A Little Too Late

by Staci Hart

  “Ninety percent of the au pairs we know would have been flat on their backs for him in thirty seconds.”

  I gave her a look. “Quinton is married. And there are two types of handsome men—the ones who know they’re handsome and exploit it whenever possible and the ones who are handsome because they don’t exploit it. Quinton is the former.”

  “And Charlie with the bottomless brown eyes is the latter?”

  I nodded. “I think so. Plus, the cook told me he’s very busy with work and is hardly home. When he is, he locks himself in his office. She only had the best and kindest things to say about him, which is another reason I agreed. Quinton treated everyone in the household like property, even the children. They were expected to be seen and not heard, like a pair of matching statues to put on the mantel for display. But Charlie cares very much; it’s plain to see on his face, in his body, hear it in his voice.”

  “And you got all that in an afternoon?”

  I shrugged. “It’s just a feeling, you know?”

  “You’ve always been that way. I suspect it’s why you’re so good with children; you have a sixth sense for those kinds of things. I would trust in that. You knew the second you walked into Quinton’s house that it was going to end badly.”

  Goosebumps crept up my arms, and I rubbed my forearm to warm them away. “I didn’t feel anything at all that gave me pause at Charlie’s. And I was ready to say no; it was on my lips before he opened the door. But then he opened the door,” I said simply, as if it explained everything.

  “And if it doesn’t work out?” she asked, the look on her face telling me she knew she wouldn’t like my answer.

  I reached for her hand. “Then it’s time I went home. I think we can both admit my coming to America has been a disaster.”

  She wound her fingers in mine. “I still think you need to give it more of a chance. You’ve only been here a few months. Don’t they say you have to reserve judgment until you’ve been somewhere for six months?” she asked hopefully.

  “Well, most people don’t step off the airplane and into a situation like I did. I should have turned around the second I passed the threshold of Quinton’s house.”

  “Maybe this time will be different.”

  “I hope so. And I hope I can fall in love with this city like you have. I just … it’s not what I thought it would be. Things never are, I suppose, but I didn’t expect to feel so … separate. Isolated. I don’t belong here, and I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like I do. And, if things don’t work out with this position, I’ll go home and not be sad about it, outside of missing you.”

  She looked worried, so I squeezed her hand and smiled.

  “Don’t worry about me. Worry about Sydney. I suspect she’s in bed, plotting on ways to ruin your day tomorrow.”

  Lysanne laughed. “Oh, I’m certain of that, the little shrew. Fortunately for her, she’s adorable.”

  I leaned over and pressed my cheek to hers. “I say that about you every day.”

  I climbed out of bed to get ready for sleep, my mind busying itself with musings of the day to come, the weeks to come, the hopes and fears and uncertainty.

  And when the lights were out and sleep crept in, so did the truth of my situation. It was far more dangerous than I’d admitted to myself. But that truth slipped into the sand of slumber, and when I woke, it was hidden away and forgotten, waiting for the wind to uncover it again.

  4

  If Only

  Hannah

  The next morning when I knocked on the Parkers’ door, I was notably less nervous, and when it opened, the scene was noticeably less chaotic.

  But Charlie’s smile was still as dazzling as it had been the few times I saw it the day before.

  “Morning,” he said as he grabbed one of my suitcases, then the other.

  “Good morning. Thank you.”

  I stepped in, and he closed the door behind me.

  “No problem. I really appreciate you starting so soon.” He rolled the suitcases toward the staircase to the lower floor and what would be my bedroom. “I’ve got to get back to work tomorrow—today really. It’s waiting impatiently for me in my office.”

  I followed. “It’s no trouble. The timing worked out nicely.”

  “That, it did.”

  We said nothing else as we made our way down the stairs, down the hall, and he turned the corner into my room with my bags.

  I stopped outside of the threshold on instinct, warning triggering nerves in a chain up my back at the sight of Charlie in my room. I couldn’t force myself in, and I didn’t want to.

  Calm down. He’s safe.

  He brought the suitcases to a stop next to a wardrobe and turned to me, his face soft and open, eyes deep and honest though tight in the corners with pain or sadness or regret—I couldn’t be sure which. Nothing about him inspired fear, but I stayed put all the same.

  “The kids are somehow miraculously asleep, but if they sleep much past nine, it might be hard to get them to nap. I’ll be in my office if you need anything that Katie can’t help you with.”

  “Does she work every day?” I asked.

  “Sundays are usually her day off, but she’s sticking around to help get you settled. She knows far more than I do about running the house,” he said with a deprecating chuckle as he started for the door.

  My pulse ticked a notch faster with his every step, and I moved out of the way, giving him a wide berth to pass. He paused, watching me curiously, his hand moving as if he might try to touch me, but it fell back to his side.

  “We’re glad you’re here, Hannah,” he said softly.

  “I’m glad to be here,” I said equally soft.

  With that, he nodded once and turned for his office, taking my breath with him in a whoosh.

  He won’t hurt you. You can trust him. You should try.

  And I wanted to. He’d done nothing but respect my space, never hinting that he was anything but innocuous. But Quinton’s face flashed in my mind, straightening my back, clearing my thoughts.

  The differences between Charlie and Quinton struck me, the juxtaposition of emotions they invoked stark. Where Charlie gave me no tangible reason to be concerned, Quinton had made me uncomfortable from the first moment I met him. Something about the way his eyes would linger or the way his handsome lips curled when he smiled.

  It wasn’t long after I’d moved in that he grew bolder. He would appear in the doorway of the kitchen late at night when I was making tea or make it a point to meet me in the hallway, as if he’d been waiting for a moment to be alone with me in a quiet, unavoidable space.

  I’d told myself it was innocent enough, ignoring the warning signs I should have heeded.

  Once, he’d touched my hand when his wife had her back turned to us, the feeling of his skin on mine like hot grease.

  Once, he’d cupped the curve of my behind and squeezed, his hand disappearing so quickly, I wondered if it had been imagined.

  Once, he’d come into the bathroom while I was showering and kindly reminded me to lock the door. I had; I’d locked it tight and double-checked it.

  Once, he’d come into my room in the dark of night and woken me with his hand up my nightgown and lips against mine.

  I’d pushed him away, gotten out of bed, poised to run or scream or fight, and when I’d told him to leave, he had.

  I had known it wouldn’t be the end. The desire in his eyes had been anchored by an unspoken promise to wait, not to stop. But he’d left my room, and I’d moved the chair in front of the door with shaking hands before packing my bag.

  In the morning before I’d left, I’d told him and his wife I had a family emergency and would be leaving immediately for Holland. She’d hugged me and thanked me and wished me well while he watched us embrace with smoldering anger, the sullen, bitter look of one who had lost their toy.

  Lysanne’s host family had welcomed me, and for two weeks, I’d repaid them with my time while I worked with the agency to place me
in a new position. A better position.

  And I believed I’d found one. This time, there were no predatory glances, not even a hint of anything but respect. It had been too soon to make the decision to stay, especially since I’d been wrong before. But where Quinton had always felt dangerous, Charlie only felt safe.

  Quinton was beautiful in the way a panther was—too strong and sleek and hungry to trust.

  Charlie was beautiful in the way a prince was—too noble and honest and virtuous to deny.

  To pretend like he wasn’t would be a lie and an absolute farce. But it didn’t mean anything that I saw it and felt it. I’d seen plenty of handsome men, even dated handsome men. I told myself I was just more aware because we’d be living together. And because he wasn’t married. And because seeing him with his children did something to me that I couldn’t quite describe, awoke some instinctive desire for that. Not him, but that.

  The fact that I felt anything at all, even a passing thought of anything past professional interest, should’ve had me packing, not unpacking as I was, folding my clothes and organizing them in the big wardrobe. But as much as I’d learned, I was still naive, telling myself I was in control. I reminded myself that anyone would be interested in a beautiful, successful single father. Something about the loneliness and determination it took to do something like that inspired respect and an air of allure. It was strictly circumstance, not the man himself. I didn’t even know him.

  I thought I would do well to keep it that way.

  So, I tucked my thoughts away with my sweaters and socks with the hopes they’d stay put.

  The room where I stood was old and dark and cozy, the beautiful antique mantel almost imposing but still quaint. It reminded me so much of Holland in that way, a familiarity that touched me with a deep sense of longing. But home wasn’t going anywhere. This room was mine only for a time.

  Of course, that was sad in its own right, a reminder of how quickly things could change.

  By the time I finished unpacking, it was after nine, so I made my way up to the kids’ rooms to wake them.

  First, Maven, bleary-eyed and sluggish. She hung on me like a koala, and I took a seat in her rocking chair, singing to her for a few minutes as she shook off sleep. The weight of her resting on my chest was a warm comfort, her blonde curls silky in my fingertips as I rocked and hummed and sang. And then she sat, peering at me with the biggest, deepest brown eyes, thumb in her mouth as she touched my cheek with her other hand.

  I kissed her cheek and picked her up, heading to Sammy’s room.

  The moment I whispered, “Good morning,” he shot out of bed like a bolt, bright-eyed and asking questions about the day.

  “Let’s start with breakfast, shall we?” I asked on a laugh.

  He agreed with a whoop as he ran out of his room and down the stairs.

  When I reached the kitchen, he was already sitting at the table with a muffin on a plate, eating the top of it.

  “Mornin’,” Katie sang.

  “Good morning.”

  I sat Maven in her booster seat, and Katie appeared at my elbow with a muffin and a cup of milk for her. Maven delicately picked it up and took a small bite.

  “And how are you this morning?” Katie asked, making her way back over to the island where she’d laid out a spread for me.

  “Quite well, thank you. How early do you get here most days?”

  She shrugged. “About six, give or take. Later on Saturdays.”

  I loaded a plate with fruit and a croissant. “I’m sorry you had to come in today.”

  She waved me off. “Oh, it’s fine. I’m glad to help out, even gladder that you’re here and I can go back to single duty instead of double. Not that I don’t love the angels, but I’d rather be scrubbing baseboards on my knobby old knees than trying to keep them out of trouble. I have a hard enough time keeping myself out of trouble.”

  I laughed and took a seat at the bar. “Does their mother not live in town to help?”

  Katie’s lips flattened out. “Oh, she does. She works just up Amsterdam, at Mount Sinai.”

  My face quirked in confusion.

  She didn’t wait for me to ask; the question must have been plain on my face. Her voice lowered. “She’s abandoned all of them—her whole life outside of her job. She hasn’t seen the children since she left last winter.”

  I found I had nothing to say and no appetite for my breakfast. I watched Maven eating her muffin with methodical gentility, wondering how in the world their mother could have left them so easily.

  But I caught myself. I didn’t know her, couldn’t possibly know how difficult or easy it had been. Perhaps guilt had been slowly eating away at her. Maybe she’d tried to come back. Maybe she didn’t believe herself fit.

  The thought made me feel better than the image of her as a monster. So, I clung to that.

  “Do they miss her?” I asked, glancing at Sammy, who was humming and so intent on his breakfast, he didn’t seem to be listening at all.

  “Hard to say. I’ve never heard them mention her.”

  “How strange,” I muttered.

  But Katie chuffed. “Not really. Word is, she wasn’t winning any awards for Mother of the Year. Wife of the Year either.” She leaned forward even more, her voice almost a whisper. “She cheated on Charlie. It went on for years right under his nose—and with his best friend.”

  A slow tingle worked down my spine. “Oh my God.”

  Katie nodded, her shoulders rising and falling with a sigh. “He lost all his friends. Seemed they’d all known about the affair and failed to tell him. And Mary left the house straightaway, nearly disappeared. His parents came for a bit while he secured me and Jenny and got us all set up.” She shook her head. “Charlie was a mess in those days. But that’s a story for another time.” Her eyes shifted to the entrance to the kitchen, and she straightened up. “Tea or coffee?” she asked, turning the conversation with the question.

  “Tea would be lovely, thank you.” I answered.

  She nodded and turned on the kettle. I watched the kids eat their breakfast, wondering over how it had all come about, how he had handled it all, how he’d felt and what he’d been through.

  I sighed. I could wonder all day long, but there was no way for me to understand just how badly he’d been hurt. The errant thought that he might have been to blame crossed my mind, but I couldn’t truly convince myself, not after what I’d seen, however brief the glimpses I’d gotten were. He’d have to be a spectacular actor to walk around with the weight on his shoulders and the sadness in his eyes, to pretend to love his children. You couldn’t manifest love where there was none. It was no easier than stopping it once it took hold.

  I always believed evil could be seen, sometimes in the smallest, quietest places. But those quiet places were also where you could see courage, strength, goodness.

  Charlie had only shown me the latter, and Katie had confirmed my belief that he would have tried to do the right thing. And I clung to that more tightly than I probably should.

  Charlie

  I shouldn’t have locked myself in my office all day, but I did.

  It had been innocent. I always worked on Saturdays, sometimes from home, but I’d taken the day before off to acclimate Hannah, which had left me with some catching up to do. I’d lost myself in the task at hand, and before I knew how late it had gotten, Katie popped her head in to say goodbye for the day.

  I’d taken both lunch and dinner at my desk, and by the time Hannah came in to let me know the kids were long asleep and that she was turning in, I remembered something very vital.

  My wishes for wanting more time to spend with my children were futile.

  I tried to tell myself that maybe, if I could get on top of my workload, I could find a way to come home early a few days a week. I could take a few hours off on the weekends for dinner or lunch or bedtime. But that was a lie of its own. There was no getting on top of things. The onslaught of things to do never ceased, never slowed,
and even if I found some way to catch up, I’d never get ahead.

  Instead, I’d only have more work to pile on.

  With Hannah’s presence came the desire to hide myself away, to be alone. It was a new person in my space after a long, long while with things being the same. It felt like an intrusion. Not to say it was unpleasant, just foreign, distracting.

  It was a reminder of just how alone I’d been—that something so simple as a new nanny would affect me beyond the obvious.

  There were times when I missed my old life, missed the days of drinks and dinners and outings with friends, missed the days when I’d had less work and more time. When I’d gotten on my feet after Mary left, I’d thrown myself into work so completely that, after a few months, I’d earned a promotion—a promotion that increased my workload by a large enough margin to consume any free time I’d enjoyed. And, until recently, the distraction had been welcome.

  But I missed the camaraderie of friends, the comfort of a relationship, even if it was all wrong, even if it wasn’t real.

  Being alone, I’d found, was easier in too many ways to risk venturing back out into the land of the living. At least this way, I couldn’t get hurt again.

  This house, every room, everything inside—including the three beating hearts—was colored with lost memories and wishes blown to the wind, never to come true.

  When I’d met Mary, I had been studying for the bar exam, and she had just started her residency. We’d had precious little free time, but in that free time, we had been together, blowing off steam. And I’d liked her well enough.

  How was that for a declaration? She’s pretty okay.

  At the time, I hadn’t been thinking past the weekend.

  And then she’d told me she was pregnant.

  She’d broken the news with tears and anger, and I’d held her and promised her it would be all right. The trouble was that I had been stupid enough to think it would be. I’d convinced myself that our commonalities could translate to love.

  There had been no way of knowing at the time that she wasn’t capable of giving her love, not to me, not to anyone. And I hadn’t realized it until Sammy was born. Day by day, little by little, my hope had chipped away until it changed into a twisted, broken version of the original, and I’d covered my eyes and pretended like it was all just fine. Just fine. It would work out. My beautiful life was just around the corner.