You’re going to hurt yourself.” I managed to pull her away from the door. I put my arm around her shoulders, forced her to turn around, and walked her back to the main house. We left Ryan poking through the glass to reach inside and unlock the door.
I dropped Sandy at the kitchen table and brought her a glass of water. She drank, her hands shaking. Minutes later, having settled the kids in the playroom, Jessie joined us. “What the hell just happened?”
Sandy took a gulp of water. She almost choked. “We were having fun. I was pushing Christopher on the swing, and Sunny was up in the playhouse. Jared came over and started talking to us. It seemed as if he wanted to be friends with the kids, but they acted guarded, you know? As if they didn’t feel good around him. So I watched him closely.”
She took a deep breath, shuddering as she inhaled. “At one point, Sunshine began climbing up and down the ladder to the playhouse, hauling toys and sand up and down. He kept looking at her. Then he offered to help her carry something, and as she was going up the ladder, he reached up and touched her behind.” Sandy ground the flat of her palm against her forehead.
Ryan came in through the front door, slamming it. He flopped into a kitchen chair, pulled up his shirt, and mopped the sweat from his face. “He’s gone.”
Jessie’s mouth fell open. “Permanently?”
“Unless he wants to be dead. I told him he had five minutes to get his shit out of here or I’d—” he glanced at Sandy and me. “Never mind. Anyway, he and the dogs are gone. I’ll drag his stuff out to the curb, and he can get it or not.” Ryan winced. The knuckles of his right hand were skinned and red.
Jessie got a wet washcloth and gently cleaned the blood from his hand.
“How are the kids?” I asked.
“They thought it was funny,” Jessie said. “They thought Sandy was going to throw dog poop on him.”
“I was just picking up a few piles, so the kids wouldn’t walk in it.”
“That’s usually my job. Thanks,” said Ryan.
“Thank God they’re not traumatized,” said Jessie.
“Children are resilient,” said Sandy. She glanced at Jessie. Their eyes met and darted away.
Ryan said, “It’s almost dinnertime. You’re welcome to stay and eat with us.”
“I don’t have much of an appetite.”
“I don’t think any of us do, but it’ll help bring back normalcy for the kids,” said Jessie. “Nothing fancy. Probably just hamburgers. I don’t know if we even have buns.”
Ryan stood up. “I’ll go see.”
We ate dinner at the kitchen table, veterans of the Jared wars coming together to celebrate. The kids couldn’t quit talking about Mrs. Larson’s attack with the poopy shovel. As they laughed, we all did, and the tension dissipated.
I asked Sandy about the dog pack, and how she had controlled them instantly when she arrived earlier.
“I learned some tricks at my job,” Sandy said. “I work on a ranch where we take in rescue animals. Dogs, horses, even a couple of donkeys. And a cow. She’s pretty old.”
Ryan brought vanilla ice cream to the table. We smothered it with chocolate syrup.
“Do you get to ride the horses?” asked Sunshine, in awe.
“Every day.”
“You ride?” Jessie said. “Since when?”
“I don’t know if you remember, but I’ve always loved horses. I rode them all through my youth. After we got married, Richard preferred I stop. He was afraid I’d get hurt.”
“Who is Richard?” asked Sunshine.
“He was my husband.”
“Did he die?”
Sandy smiled. “No, honey. He’s fine.” She glanced at Jessie.
“Where is he?” Sunshine asked.
Jessie stood. “Time for baths.”
“We don’t want baths!” the children wailed, but Ryan took them away, promising to bring them back afterward to say good night.
“So, how is my father?” asked Jessie.
“I don’t know.” Sandy straightened her shoulders. “We’re no longer married.”
“You got divorced? When?”
“A couple years ago.”
“Why? What happened?”
Sandy looked at Jessie. For perhaps half a minute, no one spoke. Then Sandy said, “The last information I got was that he and his girlfriend were moving to the Carolinas.”
“So you’re alone? But you were always—you were never—” Jessie stopped.
“More wine?” I brandished the bottle. No one noticed.
“Never what?”
“How are you able to live on your own?” Jessie blurted it out and waited, her jaw clamped.
Sandy sighed. “It’s been a hard road, but I’ve relearned that particular skill.”
“But you were always so dependent.”
“Yes. I was.” Sandy found a drop of water on the table and began making absent-minded circles with a fingertip. “I’m happy that I married Richard because we had you. But it wasn’t a good match for the long term, and I’m better off now.”
“And that’s what matters.” Although Jessie’s head was bowed, I felt fury radiating from her. I glanced over at Sandy. Our eyes met. Hers were pleading.
“Jessie?”
I said softly. “It’s getting late. Do you want to call it a night?”
Jessie didn’t answer, but I saw her jaw working as if she were talking to herself.
“I think I should go,” said Sandy. She braced against the arms of the chair, preparing to rise.
Jessie looked up. “I don’t think I can forgive you for trying to kill us. Me and Sunshine.”
Sandy swallowed. Nodded. She reached for her water glass. Her hand was shaking, and the water sloshed against the sides. She set the glass down with a thud.
“How could you?” Jessie’s voice was barely a whisper.
Sandy clung to the water glass. “I was ill. I wasn’t one hundred percent rational.”
“I understand about brain chemistry. And yet—” Jessie shook her head.
I felt my temples constrict, my eyes burn. I didn’t want to be there, and yet I couldn’t move, couldn’t interfere. In an agony of seconds, I waited.
Sandy waited.
Jessie sat up. She straightened her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You were codependent and ill. And I suspect that my father made it worse for you. You should have received treatment years before what happened to me. I don’t blame you. In fact, I went into psychology because of my childhood.”
“Jessie,” Sandy whispered, “I am so sorry.”
“I’m not. I got a solid degree out of it, and it helps me in business and in life.” She swallowed. “Not that you’d notice.”
Sandy’s voice was barely a whisper. “I know you may hate me, and what I’m going to say is perhaps incredibly stupid, but I’m going to say it anyway. I’d like to atone. I’d like to make it up to you, and to earn your good opinion again.”
Jessie snorted.
“I could help you,” said Sandy. “I see you’re incredibly busy, and it can’t be easy for you and the family. If you’d let me, I could ease your load a bit. I know a lot about domestic work. I could help.”
Jessie got up and wandered to the kitchen sink. She stared out into the darkness for a minute. Two. She said to the opaque window, “You can come back and visit. Just not right away.”
“Of course. I understand.” Sandy got to her feet. “Thank you for letting me come by. It was a blessing to see the babies. I mean, the children.” She swallowed, blinking rapidly.
We walked her to the front door and said goodbye. While I waited until Sandy started up her Jeep, Jessie turned and walked stiffly down the hall.
Chapter 22
FOR THE PAST FEW DAYS, I had volunteered to pick up the kids from school, developing a nodding acquaintance with the other parents and grandparents. Together we waited, exchanging stories about our children. When the bell rang, classroom doors flew open and lines of students filed toward us, each led by a vigilant teacher. The gates would roll open, eye contact was made, and children were released into the arms of their caregivers. With the unselfconsciousness of ducklings, Sunshine and Christopher held my hands as we walked back to the car. I beamed at other parents, happy to be a part of this ritual, and feeling as if I’d won some kind of lottery.
I could see Sandy in this role. I wished it for her. However, Jessie was resistant, which was too bad. If Jessie would let Sandy into her life even just a little bit, she’d have more time to manage her hectic life.
Thinking of time, I felt the pressure of my promise to find domestic help for the family before returning to North Dakota. As I contacted the various service companies, however, I was continually rebuffed. Word had gotten around. Nobody wanted to work for the Andersons.
When we arrived back at their house, the kids dropped their backpacks in the kitchen and ran out the back door. They were now free to play outside since the dog pack and the creepy pack leader had been evicted. Jared’s furniture and other household detritus had already been removed from the grassy strip outside the wall of the property.
I greeted Jessie, told her the kids were outside and went to the kitchen for a glass of diet soda before returning to my room to work. However, the happy sound of laughter distracted me. The glow from the schoolyard still with me, I set down the glass and went outside.
The kids competed to swing the highest, although it was no contest given Sunshine’s long legs. Still, Christopher thought he was winning. Rocking back and forth, he increased his momentum, his little hands gripping the chains tightly. Their shrieks and laughter lifted my mood instantly.
“Come push us,” they cried, and I readily obliged, going from one to the other until I was worn out. Begging off, I sat on a bench under a group of leafless aspens. The late-afternoon sun gilded the scene with a golden light, and as happy as I felt, my joy was tinged by melancholy. How I would have loved to have been their grandmother. What a loss for Sandy.
For the little guys, too. Ryan’s parents lived in Maine, along with his brother. Jessie’s father was MIA, her mother was excommunicated, and she herself had no siblings. I felt bad for all of them. Although I understood Jessie’s pain and resistance, life was too short to cling to anger and resentment, however righteous. Sometimes it was better to minimize the negative and allow yourself to accept the good in a situation.
But youth demanded perfection. Youth was unwilling to compromise. In her drive to become independent and reject her mother on principle, Jessie was making life too hard for herself. I wasn’t sure how it would resolve, but the family couldn’t continue on the same track. Something had to give.
The back door opened, and Jessie called for the kids to come in. They had homework, she said, and it was getting too cold to be out without jackets anyway. I helped urge them inside as they complained and resisted, arguing with their mother and dragging their feet. As Christopher tried to dart through the mudroom into the kitchen, Jessie caught him with one arm.
“Take off your shoes,” she screeched.
Christopher flinched and dropped his head. “Sorry, Mommy.”
Jessie’s face fell. She reached down and picked him up, holding him tightly in her arms, her face buried against his neck. For a moment they were silent and still as a statue. Sunshine and I stood quietly watching.
Jessie set him down gently on the bench. “You know the rules, buddy. Let me help.” She pulled off one muddy shoe and then the other. When she was done, she gave him another hug. “You know Mommy loves you?”
“Yes.” He squirmed away and ran to the playroom, yelling at the top of his lungs, injustice forgotten. Sunshine sat on the mudroom bench in her stockinged feet, picking at a fingertip and wincing.
“Come on, Sunny, time for homework.”
“I have a splinter.”
Sighing, Jessie glanced at the ceiling and went to get the tweezers.
“Let me see,” I said. I held her skinny little finger up toward the waning sunlight but could see nothing. “I guess I can’t help you, honey, but Mommy’ll get it. I’ll see you for dinner, okay?”
“Okay.”
I gave Sunshine a quick hug and headed for my room. On the way, I smelled something burning and ran into the kitchen to investigate. Smoke was leaking out from around the edges of the oven door. I yanked it open. A gray cloud billowed out.
Our dinner was incinerated.
I hit the overhead fan and turned off the oven just as the smoke alarm activated, its shrieks piercing my eardrums. I opened and slammed drawer after drawer, searching for oven mitts. Jessie and the kids galloped into the kitchen as I removed the pan containing our destroyed dinner.
“Turn it off!” Sunshine screamed, her hands clamped over her ears.
“Open the back door,” I yelled.
Jessie ran ahead of me and flung it open. I set the smoking pan on the flagstone porch and went back in the kitchen to help open windows.
“Fire!” Christopher grabbed an unopened water bottle from the refrigerator and hurled it at the oven. It bounced off and ricocheted onto the kitchen counter, knocking a row of glasses into the sink, cracking and breaking on their way down.
The smoke alarm stopped abruptly.
Sunshine’s scream died out. Christopher stood waiting for the axe to fall.
We all stood looking at each other, paralyzed by the shocking silence.
“Well, that was ridiculous,” said Sunshine.
“Ree DIK luss,” said Christopher.
Jessie peered at me through the haze. “I was trying a new recipe.”
“Blackened Chicken?” I asked.
She couldn’t suppress a smile, and neither could I. We started laughing, and the kids joined in. By the time Ryan came through the door, we were nearly hysterical.
“It’s freezing in—what the hell happened?” He fanned smoke away from his face.
“Jessie was trying to cook.” I looked at Jessie, and we cracked up all over again.
“Oh, my God, no. Is everybody all right?” He stood in the middle of the hazy kitchen, eyeing the broken glasses and wild-eyed children.
“We’re fine,” Jessie giggled.
He shook his head and pulled her in for a hug. “How about I make a reservation for dinner at Mama Gina’s?”
At the restaurant, while Sunshine and Christopher ate mac and cheese and played games on their tablets, Ryan and I ribbed Jessie about her lack of finesse in the kitchen. In time, the conversation turned to my search for a cook and housekeeper.
“The service agencies are happy to talk with me until they find out—uh—”
“That it’s us,” said Jessie. “We’ve been blacklisted.” She sounded defeated.
“I wouldn’t call it that.” I tried to think of a more positive word, but couldn’t.
“Did you tell them the dog pack is gone?” asked Ryan.
“Ryan, she’s not going to bring THAT up.”
I fumbled for the words. “They don’t feel as if your home is a welcoming environment.”
“We’re abusive, in other words.” Ryan looked at Jessie.
She sighed. “I admit it. I lose my temper a lot. I yell at people. I hate myself for it. But I get so stressed out. It’s like they don’t know anything, and I have to tell them everything. And I’m paying them good money, and I might as well do it myself.”
“And that’s what she tells them,” Ryan said. “In a loud voice. With that friendly look you get—” He made a grotesque face.
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