“No,” Leda said firmly. “I don’t. I think you’d be insane not to.”
“You know, you should take your own advice.”
Leda laughed. “I thought we had a deal not to force each other to date. Besides, I’ve enough on my plate at the moment, thank you. Like keeping up with all the orders that have been coming in since the award was announced.”
“Woman does not live by work alone,” Vera pointed out. “At least, not for long.”
“Unless she loves her work as I do.”
“Point taken. So, where is Amy?” Vera asked, scanning the crowded backyard.
“Cressida required her attendance this evening,” Leda explained. “Amy didn’t sound happy about it and swore she’d be here by nine.”
Vera frowned. “She should be here now, to hell with what Cressida requires. You’re her mother and this is a big moment for you.”
“Don’t be too hard on her,” Leda said. “Like I said the other day, I’ve a feeling Amy’s had just about enough of Ms. Prior.”
“About time,” Vera said robustly. “The summer is almost over. Then again, better late than never.”
“Yes, and Margot is alone over by the drinks table.”
Vera nodded. “I’m on it. Wish me luck.”
“Luck,” Leda promised.
And gazing around at the large crowd Phil had gathered in her honor, Leda wondered if luck had had something to do with her winning the FAF’s annual competition. Maybe it had, but that didn’t really matter. What mattered was that she felt so very grateful for the people who had believed in her. And those people included one Leda Latimer.
Chapter 112
Hayley opened the door to the apartment and went inside. The kitchen and living room were dark. She walked over to the old couch and sank gratefully onto it. The evening at Phil Morse’s had been a trial. She had barely been able to stand the laughter and good feeling. One sip of wine had brought on a headache. She had had no appetite for the plentiful food.
It hadn’t helped that Hayley had recognized several of the guests at the party as staff at Yorktide Community College, most significantly David Wildacre, the head of the English Department. He had greeted her warmly, and while in a way it had been nice to see him, in another way it had been downright painful. Hayley had taken two courses taught by Mr. Wildacre; each had been a fantastic experience, and she had kept all of her notes and papers. Not that she would ever have use for them again.
At about eight o’clock Ethan had sent her a text.
Miss you.
To which Hayley had replied truthfully: I miss you, too.
That message had been followed by a line from Shakespeare. Who could refrain that had a heart to love and in that heart courage to make love known.
Do you have the entire works memorized? Hayley had asked.
Wish I could say yes but I can’t lie to you. Xxx
“I can’t lie to you.” Hayley whispered the words aloud. The next time she saw Ethan Whitby would be the last.
With a sigh, Hayley got up from the couch and tiptoed down the hall to her parents’ bedroom. She carefully opened the door just wide enough to see that her father wasn’t there. Nora Franklin was snoring slightly, her work-worn hands tucked under her cheek. For the moment, she seemed at peace.
Hayley closed the door and went to her own room. She undressed and crawled into her bed. She was asleep almost before her head touched the pillow.
It was some time after midnight that Hayley was awakened by her cell phone. She fumbled for it on the night table, hoping and yet dreading that it would be Ethan. But it was not Ethan. It was Brandon. Hayley stared at the screen and let the call go to voice mail. And then she deleted the message without listening to it.
Chapter 113
Amy stood at one of the large windows that looked out on the front lawn and drive. She could see nothing but darkness. It was eleven thirty. She felt anger building inside her. It scared her that for the second time in one day she felt so close to losing her temper. By now she strongly suspected that Cressida had purposely kept her from attending her mother’s victory celebration.
At eleven forty-five the lights on Cressida’s red Tesla came into view. The moment the car had come to a stop in the drive Amy threw open the door. Cressida didn’t as much as look at Amy as she came inside and walked directly to the staircase. Will followed a moment later.
“She has a headache,” he said.
Amy didn’t bother to reply. She dashed from the house and down the drive to her car. Ten minutes later she pulled up outside Phil’s house. It was dark. Ten minutes after that, Amy was quietly opening the front door of her own home. She removed her shoes in the front hall and tiptoed upstairs. The door to her mother’s room was closed. For a moment, Amy considered knocking and then decided that another sincere apology could wait until morning. Her mother needed sleep.
Amy went on to her bedroom and changed into her favorite summer nightgown. She was still angry, but now she was also very clear about something. Cressida had used her. Since the day Amy had met her at The Atlantic, Cressida Prior had been using her.
With a sigh, Amy lay down on her bed. She had been crazy to even consider the Atlanta offer. She doubted that Cressida had even bothered to discuss with her husband the idea of Amy’s moving in with the family. She probably planned to announce the arrangement as a done deal. And how would poor Jordan and Rhiannon feel about a virtual stranger living down the hall, a stranger their mother seemed to favor over her own children?
The entire situation was sick. She could quit first thing in the morning, but she wanted whatever money she could get from Cressida Prior. And every cent of it would go into the bank. From this point on she would be on her guard, and when the summer was over and the Priors went back to Atlanta she would be free of them forever. End of story.
Amy pulled the cord on her bedside lamp and miraculously was asleep within moments.
Chapter 114
“Coffee?” Leda asked.
Vera nodded. “Intravenously, if possible.” She had brought an apple strudel with her from the restaurant. It was a new recipe she was considering for the menu and needed, she said, an honest opinion.
“It’s an apple strudel,” Leda said, sitting across from her friend at the kitchen table. “You know I’ve never met an apple strudel I didn’t like. I’m hardly the one you should be asking.”
Vera shrugged. “I just wanted an excuse for making off with it. Now, cut me a slice please.”
Leda did and passed the plate to Vera. Then she cut a slice for herself and took a bite. “OMG,” she said. “That’s yummy.”
“So, what did Amy have to say for herself this morning?” Vera asked.
“She couldn’t stop apologizing for having missed the party,” Leda told her. “And there was definitely a note of anger about the fact that the awesome Cressida Prior let her down.”
“Amy should be angry,” Vera said. “I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that Cressida kept Amy away from the party on purpose. After all, it wasn’t to celebrate Cressida, was it? It was to celebrate you.”
Leda thought that Vera was probably right. “Did you see the Chronicle this morning?” she asked.
Vera nodded. “Fantastic picture of you. And I read the Press Herald ’s write-up online. Very nice. I’m proud of you for handling it all so well.”
“I was a nervous wreck at first,” Leda admitted. “But then, I don’t know, something came over me and I started to enjoy talking to the reporters.”
“Getting used to the fame and fortune already?”
Leda laughed. “Fortune? I’ll believe that when I see it in my bank account. So, did you and Margot make plans to get together?” Leda asked, cutting another thin slice of the strudel.
“As a matter of fact,” Vera said, “we did, but I’m not promising anything will come of it. Why is it so important for you that I settle down?”
“Not settle down as much as . . . be happy.” Leda shrugg
ed. “I don’t know, Vera. I guess I am still a romantic at heart.”
“And there’s nothing wrong with that. Hey, did you see that awesome silver necklace your friend Missy was wearing?”
Leda nodded. “I did. It was made by her friend Gary. She told me he’s participating in the open studio event this October.”
“Excellent,” Vera said. “I think I’ll buy myself a little gift. A girl always deserves a little gift from herself. A gift and daily pastry. That’s my story and I’m sticking to it.”
Chapter 115
Hayley had asked Ethan to meet her at a small pond on one of Yorktide’s backroads. The pond was largely ignored by beings other than frogs, wild ducks, and egrets. It was an appropriately isolated place for lovers to meet for the last time.
Hayley had purposely arrived a bit early. She was waiting for Ethan by a stand of tall grasses when she heard the sound of tires leaving the road. She turned. The sight of Ethan striding toward her, a look of sheer happiness on his face, made her heart pound in her chest. He had become so dear to her in such a short time. She felt sick at the thought of never seeing him again.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you for a moment,” Ethan said when he reached her. He gathered her in his arms. Hayley didn’t protest, though she knew that she should. Instead she buried her face in his chest and held him tight. Ethan lowered his head then and kissed her passionately. Hayley didn’t protest this, either.
“I have something for you,” Ethan said when their lips finally parted. From a small shopping bag Hayley hadn’t noticed he was carrying he withdrew a thick, square package and handed it to Hayley. I can’t accept a gift from him, she thought. I can’t hug him or kiss him. I can’t.
Carefully Hayley unwrapped the package and gasped. She held in her hands a mid-nineteenth-century edition of The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire by Edward Gibbon, Volume 1.
“It’s pretty fragile,” Ethan said. “I found this copy online in a small bookshop in England. I was going to wait until summer was over and I could officially ask you out before giving it to you but, well, things happened.”
Hayley gazed at the worn leather cover of the book in her hands, a book that had been held and read by generations of people long since gone. “‘History . . . is, indeed, little more than the register of the crimes, follies, and misfortunes of mankind.’”
Ethan smiled. “You’re as good at quoting as I am.”
“Thank you, Ethan,” Hayley said, looking into his beautiful and earnest blue eyes. “It’s the most wonderful, thoughtful gift I’ve ever received.” And it was. But she had to speak. “Ethan, I . . . I’m so sorry. Nothing more can happen between us. I’m sorry.”
Ethan looked stricken. More, he looked confused. “But I’m in love with you, Hayley,” he said. “I love you.”
“And I love you, Ethan,” she said. “I truly do.”
“Then why are you ending things before they’ve even begun?” he asked.
“Because our being together wouldn’t be fair to you,” Hayley said firmly. “Your world is so vastly different from mine. I’d only wind up embarrassing you, Ethan, trust me.”
Ethan shook his head. He laughed, but it wasn’t a joyous laugh. “What are you talking about?”
Hayley took a deep breath. “I lied,” she said. “I had to quit college. I didn’t leave because I wanted to. My mother needed money to pay the rent.”
“There’s no shame in helping family,” Ethan pointed out. “If that’s all—”
“I lied about other things, too,” Hayley interrupted. “My brother isn’t a successful lawyer. He’s . . . he’s trouble. He’s not a good person.”
Ethan looked perplexed. “I don’t understand,” he said. “Why would you lie about your brother?”
Hayley swallowed against a lump in her throat. “I didn’t plan to lie,” she said. “The words just came out, and the lie wasn’t something I could take back without alienating you from the start. Like I’ve alienated you now.”
“You haven’t alienated me.” Ethan reached for Hayley’s free hand, the one not clutching the precious book, but she thrust it behind her back.
“I won’t be able to say what I have to say if you touch me,” she said, her voice trembling. “I’ll lose what little courage I have.”
And then Hayley told Ethan the bitter truth. That her family had spent time in a shelter for the homeless. That on occasion they had gotten their meals from one of the local food banks. That they had lost their home to foreclosure due to her father’s gambling habits. That her father and her brother had been incarcerated. That her father was violent toward her mother. That she did not live on her own in a cozy cottage but rather with her parents in an attempt to protect her mother from total despair.
“Now you see why we can’t be together,” she finished. Her eyes brimmed with tears. Her throat was dry. Her hands trembled.
Ethan shook his head. “Who was I talking to all summer?” he asked quietly.
“Me. Just a better version of me.”
A flash of something like anger appeared in Ethan’s eyes. “Do you think so little of me,” he asked, “that you’d assume I’d reject you based on the circumstances in which you were brought up?”
“I’m so sorry, Ethan,” Hayley whispered. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am.”
“None of those things you told me about your parents and brother, or about your family’s financial circumstances, are your fault,” he went on urgently. “You’re totally innocent.”
Hayley shook her head. “You can’t understand,” she said sadly. “You can’t understand what it’s like to be poor and afraid. And I wouldn’t want you to know what it’s like to sleep in a room full of strangers, every one of them as desperate and hopeless as you. I wouldn’t want you to understand what it feels like to be thrown out of your home and be standing on the sidewalk where everyone can see you, everything you own piled up around you, with no idea of how you’re going to get your stuff to the next miserable little apartment.. . . I would never want you to know what it’s like not to be able to rely on your parents to keep you safe and clean and fed.”
“Oh, Hayley,” Ethan murmured. He reached for her again, but she stepped away. “I don’t care about your past,” he went on. “I mean, I’m sorry that you were unhappy as a child, but how does that stand in the way of us in the here and now?”
Hayley shook her head. She had never felt so utterly sad. “It just does,” she said. “Trust me, Ethan. I know what I know.” And then she held out the book for Ethan to take. “You’ll want this,” she said.
“No.” Ethan’s voice was rough with emotion. Tears brimmed in his eyes. “Keep the book. I want you to have it. I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you, Hayley. Truly sorry. And if it means that we can’t be together, well, I can’t force you to have faith in me the way I have faith in you. You won’t hear from me again.”
Ethan lowered his eyes and strode off. Alone, Hayley collapsed to the ground in a torrent of tears. She felt as if she were crying for every little wound she had received in her life. The Christmases her family had to go without presents and a turkey because there was no money to spare for extras. The puppy she was never able to adopt because her mother was afraid that Brandon would be cruel to it. The times she had been too embarrassed to go to a school dance because she had nothing decent to wear. The angry landlords pounding on the door. The electricity being turned off because a bill hadn’t been paid.
She didn’t know how long she had sat crumpled on the ground, holding Ethan’s book to her heart, before she finally found the strength to stand and to make her way to her car. When she got back to the apartment she hid the book under her mattress. If her father found it and was smart enough to guess it might be valuable (it was doubtful, but odder things had happened) he would hurry off to sell it for what he could and no doubt spend it all at the pub. Hayley felt that if the book came to harm, her heart, already broken, would someho
w manage to break once again.
A few minutes later Hayley heard the door to the apartment open. She tensed. “Hayley?” her mother called. Hayley cleared her throat. “Coming, Mom,” she called back. And then she went to join her mother, the person for whom her deception had largely been in service. But the deception had also been for her own sake. She had acted from selfish motives, and she deserved to be punished. She had glimpsed a world of love and it had been denied to her, and that was entirely her own fault.
Chapter 116
Amy was sprawled on her unmade bed. It had been a trial of a day. She had barely been able to look at Cressida without wanting to demand an apology for causing her to miss her mother’s celebration. Of course, Cressida hadn’t apologized, and she had been particularly short-tempered, snapping at the children when they passed through the house and sending Amy from the office because it seemed that Amy was breathing too loudly. Amy had almost laughed at that but had simply gone downstairs and out to the patio, glad for the respite.
On the shelf over Amy’s desk sat the small, green glazed pot her mother’s friend Missy had given her. Crumpled up next to it was the stained scarf Cressida had tossed Amy’s way. What a difference, Amy thought, between the manner and motive of the two women! Missy’s gift had been offered in a spirit of true generosity. Cressida’s gifts had been offered as gestures meant to bind Amy to her and create a sense of debt. That small, green pot meant so much more to Amy than any of the damaged items Cressida had thrown her way.
Amy got up from her bed and went downstairs. She found her mother in her studio, a tapestry spread out on the worktable.
“That’s a gorgeous piece,” Amy told her.
“Thanks. I’m racing against the clock on this order.”
Amy squeezed her mother’s shoulders. “I love you, Mom,” she said. “I don’t tell you that enough.”
The Summer Nanny Page 33