The Secret of Rover

by Rachel Wildavsky

“Hi, sweetie?” she said. “I’m your nanny?”

  Her English was nearly perfect, with only a trace of an accent. But for some reason both comments came out as questions. Was David supposed to confirm these facts? “Right,” he said.

  The nanny laughed a tinkling laugh, as if he had said something adorable. Then she leaned toward Katie, her interest in David apparently exhausted. “And you?” she asked in the same sugary voice. “You’re the sister?”

  No, she’s the brother, thought David as Katie took an involuntary step backward. Luckily their mother arrived at just this moment.

  “How nice to see you—welcome!” Mrs. Bowden’s warm voice sailed over their heads from behind as she joined them in the doorway.

  Their visitor abandoned her pleasantries with the children and directed her gaze upward toward their mother, who was eagerly beckoning her in. As David and Katie scrambled out of the woman’s way, she put one foot heavily across the threshold and reached back to close the door.

  It was then that something went wrong. A black streak shot across the slick wooden floor and darted between the woman’s feet, headed for the great outdoors. Both children gasped and threw themselves on the escaping cat, tumbling against the woman’s legs as they did so. She stumbled and, piercingly, she shrieked. The sound ricocheted off the walls and ceilings of their enormous home.

  “Slank—no! Did you get him?” Mrs. Bowden cried. The children hunched over the struggling animal. “Oh! I’m so sorry!” She turned her attention back to their guest. “Are you all right? He’s not supposed to get out!”

  The sugary expression was gone, wiped away like so much spilled syrup. A stony fury had replaced it.

  “He wants to go back to our old house,” offered David apologetically. The dark oval of his face gazed up, worried, from the floor. “Cats have a homing instinct. If we let him out, he’ll run back to where we used to live and that’s not—”

  “He could be hit by a car!” pleaded Katie. “He’s not safe outside!”

  “Kids,” said their mother, cutting in, “we’ll tell our visitor about Slank later. Just put him away for now and we’ll all get acquainted.” She turned back to the still-glaring woman. “I’m Sandra. And please,” she added, reaching for her guest’s bags, “let me help you with your things.”

  At the sound of Mrs. Bowden’s voice the woman seemed to remember herself. The angry lines relaxed. “No thanks?” she said. “I’d prefer to keep them?”

  By now Mr. Bowden had arrived to join everyone, and his hearty voice boomed into their awkward circle. “Welcome!” he called. “I’m Alan Bowden. You must be . . . ?”

  There was a short silence, then the smile slid back into position as the nanny craned her neck upward. Mr. Bowden towered above her.

  “I’m Trixie?” she answered. And then she laughed, revealing her sharp white teeth. “Nice to meet you!” she sang.

  For days the Bowdens had talked endlessly of what they must tell Trixie. But now she was with them and Katie and David could remember none of it.

  It was her fault, thought Katie as the five of them sat at the dinner table. Every time you tried to talk to her, you got that icky smile.

  David didn’t like the smile, but he could have lived with it. He just couldn’t stand how everything had to be a question, as if they’d be mad if she just said stuff or something.

  They tried to chat with her. While their dad slid the pizzas from the oven and their mom tossed the salad, Katie timidly displayed their orange trees and described their morning ritual. But Trixie’s reply stopped her cold.

  “And you’re the little gardener?” she asked.

  David found that although she asked a lot of questions, Trixie was strangely uninterested in their answers. She asked about their new school, but when he started to tell her about it, her eyes went skittering around the room. He stopped answering and she did not seem to notice.

  Then as they took their seats for dinner the cuckoo clock chimed. A woman who made a question of her own name would surely ask something about the small bird who popped from a door to warble six chirps. Not Trixie. She did not even seem to hear it.

  But their parents were, if anything, even more puzzling than their guest. They did not seem to notice how weird Trixie was. They plowed straight ahead, eating their pizza, enthusing about their new daughter, and filling Trixie in on the nuts and bolts of the family’s life.

  Mr. Bowden reviewed their weekly routine. The garbage was picked up on Tuesdays, he said. The piano teacher came on Thursdays, and the children—here he turned to them and smiled jovially—were to practice for half an hour every day. While he talked, Mrs. Bowden ran her fingers through her dark bangs, trying to remember what else they must discuss.

  “Yes—the children,” said their mother. “Let’s see. It’s still summer, so there’s no school, of course. But they can walk to the pool. And a little TV in the evenings is fine. Of course,” she added, brightening, “when it’s evening here, it will be almost morning in Katkajan.” Her eyes lit up as they always did when she thought of Theo. “Two days from now we’ll be with her!” she exclaimed.

  David cut a sideways glance at Trixie, then turned to his father. “Just keep that phone on,” he said.

  “Always,” answered Mr. Bowden. “You know our ringtone!” he added.

  Now that they had piano lessons, Katie had learned to play “You Are My Sunshine,” and she and David had to sing it for their first recital. Their parents had loved it so much that they’d demanded a repeat performance later at home, which they had recorded and loaded into their phone. Now their children’s supposedly adorable voices could be heard every time somebody called their number.

  Both Katie and David found this excruciating and usually supplied a sarcastic retort when it was mentioned. Now, though, they exchanged a look that said neither of them cared to share this family joke with Trixie.

  “Yes,” said Mr. Bowden, perceiving it was best to move on. “Well. And you also know, of course, that if you can’t get through on our cell you can try our hotel. The hotel’s in Taq—that’s the capital city.”

  “We know!”

  “The number’s—”

  “The number’s on the refrigerator. The number of the hotel in Taq, capital of Katkajan. We know.” David sighed.

  “Trixie.” Mrs. Bowden spoke brightly. “Tell us about yourself. You speak such beautiful English! Were you born in Katkajan?”

  Trixie’s honeyed smile had not so much as faltered since the family sat down to dinner. Now, though, David thought he saw a flash of annoyance behind it. It only lasted an instant, but it had been there.

  She doesn’t like questions, he thought.

  But Trixie’s smile had already slid back into place. “Katkajanians?” she said. “We’re very good at languages?”

  No one knew quite what to say to that. There was a pause, and then Mrs. Bowden called out, “Kids! Dishes.” Trixie began to lift her plate. “No, no!” said Mrs. Bowden, stopping her with a polite hand on her arm. “You’ll be working hard, starting tomorrow. Tonight you’re our guest.” She began clearing the table, and David and Katie rose to help her. Trixie wandered into the adjacent rooms. Though she was short, she was solid, and they could hear her heavy, thudding walk as she paced.

  Both kids drew a sigh of relief now that the family was left alone. And why, thought Katie, was that? Their guest had been perfectly nice. If anything, she had been too nice. There was no reason why tears should fill Katie’s eyes as she scraped her uneaten pizza into the garbage.

  The nightly news murmured on the TV that glowed in the kitchen wall. It was the new secretary of state, and she was talking about Katkajan. Mrs. Bowden paused from her cleaning to listen.

  “What is it?” asked Katie dully.

  “Katkajanian politics,” said her mother briefly. “Some people there don’t like their government. I like this new secretary of state, though,” she added softly, sharing a rueful glance with her husband. “It’s very s
ound, what she’s saying.”

  Katie gathered up the trash and set off through the pantry to carry it outside. But as she rounded the corner, she collided with the sharp edge of an open drawer. It was a special drawer lined with felt and it contained the family’s new silverware: fancy silver, expensive silver, for company. Staring into the drawer and poking amid the forks and spoons was Trixie.

  They had bought this silver when they moved to the new house. They were going to use it this year at Thanksgiving. That drawer was always kept closed.

  A thick, uneasy feeling was in Katie’s throat. Trixie looked up and their eyes met. They were alone together and the pantry was very small.

  “That’s for our new dining room,” said Katie awkwardly.

  Trixie stared. The smile was completely gone now. For almost the first time that night, she said something that wasn’t a question. “You have a lot of stuff,” said Trixie.

  Sunlight penetrated through Katie’s closed eyes and she awoke. With the first drowsy blink she remembered.

  They were gone. She was here.

  This almost hadn’t happened. After dinner, Katie had crept to her parents’ room and asked them not to go. She did not like Trixie, she said. Maybe Theo could wait for just another couple of days. Maybe they could find another nanny, and go then.

  Her mother and father were concerned. What had bothered Katie about Trixie? The nanny was a little stiff, her father acknowledged. She had perhaps been overeager to please.

  “She was a little on the smiley side,” Katie’s mom admitted. “But that’s not a bad thing, honey.”

  Katie did not want to tell them about the silver. It would be so hard to explain what that moment was like. “I don’t like how she makes everything a question,” she said instead.

  But even to Katie this had sounded sulky and inadequate. And unfortunately, David had walked in while she was saying it. He dismissed her discomfort at once.

  “Trixie’s fine,” he said to his mom and dad. “I don’t figure we’ll be best friends, but you’ll be back in a week. Go.”

  Katie was annoyed. David had butted in, and he was bossy, too. But she did not want to be the only bad guy. So she had said good-bye to her parents and slunk away to bed.

  Now she groaned and, punching her pillow, rolled away from the light that crept beneath the shade. It was so peaceful here in her room, and outside it was all weird. It would be an uncomfortable day, with their mom and dad gone and a stranger there instead. Maybe she could get up late—very late—and skip breakfast with Trixie.

  But she heard David moving in his room across the hall. A moment later, her door swung open and he walked in.

  “Get up,” he said cheerfully and without ceremony. “Breakfast!”

  Katie stared at the ceiling, not replying. Just what she wanted. Her brother had been replaced by an alien channeling a camp counselor.

  And why was that? she wondered, feeling suddenly more awake. David did not usually stop to get her before going downstairs to breakfast. He had acted unconcerned last night, when they talked about Trixie after dinner. But he must feel strange too.

  Well, they could not avoid the kitchen for a whole week. Sitting up, Katie swung her feet to the floor. It must be faced.

  “Maybe she isn’t in there,” said Katie in a low voice. “I think I’d rather eat breakfast with just us.”

  Both kids were hovering outside the kitchen door, reluctant to go in.

  “I figure she is there,” replied David. “And the sooner we get used to her, the better.” With that, he shouldered open the swinging door and both of them walked in boldly.

  But no boldness could have prepared them for what they found in the kitchen. Trixie was there, and she had . . . changed.

  Gone were the skirt and blouse. The sensible low-heeled shoes were nowhere to be seen. Trixie was dressed like—like—

  “A soldier?” whispered Katie.

  “Wow,” said David. “She changed her clothes.”

  The neat matron of the previous night now sat before her breakfast with her chair tilted back and her feet on the table. And what feet! They were huge, as today they had been laced into real-life, waffle-stomping combat boots. The rest of Trixie was largely concealed by the newspaper that she held open before her short person, but the children could see enough to know that a pair of worn fatigues printed in a camouflage pattern went with the boots. On top of her head, just visible over the edge of the newspaper, was a squat military-style hat with a jutting brim.

  Trixie must have heard them enter, because a corner of the newspaper flicked down, revealing her face. They waited for the syrupy smile and the sugary greetings that sounded like questions. But these did not come. Instead, the kitchen was silent, as the kids stared at Trixie and Trixie stared right back.

  Then the newspaper snapped back up, and the new nanny returned to her reading without a word.

  Were they supposed to talk first? “Good morning,” said Katie stiffly. But Trixie said nothing.

  David and Katie stared at each other. They were too astonished to speak and, frankly, they were too uncomfortable. But eventually David, shrugging, proceeded into the kitchen, opened the cabinet, and took out a bowl. This was certainly weird, but it wasn’t going to stop him from eating.

  Katie followed and poured herself some cereal. Her back tingled with the certainty that peering eyes were upon it.

  This would never do. Resolutely, she put down her spoon and addressed her brother in a normal voice.

  “I forgot my orange,” she announced. Then she headed to the sunporch where the trees basked greenly in their pots. Feeling awkward, but willing herself to act normally, she strolled amid them, searching for the brightest color that hung from their boughs.

  Something soft slinked past Katie’s ankles. She stooped to scoop up Slank and kiss the top of his sleek head. Setting him down again, she plucked an orange for herself and carefully picked one for Trixie as well.

  Bearing a heavy, round fruit in each hand, Katie marched awkwardly toward the table and planted herself at Trixie’s side. Reluctantly, the paper came down and the woman’s eyes met hers. Katie smiled and held out her offering.

  Surely no one could refuse a fresh-picked orange in the morning.

  No one but Trixie. There was a brief silence.

  “Does it look like I’m reading?” Trixie asked after this icy pause. “You’re interrupting my paper?”

  The rudeness! Katie felt as if she had been hit. Astonished, she let her arm fall to her side. From across the room David spoke. He had heard the whole thing.

  “C’mon,” he said with a faint, indignant tremor in his voice. “C’mon, Kat. Let’s eat in the family room.” With his bowl in one hand and the cereal box in the other, he turned his back on Trixie and walked away from the kitchen. “Get the milk,” he said, departing.

  With dragging feet, Katie followed. Well, she thought to herself, so much for breakfast. Only about twenty meals to go.

  Breakfast turned out to be the worst part of that day. The remainder was OK—not fun, but fine. Trixie was awful, of course; there was no longer any doubt about that. That subject was closed. But they soon learned they could avoid her. This proved to be easy to do. In fact, it was shockingly easy, David pointed out, considering that she was there to look after them.

  After their hasty breakfast the children retreated upstairs, and by the time they crept down again, late in the morning, their visitor had vanished into their parents’ offices. These were a pair of rooms joined within by a connecting door.

  “She shouldn’t be in there!” said Katie indignantly, finding both outer doors shut tight. She could faintly hear Katkajanian music playing inside. She recognized the soft, wailing sound of it.

  “Probably not,” agreed David, pulling her toward the living room so they wouldn’t be overheard. “But let her. She’s listening to music—I don’t care. If she downloads something weird or messes up their computers, they’ll fix it when they get home. L
et’s go to the pool.”

  And they did. They stayed at the pool all day and eventually felt almost normal. A few kids they recognized from their new school were there as well. Katie had already met one of them, but that girl was tightly clustered with others who were obviously her best friends. They were giggling and whispering and tearing around, and very definitely not noticing Katie. There was no way she would try to break into that.

  Floating wistfully in the water, Katie found herself forgetting about Trixie and wondering whether next summer she’d be part of that group. It seemed impossible.

  “Today’s Monday,” said David, drifting lazily on his back beside her. High above his furrowed brows the sunlight flickered through the leaves. “If Katkajan is . . .”

  Oh. So he was thinking about their parents and Theo.

  “If Katkajan is nine hours ahead of us, and the flight takes—”

  Katie cut him off, anticipating where he was going. “They won’t even get there till tomorrow,” she said. She had worked all this out days ago. “We can call them when we wake up—it’ll be Tuesday afternoon for them. But they’ll be really tired. And they won’t be getting Theo until Wednesday.”

  “At ten o’clock Wednesday morning,” said David. Privately he was glad that Katie had figured this out. He didn’t like to admit it, but he found time zones sort of confusing.

  “Right,” said Katie. “They’ll get her on Wednesday, at ten their time. But that’ll be the middle of the night again for us. We’ll be asleep. If we get up at seven, though—”

  “Eight,” corrected David.

  “I’m saying seven,” continued Katie. “If we get up at seven on Wednesday we can call them again, and they won’t even have eaten dinner yet. And they’ll have the baby. David,” she added.

  “What?”

  “When we call them tomorrow? When we wake up Tuesday morning and call them? I really want to tell them about Trixie. About how mean she was this morning, and the weird clothes and the offices and stuff.”

  “You know we shouldn’t bug them with that.”