by Staci Hart
What I wanted had always been just around the corner, and I’d been chasing it, turn after turn, trying to catch it. Sometimes, I’d catch a glimpse before it was gone, giving me false hope that I might be gaining.
But in the end, I was always a little too late.
I had been fortunate in a lot of ways. My parents had planned well enough to pay for my college outright and were wealthy enough to help us with the down payment on the house. My job at the firm had paid more than enough to support us, and with Mary’s income included, we had done very well. Better than well.
But money wasn’t enough to make us happy, and kids weren’t enough to keep us together. Neither of those statements would surprise anyone in the world but me and her.
The end hadn’t been kind to either of us. Endings never were.
I’d spent years pretending like things were fine. We’d survived only by working as many hours as we could just to keep ourselves occupied. Of course, Mary had kept herself occupied in other ways, too. Like in my best friend’s bed. For two years.
She’d lied, lied to me, lied to herself. She’d betrayed us all, and her only regret was that I’d found out. I knew this because I had known her as best as anyone could, as one would silently observe a snake from behind glass. She had been interested in self-preservation, nothing more—not from me, not from him—and we’d both learned it far too late.
When I’d learned what she’d done, I should have been lost. When she’d disappeared into thin air, I should have been split open. I should have felt the sting of loss like a quick blade when I held my crying son and told him I didn’t know where she was. When I’d stood in my room and stared at her open dresser, her clothes hanging from the drawers in hasty, spewing stillness, I should have felt something.
But I hadn’t.
It was where I’d been ever since—a gray wasteland where every day was the same. There was no color, no spark, no life. Just work and failed fatherhood and sleeping and eating and working in a Sisyphean loop without a goal or end.
My phone messages asking her how she wanted to handle custody had gone unanswered. My emails with rundowns of our options were never returned. My efforts to try to get things moving had been met with silence.
I’d tried to give her time. Maybe she was as broken down as I had been those first few months after she left. I’d wanted to believe she’d come around. And it wasn’t until I had been desperate for a resolution that I went to Mount Sinai where she worked.
I remembered walking off the elevator, seeing her from behind, her head bent as she’d jotted in a file, hair in a tight ponytail, blue scrubs and lab coat as nondescript as any of the other doctors that passed. But I had known it was her, known it as well as I knew my own hands and as distantly as I knew my own children. She was a part of me, and she was alien—foreign and familiar. I knew her, and I had no idea who she was.
She turned and saw me, her face caught in some mix of emotions—fear, pain, failure, dismay. And then her lips flattened, her eyes closing her off behind an iron wall.
As if I were to blame. As if I had left her. As if I’d done anything but honored my promise to her even though I knew deep down in the quiet places of my heart that she didn’t love me.
As if I had slept with her best friend.
Former best friend.
But even Jack hadn’t kept her. He’d realized what I’d known all along—Mary was too selfish to ever love anyone but herself.
Once she’d processed me standing before her, she’d turned on her heel and hurried away, ignoring me as I chased her through the hall, easily dodging me by ducking into a corridor for hospital staff that required a key entry. And I’d stood outside of that door for a long while, staring through the small square panes of glass, wondering how I’d found myself in that place, in that moment.
I’d been trying to get her to work with me, to negotiate, and I had only been met with silence. That day was the final straw. She didn’t care, and she never would. So, I’d filed for divorce without her, and I had given her no quarter with my terms.
But she’d only ignored that, too. The divorce papers had gone unsigned, and the temporary custody hearing had gone on without her, her seat cold and empty. And I’d found myself alone, except not alone. I had my kids to care for. Everything had fallen on me, and I’d had no idea how to handle it all.
So, I didn’t. I couldn’t.
I’d like to blame my job for my failures. Working eighty-plus hours a week at a law firm didn’t lend a lot of time for anything besides sleeping and eating, and even those were sometimes luxuries. I’d like to blame Mary for not being my partner or for her inability to love even her own children.
It was a cruel thing to think, and I supposed I didn’t really mean it. I believed, somewhere in her, she cared. It was only that those feelings were buried under so many layers of self-importance that not only could she not find them, but she had no desire to.
And so I’d decided to learn to be a father, to learn how to give my children the love they hadn’t gotten from either of us. What I hadn’t counted on was my absolute ineptitude.
I was too broken and afraid to step in, in the way they deserved.
In all those years of hiding away from my marriage, I’d hidden from them, too. And I’d been away so long, I couldn’t find my way back to them, the path grown over and wild and gone. And I was lost somewhere inside the tangle.
By the time I finally came out of the office, the house was dark and silent with sleep. Moonlight was the only light in my room as I moved to the closet and peeled off my clothes. The nightlight was the only light in the bathroom, and I didn’t change that either as I brushed my teeth, watching my reflection.
I looked older than I should and younger than I felt.
The last nine months had taken a toll on me. I supposed deep down I knew the pace of my life wasn’t sustainable, that if I kept going as I was, I’d crash and burn and take everything down with me.
Honestly, I was surprised I hadn’t already.
But I couldn’t find a way out of the cycle. I’d broken the bone that controlled my speed, and my life had kept careening forward as I hung on and closed my eyes and hoped that what sped up would someday slow down. Part of the problem was that I hadn’t questioned it nearly enough.
But after yesterday and the introduction of Hannah into our lives, I found myself considering it much more earnestly. Her energy had me blown off course, just a step, just enough to make me crack my eyes and take a look at where I was, and I didn’t like what I saw.
And as I climbed between my sheets, I tried to close my eyes again, tried to force them shut, tried to find peace.
But it was no use.
5
Firelight
Charlie
For a full week, I did little besides work in an effort to gain a little ground, fueled by the desire to earn myself time off.
I hadn’t seen Hannah much, mostly just in the mornings on my way out. But last night, I’d come home from work early enough to eat with the kids before sojourning in my office to burn the midnight oil.
And it had felt good.
I’d even helped out a little at bedtime, the task made simple with Hannah at my elbow, offering comfort and a smile that gave me confidence.
Of course, Hannah was always smiling, and I always found myself smiling back. It was a foreign feeling, something so natural, but my face almost resisted it, as if those muscles had atrophied from disuse.
There was just something about that simple curve of her lips, so wide and honest. I didn’t know her very well, but that smile made me feel like I did.
Off to work I would go every day, too busy to consider much of anything—not my failures or shortcomings or the beautiful, young au pair who had moved in with me. At least I had a plan, and that plan required me to work, stay on top of my shit, and earn myself some time.
Of course, then a new merger landed on my desk, and what little ground I’d gained was lost jus
t like that.
The buying and selling of businesses wasn’t a process that slept, not even when the lawyers did. Instead, the work piled up, the contracts that needed revisions stacked in a never-ending pylon of legal speak and clauses and subclauses and addendums.
It was a brutal business—mergers and acquisitions. We were wheelers and dealers, loophole finders and corner trimmers, dotters of Is and crossers of Ts.
And I hated it.
It was soul-sucking and draining. I’d been at my firm—a big-shot firm with a reputation for working with predatory efficiency—for six years, and it was too late to switch gears, too late to change the course any quicker than the Titanic could have when that poor sap had rung the iceberg alarm.
It was a quandary I’d considered a lot over the nine months since Mary left. Don’t get me wrong; I’d contemplated every decision I’d made since I first agreed to go out with her. But my career was the only one I felt I could maybe do something about.
What that something was, I had no clue. All I knew was that, with every year and month and week that had passed, I’d been finding myself less and less enchanted by the money or the toll it took on me.
I sighed and picked up my highlighter that Saturday afternoon, bowing my head over the contract in front of me with my goal pushed to the forefront of my mind and my regrets pushed back.
A small knock rapped on the door.
“Come in,” I said distantly, eyes still on the page, expecting Katie with food, judging by the state of my empty stomach.
“Hello. Katie sent me with your lunch.”
My eyes snapped up at the first syllable from Hannah’s lips. She walked toward me with a tray of food and a quiet smile.
I set my highlighter down and moved the papers aside, standing to greet her, instantly aware of her presence.
Sly, Katie. Real sly.
“Thanks, Hannah. I’m sorry.”
“Whatever for?” she asked as I took the tray.
“For serving me, I guess. I don’t expect you to wait on me.” I fumbled a little, feeling sheepish.
“Oh, it’s all right. I don’t mind. The children are just down for their nap.”
“Good.” I stood there stupidly in the middle of the room, tray in my hands, uncertain of what to say.
She nodded once and shifted as if to leave, the smile still playing at her lips.
“So, how are you liking it so far?” I asked a little too loudly.
“I like it very much, thank you. The children are lovely. We made pasta necklaces this morning. Sammy made you one, too, with wagon wheels. He said you were a cowboy.”
I set the tray on my desk before sitting on the edge of it. “I only play one on TV.”
Hannah laughed, and I found myself relaxing, feeling at ease, feeling comfortable.
“Katie’s wonderful, too. She’s made me feel very much at home.”
“She does that. It’s a wonder how I ever survived without her. My parents were here for a while after my wife left, and it was hard to let them go back home. The only thing that made it easier was Katie. She’s almost like family. Like a well-meaning, meddling, loving aunt who makes a mean roast.”
A little chuckle passed her lips, but she didn’t offer a response.
“Your room is okay?” I asked, the urge to keep the conversation going nudging me on.
“It’s just fine. I wondered … does the fireplace work?”
“It does. We’ve got wood around back. I’ll show you where it is and how to tend it, if you’d like.”
“Oh, that’s all right. I’m sure I can sort it out, thank you.”
So polite. Demure almost.
The conversation lulled again, the silence strained, though we were both smiling. She didn’t seem to want to leave any more than I wanted her to.
The realization surprised me, the desire for her company shocking and mildly inappropriate.
Dangerous, Charlie. Let her go. She’s your nanny.
Oh, but if she weren’t, some quiet part of my mind whispered.
I cleared my throat and stood. “Let me know if you change your mind about the fireplace. And thank you for lunch.”
“You’re welcome,” she said and left the room, closing the door with a snick.
I sighed again, this one heavier than before. God, she was gentle, soft, so different from what I’d known.
Mary had been anything but soft, anything but warm. And Hannah was the absolute opposite, even down to their appearance; where Hannah was fair and colored like spring and sunshine, Mary had dark hair and dark eyes and porcelain skin, like winter branches against cold white snow.
But it didn’t matter how different Hannah was or how welcome that difference was. It didn’t matter for so many reasons, reasons that began and ended with Hannah’s role in my home.
She was my nanny and nothing more.
The day wore on, though I didn’t see Hannah again. Katie came for the empty tray with a slick smile but said nothing, and neither did I. Next thing I knew, Katie returned with a dinner tray.
I’d barely made a dent in work.
The sun had gone down by the time I finally had enough, my brain sputtering and mixing up words in its exhaustion. No amount of stretching could ease my stiff, aching back, but I tried anyway.
With a sigh, I stood, perking up when I opened the door and smelled something baking, something sweet. I followed my nose and the sound of laughter, stopping just outside the kitchen.
Hannah stood at the island, and my children sat on the surface, around a mixing bowl. Lemons and blueberries were scattered around the egg crate, oil, and a brand-new bag of flour—brave of her, I’d say.
Maven’s face was purple from blueberries; one rested between her thumb and forefinger, and she placed it into her mouth with grace—for a three-year-old. Sammy was singing a song that repeated the word lemonberry at varying heights and decibels, and Maven was dancing, a bouncing sort of head-bobbing motion. And Hannah was stirring the batter, smiling down into the bowl, occasionally meeting Sammy’s eyes to bob her head in solidarity of his musical endeavor.
The room wasn’t overly bright, the dimmers turned down about halfway, painting the room in golds and browns and softness. Katie was nowhere to be seen.
The timer on the oven went off, and Hannah wiped her hands on her apron, reaching for a pot holder before opening the stove and pulling out a pan of muffins. Sammy cheered, and Maven dipped her finger in the batter, looking at Sammy to be sure he hadn’t seen her. He hadn’t.
When Hannah set the muffins down and turned, when she caught my eye, her face lit up with a smile that hit me in places long left sleeping. I smiled back and stepped into the room, feeling light and heart-full at the same time, my exhaustion swept away by the scene in the kitchen, leaving me feeling calm and peaceful and good.
“It smells incredible in here,” I said.
“We’re making ka-varker-tarts!” Sammy crowed.
Hannah laughed. “Kwarktaarts.”
“That’s what I said! Ka-vark-tarts!”
Another laugh. “Yes, of course. And what do you call these?” She held up a blueberry.
His face screwed up in concentration. “Bosbes?”
“Well done!” she cheered and ruffled his hair. “You’ll be speaking Dutch in no time.”
I wandered over to the muffins, salivating. “Blueberry muffins?”
She tilted her head from side to side. “Sort of. It’s lemon-blueberry quark cake. Well, these are muffins. We’re still working on the cake.”
I picked one up, hot or not. It smelled too good not to.
“Be careful,” she said with a laugh.
“Please, step back, ma’am. I’m a trained professional.” I bounced the muffin between my hands, unwrapping it as I went while my salivary glands worked overtime. Once it was free, I broke off a steaming piece, held it as long as I had the patience for, and popped it in my mouth.
Where it promptly melted.
I thoug
ht I saw my brain when my eyes rolled back in my head, and a low moan rumbled up my throat. “Oh my God,” I said in the second between swallowing and shoving another bite in.
She leaned against the island counter, watching me eat with an amused look on her face and her arms wound around her small waist.
“No fair, Daddy! I want one too,” Sammy said with a magnificent pout.
“Sorry, son. These are all mine.” I pretended to gobble them all, and he squealed my name.
When I turned around, I popped the rest of heaven in my mouth. I peeled the wrapper from another muffin and broke it in half to blow on it. When the steam was mostly wafted off, I offered half to Sammy and the other half to blueberry-faced Maven.
They greedily tucked in, and I reached for another muffin, practically drooling still as I hurried to unwrap it.
“God, Hannah, what’d you put in this? Crack?”
“What’s crack?” Sammy asked with his mouth full.
“A special kind of sugar,” I answered around a bite.
Hannah laughed again, grazing her lips with her knuckles. “The secret is the cheese.”
I warily eyed the muffin. “There’s cheese in here?”
She nodded. “That’s what makes it so moist.”
I shrugged and shoved another bite down the hatch. “It’s unreal, Hannah.”
“Thank you,” she said, turning back to her bowl to pour the batter into a Bundt pan. “All right, who’s going to help me with the bosbes?”
“Me!” Sammy cheered, raising his hand while Maven clapped.
She offered them a dish of berries. “All right, just like last time. Put them on the top very gently, like this.” She demonstrated, placing a few blueberries on top of the batter.
The kids followed suit.
