"Can't we just call the club and sign her up?"
"No," Vivian said. "They need a copy of the insurance card, and there's a waiver that has to be signed."
My mind continued to whirl. "Does she have to go to her art class today?"
Vivian turned toward London. "Do you want to go to art class today, sweetheart?"
London nodded. "My friend Bodhi is there," she said, pronouncing it Bodie. "He spells it B-O-D-H-I and he's really nice. I told him that I'd bring Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles in today so he could see them."
"Oh, that reminds me. You'll need to grab more shavings, too, from the pet store," Vivian added. "And don't forget about dance class later this afternoon. It's at five, and the studio is in the same shopping center as Harris Teeter." Vivian stood from the table and kissed London before giving her a squeeze. "Mommy will be home after work, okay? Make sure you put your dirty clothes in the hamper."
"Okay, Mommy. Love you."
"Love you, too."
I walked Vivian to the door and opened it for her before offering a quick kiss.
"You'll knock 'em dead," I said.
"I hope so." She touched her hair carefully. Reaching into her purse, she handed me a folded piece of paper. "I wrote London's schedule down to make it easier for you."
I scanned the list. Art classes on Mondays and Fridays at eleven, piano lessons Tuesdays and Thursdays at nine thirty. Dance class on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday at five. And starting next week, tennis camp, on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Thursdays at eight.
"Wow," I volunteered. "That's quite the schedule. Don't you think it's too much?"
"She'll be fine," Vivian said.
For whatever reason, I expected a longer goodbye, maybe a bit more chitchat about her being nervous or whatever, but instead she turned and walked briskly toward her car.
She never glanced back.
Don't ask me how, but somehow, I pulled it all off. Shower, shave, and throw on my work duds; check. Detangler spray before brushing London's hair and get her dressed for the day; check. Clean the kitchen, and start the dishwasher; check. Sign London up for tennis camp and bring her to art class along with Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles; check and check. Go over the presentation, drop London off at my mom's, and make it to the meeting with the chiropractor with a couple of minutes to spare; check, check, and check.
The chiropractor's office was a rinky-dink storefront in a run-down industrial area, not the kind of place anyone might feel comfortable seeing a health practitioner. A single once-over revealed that my potential client was in desperate need of my services.
Unfortunately, the client felt otherwise. He was interested in neither the PowerPoint presentation I'd prepared nor anything I had to say, especially when compared to the interest he showed in the sandwich he was eating. He was irked that it didn't have any mustard. I know this because he told me three times, and when I asked if he had any questions at the end of my presentation, he asked me if I had any packets of mustard in my car that I could spare.
I wasn't in the best of moods when I picked up London from my mom's, and after swinging by the pet store, we headed home. I hopped back onto the computer and worked until it was time for dance, but finding London's outfits took some time since neither of us had any idea where Vivian put them. We were a few minutes late leaving the house and London grew fretful as the clock continued to tick.
"Ms. Hamshaw gets really, really mad if you break her rules."
"Don't worry. I'll just tell her it's my fault."
"It won't matter."
It turns out London was right. Just inside the entrance was a seating area occupied by five unspeaking women; directly ahead was the dance floor, the two areas separated by a low wall with a swinging door. To the right were cases filled with trophies; the walls were decorated with banners proclaiming various students and teams as winners of national competitions.
"Go on in," I urged.
"I can't walk onto the floor until I'm told I can proceed."
"What does that mean?"
"Stop talking, Daddy. Parents are supposed to be quiet when Ms. Hamshaw is talking. I'll get in even more trouble."
Ms. Hamshaw--a stern woman with iron-colored hair pulled into a tight bun--barked directions at a class comprised of five-and six-years-olds. In time, she strode toward us.
"I'm sorry about being late," I began. "London's mom started work today and I couldn't find her dance outfit."
"I see," Hamshaw interrupted, staring up at me. She said nothing else, simply telegraphed her disapproval before finally putting a hand on London's back. "You may proceed onto the floor."
London shuffled through the door and into the studio, her eyes downcast.
Hamshaw watched her proceed before turning her attention on me again. "Please don't let it happen again. Late arrivals disrupt the class, and it's already hard enough to keep my students focused."
Stepping outside, I called my receptionist only to learn there were no messages, then spent the rest of the hour watching London and the other girls as they did their best to please Ms. Hamshaw, who seemed pretty much unpleasable. More than once, I saw London gnawing on her fingernails.
When class was over, London trailed a few steps behind as we made our way to the car, her shoulders curled inward. She said nothing at all until we pulled out of the parking lot.
"Daddy?"
"Yes, sweetheart?"
"Can I have Lucky Charms when we get home?"
"That's not dinner. That's breakfast. And you know your mom doesn't like you having sugary cereals."
"Bodhi's mom lets him have Lucky Charms as a snack sometimes. And I'm hungry. Please, Daddy?"
Please, Daddy spoken in that most plaintive of voices. As a father, how could I say no?
I hit the grocery store and grabbed the box of cereal, arriving home three minutes later than I otherwise would have.
I poured her a bowl, shot Vivian a text asking when she'd be home, and squeezed in some more work, feeling as though I'd been whipsawed since the moment I crawled out of bed. I must have lost track of time; when Vivian finally pulled in the drive, I noticed it was coming up on eight o'clock.
Eight?
London beat me to the door and I watched as Vivian scooped her up and kissed her before putting her back down.
"Sorry I'm late. There was an emergency at work."
"I thought you were doing orientation."
"I did. Pretty much all day. And then at four o'clock, we found out that a journalist from the Raleigh News & Observer is planning an alleged 'expose' of one of Walter's developments. All at once, we were in crisis mode. Including me."
"Why you? It's your first day?"
"That's why they hired me," she said. "And I have a lot of experience in crisis management. My boss in New York was always in trouble with the press. So anyway, we had to meet and come up with a plan and I had to touch base with Spannerman's outside publicists. It was one thing after another. I hope you saved me some dinner. I'm starved. I don't care what you made."
Oops.
She must have seen the expression on my face because her shoulders dropped slightly. "You didn't make dinner?"
"No. I got caught up with my work..."
"So London hasn't eaten?"
"Dad let me have Lucky Charms," my daughter volunteered with a smile.
"Lucky Charms?"
"It was just a snack," I said, hearing the defensiveness in my tone.
But by then, Vivian was barely listening. "How about we see what we can scrounge up for dinner, okay? Something healthy."
"Okay, Mommy."
"How did dance class go?"
"We were late," London answered, "and the teacher was really, really mad at Daddy." Vivian's face was tight, her displeasure as evident as Hamshaw's had been.
"Other than the emergency, how was your first day at work?" I asked her later, when we were lying in bed. I could tell she was still aggravated with me.
"It was fine. Just meetings and get
ting acclimatized to the place."
"And your lunch with Spannerman?"
"I think it went well," she said. She didn't add anything else.
"Do you feel like you can work for him?"
"I don't think I'll have any problems with him at all. Most of the executives have been there for years."
Only if they're females, I thought. "Let me know if he ever hits on you, okay?"
She sighed. "It's just a job, Russ."
I rose at dawn and crammed in a couple of hours of work on the computer before Vivian woke; in the kitchen, her conversation with me felt less personal than purpose driven. She handed me a grocery list and reminded me that London had a piano lesson; she also asked me to find out whether the piano teacher would be willing to work with London on Tuesday and Thursday afternoons or evenings, once school began. On her way out the door, she turned to face me.
"Could you please try to be more conscientious today when it comes to London? Get her to her activities on time and make sure she eats right? It's not like I'm asking you to do anything I haven't been doing for years."
Her comment stung, but before I could respond, she was closing the door behind her.
London came padding down the steps a few minutes later and asked if she could have Lucky Charms for breakfast.
"Of course you can," I said. Still replaying Vivian's words, there was something definitely passive-aggressive in my ready agreement. "Do you want some chocolate milk, too?"
"Yes!"
"I thought you might," I said, wondering what Vivian would think about that.
London ate and then played with her Barbies; I detangled her hair, made sure she was dressed for the day, and brought her to her piano lesson. I remembered to ask the teacher about changing her lesson schedule, and afterward, I raced to my parents' house.
"Oh," my mom said as soon as I stepped in the door of my boyhood home, "you're back." When she gave London a kiss, I noticed my mom wasn't wearing an apron. Instead, she was wearing a purple dress.
"Of course I'm here," I said. "But I can only stay a few minutes because I don't want to be late."
She patted London on the back. "London, sweetheart? Would you like to try one of the cookies we made yesterday? They're in the cookie jar by the toaster."
"I know where they are," London said. My daughter practically skipped to the kitchen, as if the sugary cereal hadn't been enough.
"I really appreciate you helping me out with London," I said.
"Well, see, that's the thing."
"What's the thing?"
"I have a lunch today with the Red Hat Society." She pointed to her hat, which sat on the table next door; it was the color of clown lipstick and adorned with feathers that I guessed had been plucked from peacocks.
"But I told you that I had meetings all week."
"I remember. But you only asked if I could watch London on Monday."
"I just assumed you knew that's what I meant. And London loves spending time with you."
She put a hand on my arm. "Now, Russ... You know how much I love her, too, but I can't watch London every day until she starts school," she said. "Like you, I have things to do."
"It's just temporary," I protested. "By next week, I'm hoping you won't have to."
"Tomorrow, I won't be here. My gardening club is hosting a tulip and daffodil workshop, and they have some exotic bulbs we can buy. I'm hoping to surprise your father next spring. You know he's never had great luck with tulips. And I volunteer on Thursdays and Fridays."
"Oh," I said, my head suddenly spinning. I heard my mom let out a sigh.
"As for today, though, and since London is already here... what time will you be finished with your meeting?"
"A quarter to twelve, maybe?"
"My lunch is at noon, so why don't you plan on coming to the restaurant to pick her up. London can sit with me and my friends until you get there."
"That would great," I said, feeling a surge of relief. "Where is it?"
She mentioned a place that I happened to know, though I'd never been there before.
"What time is your meeting again?"
The meeting. Oh crap.
"I've got to go, Mom. I can't tell you how much I appreciate this."
"Seriously?" Marge asked. "You're upset with Mom because she happens to have her own life?"
I was zipping along the highway, talking through my Bluetooth. "Weren't you listening? I have meetings all week. What am I going to do?"
"Hello? Day care? Hire a babysitter for a couple of hours? Ask one of the neighbors? Set up a playdate, and then ditch the kid?"
"I haven't had a spare minute to explore anything like that."
"You have time to talk to me right now."
Because I'm hoping you'll watch London tomorrow for a couple of hours tomorrow.
"Vivian and I talked about it. London's already having a hard enough time with Vivian going off to work."
"Is she?"
Aside from an apparent dislike of dance class, not that I've noticed. But...
"Anyway, I called because I was hoping that--"
"Don't even go there," Marge warned, cutting me off.
"Go where?"
"You're going to ask me if I can watch London tomorrow, since Mom closed that door. Or Thursday or Friday. Or all three."
Like I said, Marge is wise. "I don't know what you're talking about."
I could practically hear my sister rolling her eyes. "Don't play dumb and don't bother denying it, either. Why else would you be calling? Do you know how many times in the past five years you've called me at work?"
"Not offhand," I admitted.
"Zero."
"That's not true."
"You're right. I'm lying to you. You call me every day. We chat and giggle like middle-school girls for hours while I'm doodling. Hold on for a second."
I heard my sister cough, the sound deep and harsh. "You okay?" I asked.
"I think I picked up a virus."
"In the summer?"
"I had to bring Dad to the doctor yesterday and the waiting room was filled with sickness and disease. It's a wonder I didn't leave on a stretcher."
"How's Dad?"
"It'll take a few days for the labs to come in, but the stress test and EKG showed his heart was fine. Lungs, too. The doctor seemed pretty amazed, despite how surly Dad was."
"Sounds like him," I agreed. My mind circled back to London again. "What am I supposed to do with London if I can't find anyone to watch her?"
"You're smart. You'll figure it out."
"You're such a supportive and helpful sister."
"I try."
The meeting with the owners of the sandwich shop went about as well as the one with the chiropractor the day before. Not because they weren't interested. The owners, a married couple from Greece, knew that advertising would help their business; the problem was that they were barely earning enough to keep the doors open and still cover their expenses. They told me to come back in a few months, when they had a better handle on things, and offered me a sandwich as I was getting ready to leave.
"It's delicious," the husband said. "All our sandwiches are served in fresh pita bread that we make here."
"It's my grandmother's recipe," the wife added.
I had to admit that the bread smelled heaven-sent, and I could see the great care the husband took when making the sandwich. The wife asked if I wanted some chips and something to drink--why not?--and they handed me my lunch, both of them wearing smiles.
After that, they presented me with the bill.
I made it to the lunch gathering of the Red Hat Society at a quarter past twelve. Despite the inconvenience I'd no doubt caused my mom, I had the sense that my mom was proud to show off her granddaughter, who was something of a novelty in that group.
"Daddy!" London called out as soon as she saw me. She scooted off her chair and ran toward me. "They said I could come back to one of their lunches any time!"
My mom got up
from the table and gave me a hug, away from the group.
"Thanks for watching her, Mom."
"My pleasure," she said. "She was a hit."
"I could tell."
"But tomorrow and the rest of the week..."
"I know," I said. "Tulips. Volunteering."
On our way out, I reached for London's hand. It was small in mine, warm and comforting.
"Daddy?" she said.
"Yes."
"I'm hungry."
"Let's go home and get you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich."
"We can't," London said.
"Why not?"
"We don't have any bread."
We went to the grocery store, where--for the first time--I grabbed a cart.
For the next hour, I slowly worked my way through Vivian's list, backtracking to a previously visited aisle more than once. I have no idea what I would have done had London not been there to help me, since she had a knowledge of the brands that went well beyond her five years. I had no idea where to find spaghetti squash, nor could I tell whether an avocado was ripe by squeezing it, but somehow with her and a few store employees' help I was able to cross everything off the list. While I was there, I saw mothers with children of all ages, most appearing as overwhelmed as I felt and I felt a fleeting kinship with them. I wondered how many of them, like me, would rather have been in an office instead of the meats section of the store, where it took me nearly five minutes to find the organic free-range chicken breasts that Vivian had specified.
Back home, after making a sandwich for London and unpacking the groceries, I spent the rest of the afternoon alternately working and cleaning while making sure London was okay, feeling the whole time like I was swimming against a never-ending current. Vivian arrived home at half past six and spent time with London for a few minutes before meeting me in the kitchen, where I'd started putting together a salad.
"How's the chicken Marsala coming?"
"Chicken Marsala?"
"With spaghetti squash on the side?"
"Uh..."
She laughed. "I'm kidding. I'll get it going. It won't take long."
"How was work today?"
"Busy," she said. "I spent most of the day learning about the journalist I mentioned yesterday and trying to figure out the angle he wants to take for the article. And, of course, how to contain the story once it's out and generate some positive coverage instead."
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