Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 56208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56208 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 281(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Chapter Four
Callie
I lie on the comfortable mattress, the window slightly open, listening to the sound of birds. It’s weird being so far outside the city. In the stockbroker’s townhouse, and especially in my apartment, I could always hear something. Cars honking their horns, people yelling at each other, the general mayhem of life.
Now, there’s less noise. I thought that would be a good thing, but it gives me more time alone with my thoughts. It lets me think about the ride into the city, transferring boxes of my stuff into Gray’s swanky pickup, and then the ride home. Gray didn’t say much. I spent the journey keeping Emery entertained with the license plate game.
In fact, Gray seemed sort of distant once we left Maplebrook. He turned from a polite, engaging man into somebody who seemed uninterested in me—almost bothered by me. It continued when we got home. He stopped looking at me when he talked to me.
I close my eyes, take a breath, and remind myself what this is about. I’m here to make money. I’m here to ensure a little girl gets the best care possible. In the nanny advert, Gray mentioned he was taking on a big project that starts after the weekend. It’ll be my job to keep Emery entertained for the rest of summer break, take her on playdates, and ensure she has enough books to read. Keep her bright, active imagination sparkling.
My cellphone rings. I sit up sharply, startled. It’s Dad. “Hey, Callie,” he says.
“Dad, are you okay?” I ask, my voice coming out a little panicked.
He laughs, but there’s a sad quality to it. “This isn’t about them.”
My blood turns cold at the mention of Them. They were the reason I had to work for the stockbroker, even when things got nasty.
“Oh.” I laugh shakily. “Sorry, Dad. It’s just… well, you know.”
“Yeah, I know. Of course, I do.”
“So, what’s up?” I ask.
“I was calling to check how the interview went.”
I wonder if this proves that I’m a selfish daughter or that I’m so used to Dad being inaccessible I just forgot to tell him. I called my friend, Katerina, and told her the news. But not my dad. “I got the job.”
“That’s excellent news,” he says. “I’m so proud of you. When do you start?”
“I’ve started,” I tell him. “In fact, I’ve already moved into the guesthouse.”
“Already?” He sounds doubtful, protective. It’s not like I can blame him. He knows about my last job.
“Dad, Mr. Aldridge is a good man. And Emery’s just as cute as a button. And this job pays very, very well. It’s not like I’m going to quit my entire career just because of one bad experience. I aced the interview. I think he was supposed to interview a bunch of other candidates, but when he saw me bonding with his little girl, I got fast-tracked.”
“I’m proud of you,” Dad says after a pause. “Really. That’s great.”
“Thank you. And don’t worry. I know how to take care of myself.”
“I know you do,” Dad replies. “Nobody could ever doubt that. You were the one who saved me. I just worry about you. It’s my job as your dad, you know.”
He says the last bit almost like he’s trying to persuade me, or himself, that he’s a good father. It would threaten to break my heart if I hadn’t become immune to thoughts of my life before. Of the fractures in my family and the pain I suffered growing up—the shame. But I don’t need to think about any of that now.
“I’ve got to go, Dad. I love you.”
“I love you too,” he replies.
None of that stuff matters. Just tomorrow. Just Emery. That’s the wonderful thing about my job. I never have to worry about me.
***
The next morning, there’s a knock at my door. I walk through the airy, sunny kitchen and down the hallway to find Emery standing with her hands clasped in front of her. The sun hasn’t risen yet. Her hair’s all tangled, her eyes wide and sleepless.
“Emery, is everything okay?”
“I can’t sleep, C-A-L-L-I-E.”
I smile. “You don’t have to spell my name every time.”
“Am I being an annoying little brat?”
I gasp. “Why would you say that?”
“The witch nanny said it to me once.”
I kneel down and gently touch Emery’s hand. “It wasn’t okay for her to say that. You’re not annoying. And you’re not a brat. Why don’t we go inside, and I’ll braid your hair, and maybe as I’m doing that, you can tell me one of your fascinating stories?”
“Really?”
“Really.”
“Yippee!”
“Can you wait here while I get dressed?”
She gives me a once-over. “But you are dressed.”
I laughed. “I mean, change out of my PJs.”
“Why, Callie? Your PJs are the cutest.”
Children have a way of cutting right to the heart of an issue. When she says why, I realize I don’t have an answer. At least, it’s not one I can tell her. The truth is that I don’t want her dad to see me in an old T-shirt and pants that have seen better days.