Chương 7
It had been mailed seven months earlier.
Delayed somehow, redirected perhaps, buried in some postal mistake.
The appointment date had been six days before Claire's accident.
His chest tightened.
"What does it say?" Oliver asked.
Kevin read farther.
The gallery had apparently been storing an object for Claire.
Not a painting.
A miniature portrait.
Late nineteenth century.
Unknown artist.
She had asked to have the frame restored but not the painting itself.
The note ended with a reference number and a request that she confirm pickup.
Kevin looked toward the hallway without meaning to.
The large portrait upstairs flashed into his mind.
Gold frame.
Blue dress.
Claire's amused eyes.
He folded the letter.
"Nothing important."
Annie looked at him.
Oliver immediately said, "You lied."
Kevin's face went hot.
"It's about a gallery."
"That's not nothing."
"No."
He put the letter back in its envelope.
"You're right."
Oliver took a bite of pancake.
A blueberry rolled off his plate.
Noah caught it with both hands and ate it.
Kevin looked again at the return address.
Claire had never mentioned a miniature portrait.
That fact did not make the letter sinister.
Claire had done dozens of things without reporting them to him.
She had lived a full life, not a schedule he owned.
Still, the timing bothered him.
Six days before the accident.
Annie placed a plate in front of Kevin.
"I didn't ask for pancakes."
"You've been standing there staring at paper for five minutes."
"So?"
"So eat."
He looked down at the plate.
One pancake was slightly darker than the others.
"You burned it."
"Then don't eat it."
Kevin cut into it.
Annie returned to the stove.
The pancake was good.
He hated that too.
Mrs. Bell poured coffee into his usual cup.
"Your sister called the house last night."
Kevin closed his eyes.
"Mother's birthday."
"Sunday."
"I know."
"You didn't know yesterday."
"I know now."
Oliver looked up.
"Grandma's old."
Kevin nearly choked on coffee.
Mrs. Bell turned away very quickly.
Annie covered her mouth with the back of one hand.
Noah asked, "How old?"
Kevin recovered.
"Old enough to object to this conversation."
"Is she a hundred?"
"No."
"Ninety?"
"No."
"Eighty?"
"No."
Oliver shrugged.
"Then she's not that old."
Kevin pointed his fork at him.
"You're learning diplomacy."
Mrs. Bell set the coffee pot down.
"Your mother expects everyone at six."
"Of course she does."
"Caroline said she intends to discuss Thanksgiving."
"In August?"
"Your mother regards holidays as military campaigns."
"That is unfortunately accurate."
Annie carried her own tea to the far end of the island.
Kevin watched her sit.
He had the sense she was deliberately giving the family space.
It reminded him of the conversation from the night before.
Permanent position.
Doing what?
He had not answered.
Now, looking at Oliver cutting his pancakes into exact squares while Noah drowned his own in syrup, Kevin understood that offering Annie more money to remain undefined inside the household would solve nothing.
It might even make things worse.
He finished half the pancake.
"After breakfast," he said.
Annie looked up.
She understood immediately.
Oliver did too.
"Can we listen?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because employment conversations are private."
"Why?"
"Because."
Oliver frowned.
Kevin sighed.
"Because adults deserve privacy too."
Oliver considered that.
"Okay."
The easy acceptance surprised him.
Then Oliver added, "We'll ask Annie after."
Kevin rubbed his forehead.
Annie smiled into her tea.
Twenty minutes later, Mrs. Bell took the twins upstairs to dress.
Noah protested because he wanted to wear pajamas to preschool.
Oliver argued that dinosaurs were technically educational.
Their voices disappeared down the hallway.
The kitchen became quiet.
Kevin carried his plate to the sink.
Annie began folding the dish towel into a neat rectangle.
"You don't have to clean while we talk."
"I know."
She folded it again anyway.
Kevin leaned against the counter.
"I gave some thought to what you said."
"Which part?"
"All of it."
"That sounds exhausting."
"It was."
She waited.
Kevin looked down at his hands.
"I don't want to hire you because the boys are attached to you."
Annie's expression became careful.
He continued before she could misunderstand.
"I mean, I don't want that to be the only reason."
"All right."
"I also don't want to invent a job because I'm afraid they'll be upset if you leave."
"That's sensible."
"I occasionally manage it."
"Rarely before coffee."
"Apparently."
He looked at her.
"I want to know what would make staying here a real job for you."
Annie stopped folding the towel.
Kevin forced himself not to fill the silence.
Finally she said, "You may not like the answer."
"That seems to be a pattern."
"I wouldn't work as their nanny."
"Fine."
"I wouldn't be on call whenever you're busy."
Kevin's mouth tightened.
She noticed.
"See?"
"I'm listening."
"I'd need actual hours."
"Reasonable."
"Time off."
"Obviously."
"Not obvious in houses like this."
He almost objected.
Then he remembered three midnight requests he had made of previous staff members without considering whether their shifts had ended.
"Fair."
Annie placed the towel on the counter.
"If I'm helping with the boys, I want to do it as an educator."
Kevin nodded slowly.
"What does that mean?"
"It means routines, school support, play, reading, behavior, grief support coordinated with their therapist, not me pretending I'm qualified to treat them."
"I like that distinction."
"It means I don't become the person who replaces you."
Kevin went still.
Annie held his gaze.
"If they wake at night, you're their father."
"I know."
"If they're scared because someone might leave, you're the one who has to talk about it."
His discomfort sharpened.
"I do talk to them."
"Sometimes."
"That's unfair."
"Probably."
Kevin pushed away from the counter.
"There are days I leave this house before they're awake and get back after dinner."
"I know."
"My company didn't stop existing because Claire died."
"I didn't say it did."
"Three hundred employees depend on decisions I make."
May you like
"I know."
"And I can't simply decide that none of that matters."
