Aftermath
Dana Mansfield
© Copyright Dana Mansfield 2017
Published by Black Rose Writing
www.blackrosewriting.com
© 2017 by Dana Mansfield
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publishers, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper, magazine or journal.
The final approval for this literary material is granted by the author.
First digital version
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Print ISBN: 978-1-61296-850-6
PUBLISHED BY BLACK ROSE WRITING
www.blackrosewriting.com
Print edition produced in the United States of America
Acknowledgements
Frank & Sandi Baron, Betsy Boetger, Danna Burgess, Dr. Stephan Coyne, Glenda DenHerder, Beth Harms, Jodie Larson, Robert McLey, Polly Meissner, Susan Rawlins, Marlene Sturdevant, Reagan Rothe and Dave King
Dedication
This book is dedicated to Sandi Baron. Thank you for your great editing skills, even if it cost me the chicken pox.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue - The Weekend in June
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Black Rose Writing Info
Prologue
The Weekend in June
I double and triple checked everything from the pantry, the clean laundry, and even the DVR. I paced back and forth in the kitchen pouring over the notes I wrote about schedules and birthday parties and compared them to the notes in my journal and the family calendar. I arranged and rearranged the fridge and freezer to optimize where all the premade meals were. I even set the table for breakfast even though it was one of the children’s tasks.
To boil it down, Jack Petrov – my rockstar employer and longtime best friend – and I – the nanny to his children – were being forced out of our home in Voorhees, New Jersey for four days by Crystal, Jack’s estranged wife, and I was not happy about this. I was very nervous all hell would break loose the minute I stepped out of the house. I tried to prepare for every possible disaster but with six kids, anything could happen and often did. On that note, I found the main First Aid kit and set it in the center of the cooking island.
Four days.
“This is going to be a disaster,” I muttered and sat down on one of the stools at the cooking island. I was tired and worried and sad. It was not even five in the morning and I’d been so nervous about the weekend I could not sleep. It had been many, many months since Crystal wanted to spend an extended amount of time with the kids and I was afraid she would have no idea what to do. After all, I had been the kids’ primary caretaker for thirteen years. I changed more diapers, wiped away more tears, and dealt with more unacceptable behavior than their own mother.
I needed coffee but didn’t want to start the pot brewing yet out of fear of waking Jack. Despite Crystal having arrived the night before, Jack chose to sleep on the couch. When I came down to the kitchen just after two – I had tried to sleep but just lay there worrying – I was surprised he was on the couch. It was the first time I’d seen the two sleep in separate spaces when under the same roof. I couldn’t help but wonder if Jack finally realized himself what was so obvious to me – his marriage was dead.
I slid off my stool and tiptoed to the couch in the family room. Jack was sound asleep, sprawled on his stomach in a pair of Mickey Mouse pajama bottoms – a Father’s Day gift from the kids – and a Princeton tee. Twice I’d covered him with the couch throw but again, he tossed and turned enough to cause the throw to slip off. Very carefully, I pulled it back over him and then sat on the large, tufted ottoman and watched him sleep. He’d been home for three days after a week in Los Angeles and he’d let himself go a bit. Stubble covered his cheeks and chin – which I thought made him look handsome – and as soon as he had a chance from walking in the door, he changed out of the designer jeans and pullover and into a pair of raggedy shorts and a hideously tie-dyed t-shirt his daughter Karie made in camp a couple summers earlier.
Crystal noticed right away the change in his style when she arrived right before dinner the previous evening. She pulled Jack aside while he grilled the burgers as I stood at the sink eavesdropping on them through the open window. I didn’t feel bad about doing it; I didn’t trust Crystal anymore and I wanted to make sure she wasn’t going to do something to hurt Jack or the kids.
“I was hoping we could go out to dinner,” she said and leaned into Jack a little, “just the two of us.” Her hand slipped into the back pocket of his cutoff jeans I was pretty certain he’d been wearing for the better part of a decade. I couldn’t help but roll my eyes at Crystal’s action. It reminded me of the teenage sluts, such as my half-sister Amanda, whom there were plenty of in high school. “Why don’t you let Penny finish dinner and we can go into Philly or back to Atlantic City and you can stay the night. We’ll come back early enough in the morning for you to leave for the cabin,” she suggested. “Change into one of those outfits the designer sent you. You’ll look so stylish if anyone snaps your picture. I’ve got to admit, you kind of look like a bum right now,” she said with a light laugh that was rather fake and she tousled his already messy brown hair. He had it trimmed that morning at George’s barber shop but his habit of running his hand through his hair negated the fresh cut look.
“I would rather stay here so we can be together with the children. There are plenty of burgers and Penny made her homemade fries and I helped Karie make brownies for later,” he said. His focus was on the grill and he didn’t catch Crystal’s eye roll. She had come dressed, as usual, to the nines and to be honest, I was a little envious of the gorgeous peach colored sundress she wore. I could never wear the strappy heels she sported but I thought I could at least pull off the dress. I frowned. Where would I wear something like that? I looked down at my serviceable outfit of running shoes, my own cutoff jeans, and plain gray t-shirt stained from the day’s lunch of tomato soup and grilled c
heese sandwiches. These were my necessary work clothes. Where Crystal’s light red hair, which was very thin, was coiffed to professional perfection, my own brown hair was styled in two braids courtesy of Annie. The braids were uneven but I couldn’t say no to Annie when she wanted to play hair salon that afternoon.
Crystal sighed and walked back into the kitchen. The kids were playing in the backyard so it was just the two of us and I felt uncomfortable.
“Would you like some iced tea?” I asked her as I pulled the pitcher out of the fridge.
“Yes, please,” she said and sat primly on one of the island’s stools and immersed herself in texting someone. I was pretty sure I knew who she was texting and both anger and shame boiled within me.
“I would like to go over a few things later when we have a chance,” I requested as I poured the beverage. “Just some things about the next four days.”
Although she agreed, the chance never came. She and Jack spent time with the children while I finished preparing for the long weekend. When it was time to put the kids to bed, I tried to help but Crystal insisted on doing my part and ordered me back downstairs. To be honest, I was a little taken aback and hurt. Then I had to remind myself Crystal was the mother after all and I was just the nanny. I must have been tired because while the parents and the kids were upstairs, I was in the garage bawling.
I felt stupid sitting on that ottoman and staring at Jack as if I were a creeper. True, we were best friends but more importantly, I was the nanny. Sometimes I forgot that, especially because Jack never treated me like a nanny since we were friends first. I didn’t interact very much with the other nannies in the neighborhood unless they cared for a friend of one of Jack’s children but I heard stories from those nannies about how awful some employers treated them. Since the car accident almost two years earlier that claimed the life of two of his children, Jack and I worked closer than ever in regards to the kids and I had to remind myself often of my actual place. Despite my reminders, I often disappointed myself. I always considered Jack my friend and rarely as my employer.
I snuck up to my room and changed into jeans and a t-shirt. I sat on my bed; I felt heavy, so very heavy. My depression was at an all-time high and it was my own fault for two reasons. The first was rather simple – I had stopped taking my medications and going to therapy. Neither of them was helping at all and I saw no reason to continue spending the money. The second reason was not so simple but I hoped with Jack starting to spend more time away from the family as the band geared up for the new album, my heart would stop being so silly.
There was a tiny knock on my door. When I opened it, Little Sofie, Jack’s youngest child, was standing there looking very worried.
“Papa’s doow is closed,” she whispered as I knelt down in front of her. In a couple months she would be four and Jack worried about the fact she could not pronounce her R’s. “I knows when Mama is home and Papa’s doow is closed I’m not ‘spose to goes in and I knows when Mama is home I’m not ‘spose to come to you and I’m ‘spose to go to Mama but the doow is closed and I waked up alweady and no one is waked up but you. I don’t know what to do, Penny.”
Tears ran down the precious girl’s face and I pulled her into a hug. Quickly, so her cries would not wake up the rest of the family, I shut the door. I picked her up, ignoring the sharp stab of pain in my back, and carried her over to the comfy chair in the small alcove that looked out over the front lawn.
“I’m bad,” Little Sofie sobbed.
“No, you’re not,” I replied with gentle words and smoothed her curls and kissed her forehead. Little Sofie could not be consoled. I held her tight and whispered soft words in her ear but still she cried. My anger at Crystal grew even more. In all their own individual ways, Crystal’s behavior the last couple of years messed with all the children and also caused Jack plenty of his own pain.
As her cries slowed into whimpers and mews, Little Sofie fell back asleep in my arms. The longer I sat, the stronger the burn in my back grew. It had been broken in the car accident along with my hip, leaving me with lingering pain. I was not supposed to be picking up anything more than ten pounds even almost two years after the accident. If there was anyone bad, it was me. Not only did I ignore the weight limit Dr. Nelson, the orthopedic surgeon who patched Jack and me up after the accident, slapped me with, I was also running on the treadmill. No one knew, however. I was sneaky but I had to run. The strashnyi golos gave me no choice. The Terrible Voice – my anorexia – did not care how much pain I was in.
I stood. My hip ached but it was my back that caused me to catch my breath. Little Sofie didn’t weigh much, she was a tiny thing, but my back had been giving me problems as of late and picking up my youngest charge didn’t help. Grunting low with each step, I carried Little Sofie to her room and lay her back down. I tucked her summer comforter over her, kissed my fingertips and lightly touched them to her forehead. I missed being able to tuck her and the others in bed the night before and I felt my eyes well up.
Breakfast needed to be started but the pain in my back was intense as I descended the back stairway. A sharp pain grabbed me around the middle of my torso with each step down. With one hand, I grabbed at the cooking island and my other hand went to my back. I squeezed my eyes shut as a series of painful spasms started ricocheting up and down my back and into my legs. The pain was so bad I had to breathe through pursed lips.
“Your back, it is bothering you, no?”
I opened my eyes and saw Jack standing at the other end of the cooking island. I stood up straight and dropped my arms. I hated showing any pain or discomfort.
“I’m fine,” I replied, my words quick and much used. “Just a little spasm.” Before he could grill me further, as was his way, I stuck my head in the refrigerator.
Three hours later, I was looking in the trunk of Jack’s Mustang and making sure we were set. We each had a bag and Jack, as usual, was taking his guitar. I went food shopping the day before so there was a cooler with the cold food and several other grocery bags with a variety of culinary options. Slowly, I reached up and shut the trunk. My back felt a little better but still tender. I caught Jack eyeing me several times over breakfast but I just made sure not to let my discomfort show on my face.
My backpack and Jack’s with his laptop leaned against the back wheel and I placed them in the backseat, one at a time. Other than filling the tank and maybe grabbing a couple fancy coffees, we were ready for our long weekend in exile. The day was already warm as a front rolled through overnight; a nice breeze blew in through the open garage door behind Jack’s car. I knew from our many visits to the cabin the days would be warm but the nights chilly which was a combination I loved. Even though I would be away from the children and didn’t agree with what Crystal was doing, a small part of me was looking a little forward to the time at the cabin. I loved its serenity.
“Ready?” Jack asked as he came into the garage. He had a stressed look on his face. He, too, was not happy about our forced mini-vacation plus he hated being away from the kids if he was home. Now that he was edging back into rockstar mode, he had to spend time away from them and the length of his business trips were growing longer. Despite what caused the long absence from the career he loved, Jack enjoyed the time just being a regular dad. Yet when he was working on the new album with the guys, I didn’t see the same excitement in his eyes he had with the previous albums. It was almost as if Jack was torn between his two lives.
“Yes,” I replied. “Is there anything you need me to do before we take off?”
“Nope,” he said with a strained smile.
Our first stop was the gas station. Although he couldn’t pump his own gas, the state of New Jersey was so archaic with that law, Jack got out of the car to talk with Jerry. We always went to the same family-owned gas station since r
elocating to South Jersey from Princeton in 1997 and like so many men, Jack felt the need to talk shop with either Jerry or his twin brother Tim while the tank filled. I found this hilarious because Jack’s knowledge of anything car related was rather minimal despite his Big Brain.
I watched Jack in the mirror. He was dressed in a steel gray pullover and fancy jeans from the designer he contracted with wearing his styles in public. I had to admit he looked good, not overly polished as some singers get, but like a normal guy with a touch of style but not too much to be considered metrosexual. His face was smooth shaven, his hair tamed – but no product, he was not a hair product man if he could help it – and he wore a pair of stylish sunglasses. Although Jack looked nice, I still preferred him in his worn jeans and endless Princeton tees and sweatshirts. I didn’t mind him looking like a bum and really, he was far from that even if Crystal called him one. He wasn’t obsessed with his looks like some celebrities but he always dressed appropriately for the occasion. For services at the synagogue, he always wore a tie but if he was just being a dad, then super casual was the way to go.
It was the third time he contracted with a designer and the idea was Crystal’s from the get go. Not a shocker there as she was always making sure she had the latest fancy fashions and as long as she was still married to Jack, she could get freebies from some of the hot designers in Hollywood and New York. It wasn’t uncommon for me to have to try to carve out what little free time I had to make calls to get Crystal on the freebie lists. It was harder to get her on those lists the last couple years with Jack being out of the spotlight. To be honest, it had always been hard to get her on the lists. The band was very successful but not over the top and really, the guys were all rather boring rockstars. For them, it was about making good music and giving their best on stage. They weren’t much about the wild lifestyle. All of them overcame difficult backgrounds and worked too hard to get where they were. Although they could get shit faced, not a single hotel room had been trashed in the thirteen years they were in the business. Anyway, some of the designers wanted people who were more out there and made the entertainment and gossip rags more often. I had to do a little finagling to get stuff for Crystal but what she got, she was ecstatic about. It made her happy and in the end, that’s what mattered.
Aftermath (The Deceptions Trilogy Book 2) Page 1
