by Thea Dawson
“How was school?” Celia asked as Lily buckled herself in.
“Fine.” Lily stared straight ahead. Celia could tell that conversation would be a struggle.
“Did you do anything interesting?”
“Not really.”
Rosie piped up from the back. “Can we go out for ice cream?” she asked again.
“I already said no, sweetie.”
“Please?”
“No, Rosie.”
There was an exasperated huff, then, “I miss Daddy.”
“I know, Rosie. I miss him, too,” Celia said quietly, although this wasn’t entirely the truth. She wasn’t really sure how well Rosie actually remembered Brad, and almost hoped she didn’t. But Rosie had learned that references to her father garnered sympathy and attention, and “I miss Daddy” had recently become a refrain when she didn’t get something she wanted
“I miss Daddy!” Rosie insisted.
“I know, sweetheart,” Celia said again, wondering how long she’d keep it up.
“I miss—”
“Shut up!” Lily suddenly screamed, turning around to face Rosie. “Just shut up, already!”
“Lily!”
Rosie started to cry.
“God, Lily, you’re not helping!” Celia turned the car out onto the busy main road, trying not to let the children distract her. She was angry at Lily for making Rosie cry but she also knew that Brad’s loss was greatest for Lily.
“Well, at least I don’t keep saying the same thing over and over like a baby!” Lily folded her arms across her chest and glared out the window.
Rosie sobbed more loudly, waking Rowan, who began to wail as well.
Celia fought the urge to burst into tears herself. “God, you two! Just quit it, please. Let’s just get home, okay? I can’t—I don’t know ... I just can’t.”
“Well, now you’re not even making sense.” Lily glowered at her.
“Let’s just get home,” Celia sighed.
3
Celia’s neighborhood was an eclectic mix of student housing, single-family homes, and duplexes. Its primary advantage was that it was just a few blocks from the university and downtown Silverweed, but the homes were small and old, and Celia’s was in a near-constant state of disrepair.
She and Brad had bought it when Lily was on the way. Brad had called it a “starter home,” promising that they’d move into something bigger in a year or two, and talking big about eventually using this one as a rental property for the ever-shifting student population. A decade later, he was gone, and she was still there; the two-bedroom house, which had once seemed cozy and romantic, now felt cramped and shabby.
Having hauled Rowan up the crooked front steps, a teary Rosie and a sullen Lily in tow, Celia was unlocking the door to her own house as her neighbor, Tracie, was leaving hers. Tracie gave them a cheery wave.
“How’re you guys doing?” she asked.
“Good,” Celia lied, trying to muster up enough energy for a smile. “You?”
Tracie’s face lit up. “Did I tell you? I got a rescue goat!”
Tracie’s pastime was accepting rescue animals into her home. On any given day, her house was home to cats, puppies, guinea pigs, and rabbits, and she kept a handful of non-rescue chickens in a coop in the backyard. She had a cheerful, bouncy personality that was matched by a head of unruly strawberry blond curls and sparkling green eyes.
On class nights, she looked after Celia’s kids at no charge and in return, Celia and Lily—with some dubious help from Rosie and Rowan—looked after Tracie’s innumerable pets whenever she was out of town. Celia was pretty sure she got the better end of the deal as Tracie was only gone about once a month, but Tracie seemed quite content with the arrangement.
“A goat?” Celia said blankly.
Tracie nodded. “Just running to the store now, but you’re welcome to come visit it when I get back. Would you like that, girls?”
Lily and Rosie nodded eagerly.
Okay, Celia could put up with a goat if it meant that Lily and Rose would stop fighting. Still ... “Are we zoned for goats?”
Tracie shrugged. “We’re zoned for chickens and bees. I don’t think anyone will mind a goat.”
Celia didn’t bother pointing out that a goat was nothing like a chicken or a bee. Tracie had a way of overlooking inconvenient information. From what Celia knew of goats, they had a tendency to knock things over and eat everything in sight, but the students and young families in their neighborhood were pretty mellow; maybe Tracie was right.
“And it’s still just a baby. It’s so-o-o cute, you guys are going to love it. I named her Guinevere.”
“Aww!” Lily seemed to have forgotten her teen-angsty outburst and reverted to being the sweet little girl Celia remembered. “I can’t wait to see it.”
“That’s a lovely name for a goat,” Celia assured Tracie. Most of Tracie’s rescue animals lived with her just temporarily until she could find them long-term homes; she’d have to hope that Guinevere was one of them. She turned the key and opened the door. “Give me a shout when you get home and we’d love to come see it.”
Tracie gave her a wave and traipsed down her front steps to her VW Bug.
Celia ushered her kids inside.
Though they were home well before sunset, the house was dark and cold when they walked in. In the summer months, the living area got nice light, but the winter gloom combined with the low ceilings and small windows made it seem almost like night time. Conscious of the utility bills but more conscious of her grouchy children and her own fragile emotions, Celia turned on as many lights as she could and set the heat higher than usual. Under the bright lights, the second-hand furniture looked more garish than usual and Celia imagined she could see every scratch in the wooden floorboards, which were desperately in need of refinishing. But it beat sitting in a cold and gloomy half-light.
She thought of the Academy, with its professional parents and their nice cars. No doubt most of them were at home in gorgeous houses now, not even remotely worried about their utility bills.
It wasn’t that she particularly wanted a fancy car or even a better house—though the money to fix this one up a bit would have been nice. It was the security that she envied: not having to count every penny, not juggling each and every bill than came in, splurging on ice cream just because.
For the rest of the afternoon and into the evening, a vague, unsettled feeling twisted in her stomach. Partly, it had been Lily’s outburst. It was natural that a child would mourn her father; of the three children, Lily would be the one who would actually remember Brad and at least some of her memories would be happy ones; Brad had actually been a pretty good dad … until he’d started drinking.
But her unease also came from the idea of calling Richard. Why hadn’t Eva suggest he call her, she thought petulantly. The thought of picking up the phone made her more anxious that the situation warranted. Finally, though, she decided it was now or never. She let the kids watch TV in hopes of not being interrupted and dialed the number Eva had given her.
In a rare moment of intuition, Richard made the connection between Eva’s friend and the pretty mother he’d insulted almost immediately. Eva hadn’t even mentioned her name—she was just going on about her friend’s warmth, honesty, and reliability—but some instinct warned him that the name Celia waited at the end of Eva’s monologue.
And it did.
“Her name’s Celia Jackson. She said she met you the other night at the holiday party, and it sounds like Peyton and Lily are friends. I told her to give you a call this evening—that you should be home by about six—and the two of you can sort it out.”
Richard held the phone to his ear with one hand, grateful that Eva couldn’t see him as he scrubbed the other across his face. It didn’t seem to occur to Eva that the fact that their kids were friends might make it more awkward, not less, to have her working for him, but he didn’t bother pointing that out. He knew Sam better than Eva, but he’d met Eva en
ough times to know that very little slowed her down once she got excited about something. And few things excited her more than making connections for people.
Which was an endearing quality, really, and one that Richard appreciated. In fact, though he could see far more problems with the arrangement than Eva did, some part of him found the idea of hiring Celia appealing.
It was, he told himself, because the idea of finding a competent replacement for Angel within 48 hours of her giving him her notice would be a huge relief—assuming it worked out and that Celia was as excited about the opportunity as Eva said she was. He’d seen Eva’s enthusiasm bulldoze people before, and even Richard was astute enough to realize that the first impression he’d made on Celia probably wouldn’t have made him seem like an idea employer.
But assuming she was on board with it ... Well, was the convenience of the situation the only factor in play? Or did those navy blue eyes and that sweet smile play a role?
Not that he was interested in her that way. He’d sworn off women since Melanie had owned up to having started her current relationship some time—maybe a long time—before she had stormed out of the house once and for all and served him with divorce papers a few days later. He might have forgiven her for her infidelity, painful as it was, but he could not forgive her for the drama, upheaval and heartbreak she’d caused Peyton. One of the only things that had gone right for him as their marriage crumbled was that she hadn’t fought him for custody; while he was thankful that she had spared him that, her complete disinterest in her own daughter had left him dumbfounded and angry.
“Eva,” he finally broke in, “that’s a great idea, thank you. I’ll look forward to talking with her.”
“Good!” Eva sounded triumphant. “You two are just going to love each other!”
The relief Richard felt at the ending of the conversation was soon replaced with a nagging feeling that he was overlooking something about the situation, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on what it was.
He looked down at his desk. It was the last day of classes. The snow outside had been washed away by a constant, dreary rain. Thanks to a late night last night, the stack of term papers was considerably shorter, but he still had several more to go, and he was anxious put the semester behind him as soon as possible.
Halfway into the next paper, he looked up at the sound of a knock on his office door frame.
Sam held up his cell phone. “My wife has texted me three times to tell me to tell you that Celia Jackson would be the best possible babysitter for Peyton and that you’re an idiot if you don’t hire her,” he intoned in a voice of dry resignation.
I might be an idiot if I do, Richard thought, but he managed a chuckle. “Point made. If I don’t hear from her first, I’ll give her a call. It’s very kind of Eva to be thinking about us.”
Sam shrugged. “You know Eva; she’s not happy if she’s not fixing people up, one way or another. And Celia’s a good egg. You’ll like her.” Richard was somewhat tempted to pump Sam for more information about Celia, but he repressed the urge. “You free for lunch?” Sam asked.
Richard shook his head regretfully. “Need to finish up some grading. We’re leaving for Bend on Monday, and I want to have grades turned in before that.”
Sam nodded. “Well, if I don’t see you, have a good holiday. And be prepared to give Eva a full report on how things work out with Celia.”
Richard nodded his promise and wished Sam a happy holiday before putting his head down and getting back to the term papers.
He pulled into his driveway shortly before six, dreading the thought of saying goodbye to Angel—or rather, seeing Peyton say goodbye. He would have liked to have done something special, at least take Angel out to dinner or something, but there wouldn’t be enough time before he and Peyton left, and when they got back, Angel would be back in Eugene.
Peyton and Angel were cuddled on the couch when he walked in. Peyton’s eyes were rimmed in red and her cheeks were blotchy but she was calm.
Angel smiled at him, and Peyton managed a watery, “Hi, Daddy.”
“Hey, princess. You sad about Angel leaving?”
Peyton nodded. “But she’s going to come back and visit in the spring, and she’s going email me a lot.”
“That’s right,” Angel promised.
“Good plan,” Richard agreed.
Angel untangled herself from Peyton and stood up. “I’m going to come back in the spring for the official graduation ceremony, so I’ll definitely see you guys then. Come on, babe,” she held a hand out to Peyton. “I gotta get my coat.”
Peyton trotted after her into the kitchen.
Angel picked up a drawing that lay next to her purse on the kitchen table. “Did you see my Christmas present?” Peyton had drawn an elaborate picture of herself and Angel surrounded by hearts and flowers. “I’m going to get this framed, and when I get my own office, I’m going to hang it on my wall, okay?”
Peyton nodded solemnly.
Richard fished an envelope out of his breast pocket and handed it to Angel. “What I owe you. There’s a Christmas present in there from me too,” he said gruffly. “Sorry it’s not something more personal, but hopefully it’ll be useful.”
Angel opened the envelope and peeked at the check in side. Her playful smile turned into a look of amazed gratitude. “Wow! Thanks, Dr. H. This’ll be a big help.” Her eyes glimmered with tears as she smiled at each of them in turn before giving them both big hugs. She promised again to keep in touch, and then she was gone, the back door closing gently after her.
Richard looked down at Peyton. “How’re you doing, princess?”
Her face still bore traces of recent tears and she looked serious, but to his surprise, she didn’t cry. “I’m okay. How are you doing?”
He smiled at the grown-up way she said it. Angel’s absence would be a much more personal loss for Peyton than for him—but at the age of nine, Peyton still assumed that they’d be affected the same way, and her concern for his well-being touching him.
“I’ll be okay,” he assured her. “Smells good in here. What did Angel make?”
“Chicken stew and rice,” Peyton answered with a glance at the rice cooker and the crockpot that were bubbling happily on the counter. “I helped chop the vegetables.”
“Good for you.” His phone buzzed in his pocket. Unknown number. He almost ignored it, then remembered it might be Celia. “Hey, why don’t you set the table? Let me grab this quickly, and I’ll be right back.”
Peyton nodded and he turned and left the room. His heart beating much faster than the situation warranted, he picked up the call.
“Hello?”
“Hello?”
Celia took a slightly shaky breath. “Richard, hi. This is Celia Jackson, Eva Campbell’s friend. We met the other night …?”
“Celia, thank you for calling.” His voice was brisk and businesslike but not unfriendly. “Eva told you I’m looking for someone to help out with Peyton in the afternoons, right? Basically, every weekday except Wednesdays. Driving her home from school, helping with homework, getting dinner ready for us. I’m almost always home by five-thirty, six at the latest.”
“Yes, that sounds great. All stuff I pretty much do anyway.” She forced a light laugh. “And it would be okay if I brought my own kids along?”
“Of course, as long as you don’t think they’ll be bored. I guess your oldest could do homework with Peyton.” He paused. “I’m sorry. What’re your kids’ names again?”
Celia found the question irritating. There was no reason he could be expected to know Rosie and Rowan, of course, but Lily and Peyton were friends. “Lily’s the oldest, she’s the one in school. Rosie is three, and Rowan is the baby.”
“Sounds like you’ve got your hands full,” he said with a slight chuckle. For the first time, Celia heard some warmth in his voice. “And, I’m sorry, is Rowan a boy or a girl? It’s one of those names that could go either way.” He actually sounded a bit sheepish no
w, so different from the arrogant jerk at the holiday party.
Celia smiled even though she knew he couldn’t see her. “Rowan’s a boy, but he was actually named after my grandmother. So it definitely goes both ways.”
There was a slight pause. Richard spoke again before it became awkward, but he was back to his business-like voice. “How about this, then—are you free tomorrow? Why don’t you and your kids come over? I’ll show you around, you can ask any questions, and we’ll ...” he paused again, “just take it from there.”
“That sounds great,” Celia said, trying to match his business-like tone. “How about ten-thirty in the morning?”
“Done. I’ll text you my address. White house at the end of a cul-de-sac.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you then.”
Celia hung up, vastly relieved. The call had gone better than she’d expected. And what had she expected, exactly? He couldn’t be that much of a jerk; he was friends with Eva and Sam, after all.
And she knew she shouldn’t count on the job; even if it all went perfectly, it would be over come summer. But if it paid well and didn’t end up being too much trouble, then it would at least help her get through her last semester of design classes, and then—oh please, God, maybe then—she’d be able to find some worthwhile work.
4
On Saturday morning, carrying Rowan and with a well-scrubbed Rosie and Lily in tow, Celia marched up the paved brick walkway to Richard’s house and rang the doorbell.
She hadn’t been particularly surprised when her GPS had taken her to one of the better neighborhoods in Silverweed, but she’d still blinked a few times at the sheer size of the white house when she pulled into the driveway. She thanked her stars that she wasn’t applying to be a housekeeper; she was barely able to keep the chaos contained in her own house, and it was probably a third the size of Richard’s.
On the other hand, Richard had half the number of people living in his home, so maybe it was actually less work.
