by Anne Eliot
“Yes they are. They have to. I’m his only family and his sister,” I protest, because suddenly I’m really afraid that she knows more than I do. “Why not?”
“You have to be able to prove consistent savings and an ongoing ability to support him. Housing, food and parenting support. There’s no way you can have acquired that in such a short time.”
“Yes I have. My job is huge money and we are better than okay. We’ve got a temporary place to stay, and in two weeks when I’ve saved enough for the deposits, we’ll have our own apartment. I’ll have a salary to prove competency and stability. I will also be legally old enough to watch after Sage and I’ve been his parenting support since he was a little kid. So, see? All good.”
“Is there someone I can speak to there who can confirm you’re really okay? An adult?”
I wince at that, but answer, “I am an adult, Joanie. You need to realize that.”
“God. Don’t make me laugh. What do you mean your job is huge money? The only way a girl like you could make any sort of money would be —oh my God.” She sucks in a vacuum of air. “Are you working as some kind of exotic dancer or worse right now? There’s no way I’m going to believe you at your word, young lady. Let me talk to someone else.”
I bolster my breathing with every ounce of fake confidence I can muster, because I can’t let her know she’s crumbling my soul. I also know I can’t shout or be any sort of stupid, irrational teenager like she always accuses me of being, so I grip the phone and lie, “This is a phone I’m borrowing from a guy I met at a gas station. Tomorrow I call you back with my new cell phone number. Tomorrow or the next day, or, maybe the next. I’ll have a real phone and permanent address for you. Okay?”
“A guy? At a gas station?”
“Yeah. I’m getting gas. He’s driving a minivan and his whole family is with him. Sheesh. So paranoid.”
“Where are you staying now? With whom?”
“I met someone. I mean, not like a boyfriend, I met this other guy, a friend from—from my work—he helped us out when my car broke down.”
“A guy! You’re borrowing phones and staying with some random guy? What do you mean your car broke down? Are you out of money? You wrote in the letter that you had enough to get by for over a month! You know there are so many people who prey on young kids. I can send some money right away to get you out of there. Jesus, Robin, come home. Don’t stay with some guy you don’t know. Don’t you dare. Let me at least talk to Sage. I want to hear if he’s okay from his own mouth!”
“I don’t need any money. Sage is more than fine.” I pause, searching for the right things to say to calm her down. “The guy we are staying with is not random, either. We’re with his whole family. Sage and I are in our own room, and he lives with his mother.”
“And they don’t have a telephone?” She sighs. “You are lying through your teeth, aren’t you?”
“No.”
“You know I have to turn you in. Tomorrow.”
“Please, Joanie. Don’t.”
I want to yell. To remind her, like I always did when I stayed with her, that she’s not my mom. That I don’t owe her any explanations, tell her that she sucks, but because I’m hoping she will calm down and not call the MPs in the morning, I tell her everything without telling her anything. “I’m a nanny, for some wealthy people who own a hotel, as well as a bunch of other hotels around the US. Once we’ve got an address you can come down with the boys and visit. See the parks. You’ll like it here. Please, Joanie. We are totally fine. Please.”
She doesn’t answer for a long time. “I’m sorry I said I wouldn’t keep Sage. Come back, and we’ll work something out.”
I can tell by the sound of her voice, that this time she’s the one lying and I call her out on it. “You have three kids of your own. You said you don’t want him. From where I sit, there’s nothing to work out. I don’t trust you anymore and I can take care of my own brother. I understand why you didn’t want us, Joanie. I do. I’m asking you to understand why I can’t come back and give us some more time. At least until my birthday.”
Inside I’m screaming: But…I don’t. I don’t understand you. And I never will. How could you choose to have a funeral for your MIA husband without any sort of formal report that says he’s died?
“What about Ridley and the art school scholarship?”
My legs can’t hold me anymore so I sit. There’s no way I can be standing when I admit, “I’ve sent in the email. They’re letting me wait a year.”
“So…all is not lost.”
“No. Not lost at all,” I spit out, while the real answer I’m grappling with bounces around my head in all directions: Yes. All is lost. Our father is MIA. Our futures are totally screwed up. You’re going to call the MPs on us, which will send out social services or the police. And I’m responsible for making things right, only I don’t think I can do it. Yes. All. Is. Lost.
As if she can read my mind, Joanie softens her voice saying, “You’re so young. There’s no way you can handle this responsibility. You need to admit you’ve been too impulsive by running away, and that you were wrong. Please come home before someone gets hurt.”
“We’re going to be okay, Joanie. I’m begging you. Give us time,” is all I can say, before I hang up fast because I can’t breathe past that. Because I’m going to puke from how much I already hurt, and because Sage and Angel have come into the back hall and they’ve caught me on the phone.
I can tell by Sage’s expression he’s caught that I was talking to Joanie but his shoulders slump when he gets that I’m not excited or jumping up and down with any sort of good news about Dad. He’s so anguished that even Angel notices, and raises one of his brows while making that expression of his that I already know is him asking me if there is any way he can help.
I answer him with a small shake of my head and a sigh, dying a little more inside as we both watch Sage put himself back together exactly how I’ve just done.
And even though Joanie had me questioning everything, the devastated look on Sage’s face tells me I’m doing all the right things. She’s wrong. I’m not too young for this. But Sage…poor Sage. He really is too young. Our dad was my little brother’s whole world and now he’s only got me to make things right. To cover for my own swirling emotions and how Sage’s expression physically hurts me, I turn to Angel with a casual shrug and ask, “I hope it’s okay that I made that call? I should have asked first, but I wanted—people to know that we’re okay.”
“Of course. I’m happy you have someone to call.”
I nod, keeping my small smile locked in place for Sage and don’t say what I’m thinking. That the call was a mistake.
That we definitely don’t have anyone to call.
Not anymore.
Not ever again.
Chapter 22
The next day, work starts pretty much the same as yesterday. Relieve the person stuck on the night shift—today it was Adam again—feed and play with the baby until she goes down for nap number one, and then sift, unpack, and organize more of the baby stuff until she wakes up, and then do it all again.
I’ve got most of it sorted. Even better, I’ve put away or set up most of the things that would be useful to the baby right now. Her little clothes are either placed neatly into the dresser or the closet shelves. Things like undershirts and jammies are now easy access because I’ve put them on the open shelves near the changing table, along with the twenty or so pairs of amazingly adorable shoes someone bought, from patent leather Mary Jane’s to miniature Chaco sandals, all the way to teensy Tom’s slip on canvas shoes, to some soft, pink, hand-stitched, leather and lamb’s wool slippers that were so cute I almost died when I opened the box.
Those, I’ve set on display on top of her dresser so I can admire them each time I walk by.
I’ve also set up the adjoining bathroom. There’s hooded ducky and fishy towels so they’re ready to go as needed. The tearless baby shampoos and lavender washes have been s
et by the tub, and the baby-bathtub safety-insert has been blown up, and set inside the tub. I even placed the cool hippopotamus faucet cover over the bath faucet so the baby won’t bump her head should she topple to the side.
Every single duck, rabbit, bear, and soft dolly has been unwrapped, labels snipped off, and placed on the wide marble hotel window sills to make the room more baby-cheerful. I’ve also sorted and labeled things that will be useful in a year or six months from now, and placed them on the other side of the giant closet, right on the long shelf above where an adult would have hung long coats and longer dresses. Tomorrow I’ll label each pile so people will know what I’ve done, and I’ll try to assemble this new stroller someone brought in, but for now I stuff that last unopened box into the closet.
With a soft knock from the door, I’m joined by Vere, who is physically dragging Royce into the baby’s room.
“Vere. Please,” he’s saying. “Honestly, this is not needed, wanted or necessary.”
When I realized it was him in tow, I’d turned quickly away, mostly to hide the fire in my cheeks, because, damn that rumbling low voice of his. I’d thought I was finally getting used to the sound of it. Why does it stutter out my heart beats and send shivers down my neck every darn time?
“Please nothing, Royce,” Vere answers, sounding annoyed over his protests. “Robin is right. You can’t just lurk in hallways.” Vere sounds scolding. “You have to get in the habit of coming inside the room to check on your baby and to check in with the nanny. Standing outside and fretting while trying to figure it all out without interacting with people is not going to work. You’re a daddy now and—”
“Stop saying that to me. No one has proved she’s my baby. Besides, I’d already ascertained everything was fine. Robin was having no troubles, the baby was not crying, and that’s enough to let me sleep for a few hours. Which is where I was going when you assaulted me.”
“I think you should get to know Robin and the baby a little better. Communicate.” She blinks her wide brown eyes. “I don’t know about you, but I’ve been thinking about her all night, and I couldn’t wait for her to show up today. I also have about one million more questions to ask her. Don’t you have any for her? Maybe she has some questions to ask us. Do you, Robin? It’s only fair if you do.”
She’s sounding all forced like she’s hoping I’m going to turn around and help her have this unwanted conversation, but I’m not. Instead, I only I shake my head hard, then I make a point of turning away more from them both, because if that’s why she came in here, so she and Royce can ask me a whole bunch of questions, they’re going to be very disappointed.
Royce sounds like he’s holding his position near the door as he grumbles, “I’m not so sure that me, checking on the baby while we’re paying Robin to be here to do the same, is the best use of my time. I do, in fact, have other work to do for the band, but if it will get your death grip off my arm, I’m willing to…try.”
“Good.” Vere sighs, seemingly ignoring the sarcastic undertones in his voice. “That’s all I want from you, Royce. Try. Go on, think of something to talk about.”
Royce, in that same voice says, “I overheard some of that art school scholarship conversation yesterday. It did make me wonder why a fine artist would move to this town with a scholarship like the one you described waiting for you in NYC. If, in fact, you’ve told Vere the truth about yourself.”
My shoulders involuntarily stiffen, and I hope he hasn’t seen how I’ve gripped the crib to hold myself steady because I feel like he’s knocked me off balance with his now openly harsh tone.
“Really, Royce? Really?” Vere gasps out. “You sound like a complete jerk. Of course Robin hasn’t lied to us. What’s wrong with you?” It sounds like Vere has whacked him on the arm.
“You trust people too quickly, Vere,” he answers, his voice going sarcastic again like he’s chastising Vere. “Like I told my grandmother, you all know nothing about this girl, yet you let her smack into our inner circle without questioning her.”
“Well she knows nothing about us, except that you’re an ass.”
“Yeah, well, no one’s denied that since the day I met her. My reputation and attitude is public knowledge, and my grandmother made it very clear to her how I am, as well.”
“Well that’s your public persona. Yesterday I was trying to let her know you’re actually nice, and caring, and a good person, but now you’re just proving me wrong.”
“That’s a mistake, Vere. Robin’s not my friend, she’s not going to be my friend no matter how hard you want us to become friends. You need to stick to the plans Vere.”
“Plans aside, Royce. We are still humans.”
“Please. It’s okay,” I whisper, but I’ve failed at hiding the trembling in my voice. I cover it by walking over to re-arrange the little lined up shoes. “This is really awkward. Don’t fight about me, or over me. He’s right. I’m here for a week, at the most two, and I don’t have questions for him and I don’t need any more friends, either. So you can go,” I add, hopefully.
“See Royce? Now you’ve upset her and I think you’ve also scared her. Happy now? She won’t even turn around or look up when you’re near. If she’s crying because of you, you’ll be sorry.” I hear Vere thwack at Royce’s arm again.
He sighs, sounding frustrated, but I keep busy, acting like re-adjusting tiny Velcro straps onto tiny boot buckles has become the life-or-death part of my job.
Royce’s voice is soft and surprising when he speaks next. “Robin. Have I upset you? Is it really me that gives those big-blue eyes of yours that scared-rabbit-look, or is it something else?”
“Really? Again. Really, Royce? Do you hear yourself when you talk?” She comes over to me and puts an arm around my shoulders. “He’s always a mess when talking to normal people. Try harder, Royce.”
“This is me, trying harder. Take it or leave it. And that was a serious question.
“Try again. To get to know her. As a person. So far you’ve only succeeded at upsetting her.”
Vere sounds so murderous and protective of me that I almost crack a smile.
“Okay, um. Why are you specifically taking the year off from art school? Is it because of that guy? The one who works in the parking garage? Is he your boyfriend, because he acted like he was your boyfriend. Did you move here to be with him?” He’s asked it so gently it startles me more than if he’d shouted.
“His name is Angel. And he’s not my boyfriend.”
“Why? He’s so handsome,” Vere says.
I grab a baby wipe, pretending I need to clean pretend dirt off of the never-worn, brand new boots. “Yes. He is handsome. But we’ve…uh…got this brother-sister thing going on bigtime. We’re friends and he’s definitely my best friend here in Orlando.” I set the boots down, happy that I haven’t lied and go on, “I’m living with him and his whole family.” I shrug. “He’s really protective of me. Of everyone. That’s what you were probably picking up on.”
“Oh, so he’s a chronic worrier, like you are, Royce.” Vere crinkles her brow.
“Please,” Royce answers, sounding annoyed.
I shake my head, starting to lose my temper at both of them. “Didn’t Mrs. Hildebrandt tell you all of this? She practically grilled me about my single-status on my first morning of work, so I assumed she told you some things about me. She also ordered me not to ask you questions, not to touch you and not to press you for information. Don’t you have rules about crossing lines with the hired help?”
“Well, sure we do,” Vere blinks. “But you’re not hired help. You’re the nanny, a friend. At this point, practically family.”
“She is not,” Royce all but growls out.
Although I hate the idea of agreeing with the ass, I stiffen my shoulders against them both and bite out, “He’s right. I’m not.”
Over the next awkward silence, I busy myself by retying the bows on each of the bumper pads around the side of the crib, even though they don’t need
retying, and then act like I’m concerned the little crib sheet needs straightening.
“We’re just trying to figure you out,” Vere says, sounding half sad, half frustrated, as she flings herself into the rocking chair next to me, and pushes her feet into the carpet to get it going back and forth.
“Why?” I risk looking up at her. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, Vere, but…why?
“Because how you act is not normal. Which is why we’re even more curious about you each day.” Vere starts the rocker going again. “Maybe we’re just bored with our own lives, but we spent a long time talking about you last night again, and it’s unanimous that we all like you so much and simply want to know more.” Vere grins at me with those interested, sparkling eyes of hers going bigger. “We care about you now. And because I just have to know, why not go to New York and start your scholarship? Why are you so very different than any girl we’ve ever hired?”
“She’s right.” I hear Royce coming closer. “Like…why do you not make a move on one of the guys in the band like every other girl your age has done, despite how human resources tells them to behave? You don’t even try to flirt.”
Vere calls out, “Hey. That question is out of line. He’s joking, Robin. Joking.”
“I am not,” Royce presses on, voice moving closer. “It’s been a couple of days and you haven’t done any of the normal outsider things that people do when they’re let inside with us.”
“Like what?” I ask, staring at my hands, curious now, despite how I just swore I wasn’t.
“Like, you haven’t accidentally wandered into one of our suites. You haven’t accidentally texted one of us on the family-cell phone we gave to you. You didn’t request or even hint once at how you might get free concert tickets to the shows we’re doing this coming weekend. You don’t seek us out, or trap us in hallways to have odd and forced conversations about mundane topics in the hopes we will talk to you like some of the housekeeping staff has done. You also have the perfect excuse of trying to find me, or call my cell phone number and ask me or Adam baby questions, but you also haven’t done that which is shocking because we actually offered. Every time we’ve interacted you stare at the ground or at your shoes, or hide behind Vere, and you do things like back yourself into corners or try to melt into walls or floors like you’re doing right now, and I could swear you’re planning to run should I stay in this room too long.”