Shouldn't Want You (Cataclysm Book 2)

by Jerica MacMillan

  Contents

  Shouldn't Want You

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  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Chapter Thirty-Nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-One

  Chapter Forty-Two

  Chapter Forty-Three

  Chapter Forty-Four

  Epilogue

  Dear Reader

  Acknowledgements

  Book Club

  About Jerica MacMillan

  Other Titles on Amazon

  Shouldn’t Want You

  Cataclysm Book 2

  Jerica MacMillan

  Copyright © 2018 by Jerica MacMillan

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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  Chapter One

  Ava

  I have to find a job. I have to find a job.

  The imperative repeats in my head like a mantra as I sit in front of the computer at the public library clicking through ads on Craigslist, hoping for anything that might save me from my current situation.

  Which is twenty-two credits away from a degree in Early Childhood Education that I can’t complete. Because I lost my scholarship.

  Now I’m out of school. Out of a job.

  And scandal follows me like a black cloud.

  But I can’t focus on any of that right now. I have to push it to the back of my mind so I don’t sound desperate when I type an email to the crappy hotel chain looking for a front desk clerk at just slightly above minimum wage.

  If I don’t find something soon, I’ll be forced to return to Iowa. And I haven’t told my parents yet. About any of it. Not losing my scholarship. Definitely not about the rest of what happened. They’d kill me.

  The plan was for me to stay in Massachusetts for the summer anyway. But I was going to live in campus housing, and now I can’t because I’m no longer a student.

  I risked everything for a man. And I lost.

  Boy did I ever.

  And now I’m left with nothing. Except despair and a crappy room in a dingy apartment to stretch the last of the money I saved from my spring semester student loan disbursement as far as I can.

  Which isn’t much farther now.

  I’ve applied to several temp agencies today. It’s not ideal, but at least I might get something to hold me over.

  I really wish I could get a job working with kids, but none of the daycares connected with the school will touch me.

  That’s what happens when you end up pregnant by a professor at a conservative religious school. And everyone finds out in the worst way possible, as you’re miscarrying in the dorm bathrooms and the RA has to call 911 because she’s worried you’re going to bleed to death.

  All those biblical injunctions not to gossip?

  Yeah, no one follows those in real life. And no one knows that better than me.

  Juicy gossip is what everyone lives for. If not, no one would buy those trashy magazines, and they’d go out of business.

  At Highview Christian University, I’m the juiciest gossip that’s happened in years.

  I click a few more likely ads, emailing my resume and cover letter stored on a little flash drive that I brought to the library. My meager savings can’t be stretched to cover internet. And if things don’t pick up soon, I might end up pawning my laptop to get a few more dollars.

  On a whim I click on a headline that reads, “Nanny needed. Must be able to travel.”

  It’s the traveling that catches my eye. What I wouldn’t give to get away from here. And go anywhere other than Iowa.

  The whole point of coming to Massachusetts was to leave and only go back to visit. Returning in disgrace, all but kicked out of school and heaped with shame, is something I’ll avoid as long as I possibly can.

  And this just might be my ticket.

  I double check the address for the fifth time on my phone. The only reason I haven’t cancelled my cell phone plan yet is because my parents cover that. Once they find out I’m not in school anymore, that’ll be a thing of the past. Yet another reason I haven’t told them.

  With a deep breath, I cross the street to the tidy two-story house. It’s a picture-perfect New England home—white siding and slate blue shutters framing the dormer windows on the second floor that match the slate blue trim. The lawn is green and freshly mowed, large trees casting shadows on the front porch. I can just imagine a swing hanging from a tree in the backyard with a rope ladder leading up the side to a treehouse. The perfect place for a little boy to grow up.

  The woman I spoke to on the phone when she scheduled my interview said she was the grandmother for my potential charge. She’s been taking care of Eli, her two-year-old grandson, while his father’s been away on business. But now that Eli is older, his father wants to be able to bring him along so he can spend more time with him.

  I find it admirable. But if the child’s mother isn’t in the picture—and she hasn’t been mentioned, so I assume she’s not, but I plan on asking—I can see why hiring a nanny would be necessary.

  Even if the mother is around, lots of wealthy people hire nannies.

  With a deep breath, I smooth down the front of my pale blue button-down shirt and wipe my palms on my khaki pants, hoping I look professional enough for an interview but approachable enough to play with a little boy. I stopped by the convenience store on the way to the bus stop and found a little dinosaur toy for only a few dollars, so I took a risk and bought it.

  Maybe it’s cheap to try to bribe the kid to like me, but this is the most promising opportunity I have.

  The door opens mere seconds after I knock, a woman about my height standing on the other side, her face open and warm, her gray hair cut in a chin-length bob. “Hello. You must be Ava.” She extends her hand, and I give it a firm shake.

  “Yes. I am. And you must be Mrs. Samberg.”

  “Cynthia, please. Come in. We’ll talk in the kitchen.”

&n
bsp; I follow her down a hallway and into the kitchen in question, taking the seat she indicates on one side of a large oak table. My back is to the sliding glass door, the slanted blinds open enough to let in some light but not affording a clear view of the backyard. Opening my bag, I pull out another copy of my resume and slide it across the table to her.

  Cynthia pulls it closer but barely gives it a glance, instead studying me. “We’ve decided to conduct the interview as a two-part process. First, you’ll talk to me. And if I feel like you’re a good fit, you’ll get to meet Eli and Danny.”

  I nod vigorously, clearing my throat, trying to will the nerves away. “Danny is Eli’s father?”

  She gives me a small smile. “Yes. My son. He’s in the process of planning another trip soon, so we need someone who’s available right away. Will that be a problem?”

  “Not at all. I’m free to start immediately. If you want. I mean, if I’m the one you want. For the nanny.” Please hire me, and let me start today. I manage to hold that part back, at least. Then I could be done with the job search. I’d get to go places. See things. Get paid to play with a cute little kid all day. And the ad mentioned that the compensation was generous. I don’t know what generous means to these people, but it’s surely more than minimum wage at a daycare center. And did I mention getting away from this place and the bad memories attached to everything?

  Another small smile. “Splendid. First I want to get to know you a little bit. Tell me about yourself, Ava.”

  I blink for a second, feeling on the spot. Clear my throat. Stammer nervously. “Well, uh, I mean, I’m Ava.”

  Cynthia’s smile is warmer this time, her blue eyes amused. She sucks in a deep breath through her nose. “Deep breaths. You’re fine. I promise I won’t bite.”

  With a nearly hysterical giggle, I push my hair behind my ear, then take a deep breath like she suggested. It does succeed in helping me feel a little more composed. “Sorry. Thank you.” Another deep breath. “I studied Early Childhood Education in college. I love children. Growing up, I helped in the nursery at church and taught Sunday school to the two- and three-year-olds from the time I was sixteen. I have my CPR certification. I’ve been babysitting since I was twelve, and had a regular three-times-a-week gig with a local family.”

  I swallow down that they didn’t want me to come back when they heard about the affair, the pregnancy, and the subsequent miscarriage. They offered to give me a good reference if I needed it, but they felt I was a bad example for their young girls and couldn’t in good conscience continue to employ me. See? Everything. Gone. All in one fell swoop.

  Cynthia doesn’t seem to notice that I’m biting back more. Instead she nods. “Yes. You have them listed as a reference. Now you’re needing something full time? Is that why you’re no longer working for them?”

  “Yes.” I latch onto her offered reason for leaving them. That’s the perfect excuse. “I’m done with school, and now I need full-time employment.” If she notices the lack of a degree on my resume, she doesn’t mention it. Nor does she probe my wording of being done with school, but not mentioning graduation.

  Instead she nods and sits back in her chair, letting my resume fall back to the table. “Eli is a very active little boy. And you’ll be traveling a lot, so keeping a routine with him will be difficult. His father’s schedule will also be variable, which will complicate that even more.” Her tone is almost censorious, like she disapproves of Eli traveling with his father.

  “While routines are important for children, I’m sure we can find ways to make sure Eli feels grounded and connected. A routine for when we get to a new place, for example, like checking out the room, finding all the things we need, letting him pick his towel or which bed he sleeps on if there are options,” I offer, just tossing things out off the top of my head. “Of course a bedtime routine. The girls I sat for always had a little snack, then the whole teeth brushing, bathroom, and PJs routine, then a story before getting tucked in for the night. I always thought it worked well. And it goes without saying,” I rush to add, “that I’ll keep up with whatever bedtime routine Eli already has established.”

  “I’m happy to hear it.” Cynthia cocks her head to the side. “What other types of activities would you do?”

  “Oh, well …” I cast a glance around the room as I search through the files of preschool activities I’ve used before, trying to figure out what would work best for a child I’ve never even met. And might not get to if Cynthia doesn’t like me. “It depends a lot on what Eli likes, but most kids his age really like blocks and cars. For easy traveling, we could have those heavy duty plastic zipper bags for his cars and make roads out of felt pieces that he could put together and arrange how he wants to drive the cars on. Blocks are bulkier, but if he’ll be traveling a lot it might be worth making sure there’s room in his suitcase for at least a small box of them. I like giving kids open ended toys that they can use for whatever they can imagine, especially when space is at a premium. Um …” I trail off, thinking some more. “Crayons and plain paper are always a big hit. Small notebooks for when we’re on a plane or in a car or however his dad travels the most.”

  “Plane, I think, for the most part. This time, anyway.”

  I nod at that cryptic comment, not quite sure what to make of it, but not willing to question it at this point.

  “What do you think about screen time?”

  Ohhh, that’s a tricky one. “Well,” I say carefully, drawing out the word, playing for time. “I think it depends on the child. There are lots of educational games and shows that are geared toward young children. Obviously having them plopped in front of a screen all day isn’t healthy, but that’s not healthy for anyone. Unless the child needs limiting due to specific behavior problems or because they aren’t getting enough active time, then I think having it available at will is fine.”

  Her eyebrows climb her forehead. “And what about the research suggesting that screen time for young children irreversibly changes the way their brains are wired?”

  I hum thoughtfully, like I’m considering her point. The truth is, I have strong opinions about this, and I’m trying to figure out the best way to share them diplomatically. From her question it seems like she’s anti-screen time. But I’m decidedly for it.

  “I’ve actually done a lot of reading on neuroplasticity. I wrote a paper on it last semester. Anyway, the concept of the brain being hardwired isn’t actually correct. So any assertion that something irreversibly changes a child’s brain short of actual trauma seems … unlikely to me. Even in cases of trauma, because of neuroplasticity, brains can create new pathways to recover functions lost due to stroke or brain injury. And those are cases of actual injuries to the brain where tissue is damaged. Not just watching some shows or playing some games, which I think we can agree is a different situation altogether.”

  Cynthia nods slowly, her eyes studying me like I’m some fascinating creature.

  “And everything we do changes our brain structure. Did you know that taxi drivers typically have a larger hippocampus than non-taxi drivers? Because the hippocampus is used in spatial orientation, or the mental map you have of a city. Since taxi drivers use that all the time, it’s larger than in you or me, since we don’t need as detailed of a mental map. Musicians’ brains also have slightly different structures. The connections between the hemispheres are stronger than in non-musicians.”

  She flinches at my mention of musicians—a sharp jerk of her head—which makes me pause, examining what I just said for anything potentially startling.

  “Please, continue. This is fascinating.”

  “So, if anything and everything we do affects the structure of our brains, then I don’t find it particularly surprising that using screens would have some effect as well. In adults as well as children. And since we live in an increasingly screen-based society, having children grow up well-versed in that technology seems advantageous, does it not? Obviously children also need real books so they can t
urn pages and gain those kinds of tactile advantages and the brain structure stimulated by that interface. And they also need time to play with toys, time to run around outside, time to make messes and opportunities to learn and interact with the world around them in all its presentations. Not just through a screen. But given the importance of screens in everyone’s lives, it seems unfair and wrong to deny children the ability to explore them as well.”

  Cynthia looks thoughtful for several long breaths that seem to stretch out forever. I force myself not to keep babbling about neuroplasticity and screen time. I’ve made my point. Anything else I say now would just be repetitive rambling.

  Finally she nods decisively and stands. “I like you. You’re thoughtful and intelligent, and you obviously have a lot of experience with kids. Let’s go out back, and you can meet my son and grandson.”

  Chapter Two

  Danny

  “Raaaawr!” I reach out with my fingers curled and my teeth bared as I chase my squealing two-year-old around the giant oak tree in my parents’ backyard. My backyard?

  I grew up here. I’ve been staying here for months. But this doesn’t feel like my house anymore.

  And it won’t be for much longer. I’ve already had to leave Eli with my parents for a few nights so we could go to New York and meet with the label to finalize the release schedule, as well as do some talk show performances of the lead single that came out a couple of weeks ago.

  We still have a few months before the album drops, but we need to get back to LA sooner than later. That’s our base of operations and where we’ll be starting our tour.

  Which means I need a nanny. Now. I want someone who can get familiar with our little family as well as the rest of the band before it’s time to get on the road. Give her some time to get over her shell shock when she realizes she’s going on a concert tour with a mega famous band.