As someone who had spent the better part of her life being a ‘have-not,’ the idea of working for the ‘haves’ didn’t appeal to me. I always figured that I would use my teaching career to help kids with similar childhoods to my own. Kids who were lost in the system, who were poor, who were low-hanging fruit for bullies.
But the more I talked to Raven, the more I realized that some of the most overlooked and neglected kids were actually the pampered, privileged children of Manhattan’s elite. All the money in the world couldn’t buy these kids the comfort and compassion that they so desperately needed. So, I finally submitted and agreed to take the job.
Working at Bellamy Day wasn’t without its challenges, but I never regretted my decision. In fact, I felt more fulfilled in my career than I ever did working at Greenpoint.
“That’s Morgan Richie’s dad, right?” I asked, angling my body towards Raven but keeping my eyes glued to the ‘DILF’ as he made his way across the schoolyard aimlessly, his eyes searching the crowd of children.
“I don’t know,” Raven shrugged, glancing back in his direction. “I haven’t seen him before.”
I reached for the clipboard under my arm and quickly scanned down the roster -- a complete list of Bellamy Day School students, along with the names and photos of the approved parents or guardians who are authorized to pick them up after school.
I found Morgan’s name on the list, then dragged my finger across the paper to see a headshot of DILF himself. Underneath, the photo was captioned: ‘Father, Aaron Richie. Approved.’
“He checks out,” I said, and I glanced back up just in time to see Morgan Richie spot her father across the schoolyard and let out a high-pitched squeal as she flung herself towards his open arms.
“And he’s a good father, too!” Raven cooed admiringly, her shoulders melted and her hands fluttered to her heart as she watched the scene unfolding. This time, I didn’t bother protesting her comment, in fact, I felt a tiny smile tugging up at the corners of my mouth.
I may be a chronic cynic, and I may be overly scrutinizing of strangers but I’ll always have a soft spot for doting fathers. I think it comes from the void my own father left behind when left.
My eyes glazed over as I watched the scene, and I only realized that I was staring when, out of nowhere I feel a pair of tiny arms suddenly fling themselves around my legs, wrapping me into a tight embrace. I glanced down just in time to see a head of crazy, unkempt golden curls tilt back, and a pair of vivid blue eyes blink up at me.
“Hey Emmy,” I said, ruffling the child’s curly hair affectionately and smiling down at her. She returned my smile, and I felt my heart swell with pride. The little girl wrapped around my legs couldn’t be more different than the Emmy I first met last fall.
As a teacher, I was not supposed to have favorites… but in my heart, there was no debate about it, I’ve always felt a special connection with Emmy. She reminded me so much of myself as a child.
When Emmy first arrived at Bellamy, she came with a laundry list of prior crimes that had gotten her kicked out of all the other prestigious pre-schools in the area -- allegations of violent tantrums, anti-social tendencies, emotional distress.
A record like that would usually be a red flag to the admissions department, but apparently the administration turned a blind eye when Emmy’s mother pulled out her checkbook. Typical Upper East Side parent, assuming that money could raise their children for them.
Emmy’s mother wasn’t just any Upper East Sider, though; she was Calista Preston. The name didn’t mean much to me at first -- I never followed the tabloid gossip, and Manhattan’s elite ‘celebrity’ circle was completely foreign to me -- but the other teachers at the school were quick to catch me up. Calista was a notorious celebutante party girl and hotel heiress. She was said to be worth millions but according to Page Six, she had squandered most of her fortune on partying.
Emmy had been the product of a short fling between Calista Preston and some Hollywood actor. Much like my own father, Emmy’s dad didn’t stick around for long. Calista was left to care for the child on her own, in addition to battling her own ongoing substance abuse issues.
I did believe that Calista loved her daughter, and I believed that she had good intentions but when Emmy came to Bellamy and wound up in my classroom, it was obvious that she hadn’t been properly looked after.
Easing Emmy’s walls down had been a long and tedious process, but the beaming little girl hugging my legs was proof that time, patience and love could work wonders.
“A strange man tried to talk to me,” Emmy whispered, her eyes wide and her face completely still. “I told him to fuck off.”
“Emmy!” Raven gasped from beside me. “Who taught you to say that word? You shouldn’t say things like that!”
Emmy just shrugged, and I bent down so that I’m on her level.
“You did the right thing,” I said, locking eyes with her and giving her an encouraging nod. Neither of us mention that I’m the one who taught Emmy to say ‘fuck off’ to any stranger that makes her feel uncomfortable. Besides, that was not important right now, what was more important is figuring out who approached Emmy.
Like any other Upper East Side school, Bellamy Day has an extensive safety protocol for end-of-day dismissal -- the clipboard roster with photos of every parent and nanny was just one example of that. But no matter how many security checks and precautions we took, there were always risks and threats lurking around the corner. That was the reality of life in New York City. And right now, that reality was coursing through my veins and made my entire body shake with fear.
“Can you point him out to me?” I asked Emmy, trying to suppress my rage and remain calm, for her sake.
She turned away from me, her eyes scanning the schoolyard. For a split second, I was afraid that the man has already gotten away, that we won’t catch him in time. But then a look of resolution washes over her face and she raises a finger, pointing deliberately towards the school gates.
“Him,” she said.
3
CALEB
“This is all a huge misunderstanding,” I said, dropping into one of the rigid wooden chairs in the cramped little office.
“You’ve said that,” the teacher said, blinking sternly at me from across the desk. “At least a dozen times. But you still haven’t explained exactly what the misunderstanding is.”
I sighed heavily, letting my shoulders slump down onto the stiff chair back. I was beyond exhausted. The last few hours had left me completely and utterly drained. Fire-fighting my sister’s battles had always left my own life in shambles.
My younger sister, Calista, and I were never very close. We were born a few years apart, which meant I felt a natural sense of separation immediately when she was born. The void between us grew even larger when our parents sent us to different schools. Calista got to stay at home in Manhattan, meanwhile I was whisked away to an all-boys boarding school in Connecticut. I hated that school, and I grew up feeling both suffocated and betrayed.
At the time, I couldn’t understand why my parents treated us so differently; why Calista was coddled, and I was so often left to fend for myself. Watching my parents dote on Calista made the distance between us grow even greater, and disinterest eventually evolved into resentment.
After our parents died, Calista went off the deep end and we lost contact. She made it very clear that she wanted nothing to do with me, or the Preston family business.
Without our parents around, I dutifully accepted the burden of worrying about Calista. It wasn’t hard, keeping tabs on my sister, even though she wouldn’t speak to me directly, all I needed to do was flick on the TV or scroll through the news headlines to see that she was still alive.
I would always keep an eye out for her, and I would always force myself to be there when she needed me. I bailed her out of jail when she was arrested for a DUI. I paid for multiple rehab stints at Betty Ford. I kept the rent and utilities paid on her Upper East Side apartm
ent.
I thought things had finally changed for the better when she announced that she was getting clean to have a baby. I actually breathed a sigh of relief, assuming that motherhood would give my sister the motivation she needed to get her shit together. Turns out, I was wrong.
“So,” the teacher sitting across from me snapped, pulling me out of my thoughts and back into reality, “What’s this big misunderstanding, huh?”
I sighed, shifting in my seat. As the head of a billion-dollar hotel empire, I was not used to being spoken to this way, and I was definitely not used to being looked at like I’m a criminal. But then, sitting in the cramped office, I might as well have been twelve years old again, sitting in the headmaster’s office at boarding school as he explained that I’ll be spending the fourth consecutive Christmas holiday at school, because my parents thought it would be “for the best” that I not join them on their annual family ski trip to the Alps.
I straightened my posture, and pushed the memory out of my head and forcing my mind to go blank.
“I’m Emmy Preston’s uncle,” I said. “Her mother, Calista, is my sister.”
“Emmy didn’t recognize you,” the teacher pointed out, her face firm and unrelenting.
I forced my mind to stay clear making it all too easy to notice how stunning the teacher is. I was too frazzled to really look at her in the schoolyard, too panicked by the accusations and worried looks coming from teachers and nannies and other parents. In a matter of seconds, with one point of Emmy’s finger, I had been deemed a villain.
A bad guy.
To diffuse the situation, the teacher had quickly snatched me by the sleeve and escorted me into the school. I couldn’t decide whether she was giving me a chance to explain myself, or if she was just trying to prevent a panic.
Now that I’ve had a moment to catch my breath, I finally get a good look at her.
“You have five seconds,” she said, snapping me out of my thoughts for the second time. “Five seconds before I call NYPD. I’ve got a special case squad detective on speed dial, and I’m warning you now, he’s not going to be half as patient with you as I have been.”
“Emmy’s mother and I aren’t on good terms,” I said. “I guess you could say that we’re estranged.”
“Then why would your sister ask you to pick Emmy up from school today?” the teacher asked defensively, narrowing her eyes.
“She didn’t,” I said flatly. “I haven’t spoken to Calista in years.”
I glanced down at her desk, and something about it reminded me of my own: it’s sterile, neat, completely devoid of life. No family photos in goofy mismatched frames, no Post-It note reminders, no flowers, no color. Just a computer and a nameplate that reads ‘Daisy Wright.’
“Family kidnapping is a crime that NYPD takes very serious--”
“Daisy, is it?” I asked, flicking my eyes up from the nameplate and meeting her glare.
“Miss Wright,” she corrected me, and I watched her frown tighten. She was clearly losing patience with me.
“Miss Wright, I received a phone call today from Child Protective Services informing me that I have been awarded emergency custody of my niece”.
“What?” Daisy’s face softened, and for the first time I saw a glimmer of belief flash through her eyes. “What happened? Is Calista alright?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I just know that she’s in a hospital in California.”
“But if she’s in California… who’s been at home with Emmy?” Daisy’s face softened a little more, this time filling with a protective sort of panic.
“The nanny,” I said, recounting the phone conversation I had earlier in my office. I had asked the same questions that Daisy was asking now. I had demanded the same answers. And honestly, none of it had made any sense to me either. “But Calista must have been gone longer than expected, because the nanny called 911 in a panic this morning, right before fleeing the apartment.”
“Wow,” Daisy shook her head, and she looked like she might cry. “The nanny just left?”
I just shrugged. I had long given up on trying to rationalize the things that go on in Calista’s life. I can’t explain why Calista wound up in a California hospital. And I can’t explain why she would leave my niece alone in New York, for an indefinite period of time, with a nanny that she couldn’t even trust to stay with her daughter.
“I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do,” I admitted. “Hell, I’ve never even been around kids before… I have no idea how I’m going to look after one. But CPS made one thing very clear. If I don’t take care of my niece, she’ll go straight into foster care.”
Daisy’s face bunched up into a frown, and then she suddenly reached for the phone.
“Wait, what are you doing?”
“Calling CPS,” she said, punching a number into the phone as she propped the receiver between her ear and shoulder. “Technically they should have contacted the school directly if there has been a change in custody, but sometimes in emergencies--”
She stopped speaking suddenly, which I took as an indication that somebody on the other end of the phone has answered. I strained my ears, trying to hear the sound from the other end of the phone, but I couldn’t.
And then, without saying a word, Daisy slammed the phone down.
“Voicemail,” she explained. “I’ll try again in a few minutes.”
I glanced at the watch on my wrist, wondering how much time has already ticked by, and wondering what my niece was doing. The entire school must be dismissed by now. I imagined Emmy sitting on the school steps alone, the only student left, waiting for someone to come and claim her and instantly I felt a wave of emptiness as I was reminded of the countless times I found myself in that same position as a child. The countless times my parents failed to turn up at my boarding school for weekend visits or holidays.
“We can’t sit here all night,” I said. “Please… Emmy probably has enough going through her head, without having to sit up there and wonder why everyone in her life has abandoned her.”
Daisy glanced up at me, caught off guard. Her eyes scanned my face, and tried to find meaning in what I’ve just said.
“Well I can’t send Emmy home with a stranger, either,” Daisy countered, though her voice was uncertain. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Caleb,” I said. “Caleb Preston.”
“Mr. Preston,” she said firmly, but her voice wasn’t as rigid as it was before it softened, filling with compassion. “The school has policies and procedures in place for things like this… strict policies and procedures that are in place for the safety our students…”
“What about their wellbeing?” I argued. “Right now, my niece is alone and afraid what about that? I know I’m not the best choice but I’m doing the best that I can. Right now, my niece has nobody… nobody but me. I’m not going to give up on her now. I can’t.”
Daisy studied my thoughtfully, her eyes moving up and down, but I couldn’t read the expression on her face. I couldn’t tell what she’s thinking.
Finally, she spoke up.
“That’s not true, you know,” she said, her voice was softer than it has been. “Emmy has me, too.”
4
DAISY
“Wait,” I said, blinking up at the giant skyscraper, taking in the mix of chrome beams and glass panels that comprise the high-rise. “This is where you live?” I asked, glancing over at Caleb.
The Camden towered above us, glowing a mysterious shade of blue against the twilight sky, and for some reason just standing on the cement sidewalk in front of the building made my heart race.
I promised Caleb Preston that we would figure this situation out. That we would find a way to make things work, for Emmy’s sake.
When I made that promise, I had no idea that I would wind up standing in front of The Camden. Unfortunately, after several unreturned calls to CPS, that’s exactly where I ended up. Caleb reasoned that we shouldn’t keep Emmy waiting at the
school all night. I firmly reminded him that I couldn’t let her go until CPS had verified his story.
He had seemed almost too eager to propose a compromise. That I go home with them, as a ‘chaperone’ of sorts. I knew it was bending the rules, but I also knew that it made sense. Every minute we spent at the school, I could see the confusion and concern growing on Emmy’s face.
“Have you been here before?” Caleb asked over his shoulder, eyeing me curiously.
“No,” I admit. “I’ve just… heard stories.”
Ok, maybe not ‘stories.’ But I have heard from Raven that the building was basically full of billionaire bachelors, and things have been known to get a little wild behind closed doors.
“Well you shouldn’t judge anything until you’ve tried it for yourself,” Caleb said, and he gave me a quick wink before turning back towards the building.
My stomach did a somersault, and I forced myself to take a deep, measured breath.
While we were in my office, it was easy enough to ignore how good-looking Caleb Preston was. I was more concerned with the matter at hand. That he was possibly some sort of crazed kidnapper trying to nab my favorite student.
Hearing the compassion and conviction in his voice softened my resolve and now, as we made the walk together back to his apartment with Emmy in tow, it had gotten harder and harder to deny how attractive he was.
No, he was more than attractive, he was gorgeous.
Caleb towered at least a foot over me, and even in a suit I could see the definition of his muscles. He had olive skin, just dark enough to look exotic, and perfect glistening brown hair. His eyes were the prettiest shade of hazel, and altogether, he looked like someone that belonged in a catalogue spread or on the cover of a romance novel.
Under normal circumstances, Caleb was the kind of guy I would avoid at all costs. I certainly wouldn’t dream of accepting an invitation back to his apartment. The Camden, of all places!
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