by Thea Dawson
Anyway, Celia reminded herself optimistically, for all she knew, Susan could be his sister … or just an old friend.
Not that it mattered to her, of course.
Still, she took more time than she needed in bundling the kids up in their coats, rather hoping that Richard would cut his call short and come back to the kitchen or that she might at least overhear part of his conversation. Finally, feeling awkward, she tiptoed into the living room and, catching Richard’s eye, gave him a brief wave goodbye.
His gave her a perfunctory smile and a dismissive wave. She turned away then heard him say, “Hang on just a sec. Celia,” she turned back, “You still need to leave by 5:30 on Monday?”
“Yeah. That still okay?”
“No problem,” he answered as she backed out of the room. “No, that was just the new sitter,” she heard him say to the phone as she stepped quietly back to the kitchen. “Monday’s out but Tuesday could work.”
Just the sitter, she thought.
Her good mood evaporated almost instantly. But why? She was the sitter, and it was silly to expect that Richard treat her like a friend or a guest. She was an employee, and nothing more.
But she remained curious about Susan. What kind of woman could light Richard up like that? She glanced at herself in the rearview mirror as she loaded the kids into the car. She looked tired and a bit frazzled. She kept her hair in a ponytail most days to disguise the fact that it was long overdue for a cut, and she hadn’t bothered with makeup that day.
Not me. That’s for sure.
8
The following Monday after getting back from Richard’s, Celia reheated some lasagna she’d made over the weekend and quickly served dinner. She scarfed a few bites herself as she raced around the house collecting the materials she’d need for class.
She knew from the previous classes she’d taken with Paul that he counted lateness as an absence; three absences resulted in a full-grade mark-down. While he’d probably make an allowance for the first class, she didn’t want to start off on the wrong foot. As soon as Tracie appeared at the door, Celia ran out to her car before she could get started on the latest adventures of Guinevere.
In better weather and with less time pressure, she could have walked to campus in ten minutes, but tonight, it made more sense to drive. As she steered her van down the wet streets, she considered the class ahead. Despite the cost and the inconvenience, she liked her design classes and was a little sad that this would probably be the last one. She enjoyed the opportunity to be in an all-adult environment and to be challenged with interesting work. And, although confident in her design abilities, she was considerably less confident in her ability to go out and make a living with her skills. This semester’s class, Design Studio, put less emphasis on design and more on a design career—finding clients and working effectively with them—so perhaps she’d feel more ready for the big time once it was over.
The class was held in Lawrence Hall, a century-old building that was home to the English and Art History Departments. Celia slipped into room 208 a few minutes before six o’clock. Although it had the gothic windows and worn linoleum floor typical of the older buildings on campus, it had been fitted with individual laptop stations and a state-of-the-art computer projection screen.
Paul, standing at the front of the room, wore a tight black t-shirt and snug jeans that managed to make him look hip and creative while simultaneously showing off his nicely toned chest and arms. His sandy brown hair was cut stylishly. He caught Celia’s eye as she walked in and gave her a friendly nod of recognition which she returned with a smile. She glanced around quickly for an open seat and saw Shanice, a woman she’d had several other classes with. Shanice waved enthusiastically and indicated an empty seat next to her which Celia took gratefully.
“How’re you doing?” Shanice gave her a quick hug. “Good holiday?”
“It was nice,” Celia replied, taking her notebook out of her tote bag and rummaging for a pen. “How was yours?”
Shanice gave her an excited grin. “Got my first paid client!” she squealed.
“Oh my gosh, that’s awesome! Congratulations!”
Shanice shrugged modestly. “It wasn’t a big thing, just a couple hundred dollars for a job I found online, but hey, it’s start, right?”
“That’s fantastic.” Celia had to stamp down a surge of jealousy. An actual client—as opposed to a goat-hoarding neighbor—felt like a distant daydream still. And a couple hundred dollars wouldn’t have gone amiss, either.
She was about to ask for more details, but Paul called the class to order, and with some relief, she switched her attention to him.
Paul went over the goals of the class, his expectations, and the syllabus. There were no great surprises for Celia until Paul looked around the classroom to make sure he had everyone’s attention, “My goal is for every single one of you to have a paid client by the end of the semester. That is the only way you’ll get an A in this class.”
Beside her, Celia heard Shanice whisper a triumphant, “Yes!”
Anxiety started to curl in her stomach. This class really would be the test of whether she could make it professionally as a graphic designer. She knew that plenty of designers found enough freelance work to keep them fully employed. Others were able to find full-time in-house jobs at companies, and still others did a mix of in-house and freelance work. Still, until now, she’d focused on the theory and practice of design, learning the software and design principles, and avoiding the networking and negotiating that were an inevitable part of this kind of work.
Now Paul was going on about what they’d actually be doing in class. They’d be developing their own brand identity, including business cards and a website, so that they’d be ready for clients. They’d be filling in any gaps in their portfolios and making sure that those portfolios were accessible online and represented them as well as possible. Some of their class time would be spent preparing for and delivering presentations. Part of their grade depended on going to at least one networking event; Paul promised a list of possible events where they’d be likely to meet potential clients.
“I’ve had a lot of you in class before,” Paul was saying, “and I know there’s a lot of talent in this room. But I want you to know this: your business skills are just as important as your design skills. That’s why I’m so strict about attendance and turning work in on time. Professionals show up, professionals meet deadlines, and professionals get asked back to do more work. All right, tonight we’ll be talking about your unique selling point. That is, the unique combination of skills, experience and knowledge that you—and only you—can bring to a job.”
Three hours later, Celia stood and stretched. She waved goodbye to Shanice and was packing her notebook back into her tote bag when Paul walked up to her.
“Celia, I’m glad to see you in this class.”
“Thanks. I know I really need it.”
Paul nodded. “I know you do, too. You’ve got a lot of talent, but you’re too modest about it. I hope this class will give you the confidence to put your skills to work.”
“I’m sure it will, thanks. I’m looking forward to it.”
He patted her shoulder moved on to greet a few other students.
She packed up her things and went back out into the chilly, wet night.
“How’re things going with Richard?” asked Eva over the cheerful din of a room full of toddlers.
Celia had kept Rowan’s first birthday low-key. She’d corralled a few other parents with young children, along with Eva and Tracie for the Saturday afternoon event. Lily, naturally, had made the cake, which had been served and eaten. Now Rowan and the other children were alternately chasing balloons and petting the kitten Tracie had brought and was holding on her lap on the floor.
Celia handed Eva a cup of tea and sat down on the couch next to her. It was mid-February, and she’d been working for Richard a little over a month now. She’d received her first paycheck for $800, of which sh
e had promptly used $300 to pay off the tuition charge on her credit card. She’d put the rest into her checking account, the first time she’d had extra money since ... well, probably since before she’d gotten pregnant with Rowan. Most of it would be spent soon on utility bills and a long-overdue oil change, but for the moment she was enjoying the newfound sense of abundance.
“It’s good,” she said. “I really appreciate you introducing us. Peyton’s a darling.”
“And Richard? I know he can be a little difficult sometimes.”
Celia took a contemplative sip of tea. “Yeah, I don’t really get him. One minute, we’re talking about the kids or chatting about his neighborhood, you know, like normal people. Then the next minute, it’s like I’m a servant in the manor house and he doesn’t even see me.” She shook her head, covering her annoyance with a smile that was intended to make her look amused at the situation.
“Maybe he doesn’t know what to do with you himself. I mean, on the one hand, you’re a fellow parent from the same school and on the other hand, you’re a–” Eva hesitated just a second, “–an employee.”
“You were going to say ‘servant,’ weren’t you?” Celia said with a wry smile. “But seriously, I am an employee. And that’s fine. But you can treat an employee like a person. I’ve never had a boss before who would just look through me like he does sometimes.”
“I was going to say nanny,” Eva said, “And that’s a little different from being an office employee. You’re in his house two or three hours a day, looking after his child. It’s a more ... intimate situation.”
Celia felt her heart skip a beat at the word intimate and took a quick sip of her tea to avoid Eva’s gaze.
Eva continued. “I mean, maybe he just feels the need to draw some boundaries. He strikes me as the kind of guy who likes to have a place for everything and everything in its place.”
“And I’m not in my place?” Celia raised her eyebrows.
“You know what I mean. You don’t fit into any of the normal categories.”
“He’s had sitters before. I’m not sure how he treated Angel, but it sounds like he and Peyton thought she was great.”
“Yeah, but Angel was a college student. She was a lot younger, and she didn’t have kids of her own. She fit the babysitter mold. You? Not so much.”
Celia shrugged and looked down at her coffee. “Not sure if that’s good or bad.”
Eva waved a dismissive hand. “Neither. It’s just a job. Don’t take Richard personally. He can be quite charming when he wants to be and, well, you’d had to be blind not notice how attractive he is. But much as I like him, I’m the first to admit he can be pretty difficult. Melanie softened his edges a bit, but I think she really messed with his head when she left. He’s probably still recovering. Just look after Peyton and don’t let him get to you.”
“What was Melanie like?” Celia asked. There were no pictures of her that she’d seen in Richard’s house, and she knew that Eva would be happy to fill her in.
“Beautiful,” Eva sighed, to Celia’s annoyance. “If she hadn’t been a lawyer, she could have been a model. And very, very bright. They met at Stanford when Richard was doing his PhD and she was in law school. She worked in the Legal Affairs department at Falls State until she left. Ran off with Scott Albright in Corporate Relations. Do you know him?”
Celia shook her head. Outside of the art and graphic design departments, she knew very few people at Falls State.
“It all happened about a year and a half ago,” Eva went on. “Bit of a scandal. Richard’s quite a private person, so you can imagine how hard it was for him. Bad enough that his wife left him, but to have everyone talking about it … He didn’t take it well.”
“How awful,” Celia murmured. Poor Richard. At least her issues with Brad hadn’t been fodder for campus-wide gossip. And poor Peyton; whatever problems she’d had with Brad, she couldn’t imagine ever simply walking away from her children.
Eva nodded. “Richard was never the most gregarious guy, but Sam says he was a real bastard to be around for several months after she left. Fortunately, it all happened after he got tenure, so it was too late to fire him.” Eva paused and gave Celia a slightly guilty look. “I think he’s much better now.”
“Oh, yeah, he’s not that bad. I mean, he’s fine, really.” Celia pressed her lips together thoughtfully. “You’re right, I just have to not take him personally.”
But the image of his deep brown eyes and his rare smile, the moments of friendly conversation, and his kind words about Lily played at the edges of her mind, leaving a warm longing in the pit of her stomach. It was hard not to take it personally.
She reminded herself that it was just a job.
The benefits were a handsome boss and a pleasant work environment. It was a mistake to think it might be anything else.
Rowan, who had been carrying a balloon almost as big as he was, tripped and popped it. Startled, he began to wail, and Celia put down her tea and rushed over to pick him up.
Richard returned from the Monday morning staff meeting—a waste of time, in his opinion; the politics of his job were by far the least interesting part of it—and turned his computer on to check his calendar.
He’d deliberately kept his teaching schedule light this semester. Even if things didn’t work out with Susan—though it looked like they might—he needed to leave his options open for other opportunities. Once again, he sent a silent prayer of thanks to the gods who—in the unlikely form of Sam’s wife—had brought Celia into his life, freeing up his time and attention so that he could focus on what he needed to do.
So far, things seemed to be working out well with her. Richard wouldn’t have minded it if she’d been slightly less attractive; it was a little disconcerting to come home most evenings to find a beautiful woman he barely knew in his kitchen. As fond as he’d been of Angel, he’d never found her attractive in the same way; she was barely half his age and he thought of her as something between a niece and a much younger sister. Celia, on the other hand, was undoubtedly a fellow adult ... and there was something about the combination of her fresh-faced good looks and her sweet nature than he found incredibly appealing.
He thought of Melanie, who wore expensive tailored suits and sophisticated makeup, and always had her hair perfectly styled. She’d never bonded as closely with Peyton as he had, often seeming alarmed or put out when Peyton cried or wanted to cuddle. To his disappointment, she’d made it clear that more children were out of the question.
Perhaps, he thought to himself, part of Celia’s appeal was her relaxed attitude, especially around kids. The comfortable way she held her little boy, the way that she managed to coral her children without yelling or scolding, the way she encouraged Peyton to draw more ...
But he’d have to be careful with that. He liked that Peyton enjoyed art, but he wanted to be sure she saw it as a hobby, nothing more. It wouldn’t do to have her thinking that it would be a good career path.
He thought of Celia’s art degree and shook his head slightly. Even Celia had as much as admitted that it had been a mistake. The graphic design classes she’d mentioned sounded slightly more practical, but he had doubts that they’d actually lead to a worthwhile living for her.
No, that was definitely not the direction he wanted Peyton to go. Perhaps he should talk to Celia about it, to make sure she didn’t encourage Peyton too much.
A soft beep from his computer alerted him to a new email. Susan.
Reflexively, he glanced around his office, but of course there was no one there. He shook his head. He had nothing to be embarrassed about; plenty of his colleagues did similar things, and as long as the protocols were followed, the university usually didn’t have a problem with what he was planning. Still, he felt slightly furtive as he opened the email and began to read.
His brow furrowed. The next few weeks would be busy ones. He hoped that Celia would be on hand to help.
That evening when he came home from work, R
ichard beckoned Celia into the mudroom, telling her that he had to talk to her about something and obviously not wanting to be overheard by the kids. She felt a quiver of anxiety along with a lazy curl of heat in her belly as she stepped closer to him in the small, dimly lit room.
Neither reaction, as it happened, was warranted; he simply explained that he had to go out of town in March.
“I have to be in San Francisco for a couple of days. I’ll have to leave early on a Wednesday morning and I’ll be back Thursday evening. I should be home by dinner. I know you don’t usually come on Wednesdays, but would you be able to pick Peyton up and then look after her overnight?”
Celia was surprised but relieved that he wasn’t upset with her about anything. The serious look on his face had alarmed her. “That should work out. How early do you have to leave on Wednesday? I could take her to school in the morning if you need me to.”
He shook his head. “Thanks, but my flight isn’t until 10:30. I should be able to drop her off at school on my way out of town and just make it to PDX. If you could pick her up as usual and then stay the night at our place and bring her to school the next day, that would be great.”
“Sure.” Celia thought for a moment. “Would it make more sense if Peyton just stayed at our place? She’s more than welcome.”
Richard hesitated. “The thing is, she’s a little scared of sleepovers. It’s bad enough that I have leave overnight. You know ... her mom and all ...” Celia nodded sympathetically. “She’s afraid I won’t come back. I know it’s a lot to ask all of you to stay here, but I think this will be easier for her if she can stay at her own house. I’ll pay you extra, of course,” he added quickly.
Extra was always welcome, and Celia pictured herself making good use of the hot tub after the kids were in bed. It might actually be kind of fun.
