Chương 8
“Excuse me?”
“Now.”
Something in her tone worked.
He stepped outside.
Evelyn settled Claire into the hospital crib and followed.
Adrian turned immediately.
“You overstepped.”
“So did you.”
“I am her father.”
“And I am the person you hired to make childcare decisions when you are not physically present.”
“That does not include deciding when I deserve information.”
“Fine. We can change the communication policy later.”
“There shouldn’t need to be a policy.”
“There absolutely needs to be one if you’re going to turn every fever into the night your wife died.”
The words escaped before Evelyn could stop them.
Adrian went completely still.
Evelyn felt immediate regret.
“That was unfair.”
His face closed.
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
He looked through the glass panel toward Claire.
“I was in Boston.”
“I know.”
“Madeline called me the afternoon before she died. She said she felt strange.”
Evelyn said nothing.
“I was in Chicago.”
His voice remained flat.
“She told me not to come home. I had a presentation the next morning.”
He rubbed his palms together.
“I stayed.”
There it was.
The deeper wound.
“I came home that night because the meeting ended early. Eight hours later she collapsed.”
His jaw tightened.
“If I had stayed in Chicago—”
“But you didn’t.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“It might be.”
He looked at her angrily.
“You don’t understand.”
“No, I don’t.”
She let that remain true.
“I don’t know what it’s like to lose my spouse. I don’t know what you heard that night or what you saw. I don’t know what you replay.”
Her voice softened.
“But I know Claire had a fever today. I know what the pediatrician advised. I know what we did. And I know she’s sleeping ten feet away while you punish yourself for something that happened almost a year ago.”
Adrian looked through the glass again.
His shoulders lowered.
Only slightly.
“I hate hospitals.”
“Most people do.”
“No.”
He swallowed.
“I hate that they keep functioning.”
Evelyn understood.
People died.
Machines kept beeping.
Nurses changed shifts.
Vending machines accepted dollar bills.
The world’s indifference was sometimes more offensive than tragedy itself.
She stood beside him.
Neither spoke for a while.
A janitor pushed a cleaning cart down the corridor.
A nurse laughed softly at the station.
Somebody’s television played behind a closed door.
Ordinary life continued inside the building where extraordinary things happened.
Finally Adrian said, “I’m still angry you didn’t call sooner.”
Evelyn nodded.
“I’m still angry you yelled at me.”
“That seems fair.”
“We’ll make a better policy.”
“Yes.”
He looked at her.
“Thank you for bringing her.”
“It’s my job.”
“I know.”
The words carried more than employment.
Evelyn chose not to answer.
Claire was discharged the next afternoon.
At home, Adrian stayed beside her for nearly six hours.
He canceled meetings.
He fed her.
Changed her diaper.
Walked with her against his chest.
When she finally slept, he remained in the blue chair.
Evelyn stood in the doorway.
He noticed her.
“She’s breathing.”
“That’s generally desirable.”
“I’ve checked eleven times.”
“I wasn’t going to mention it.”
“You were.”
“Eventually.”
He looked down at Claire.
“I can’t do this every time they get sick.”
“No.”
“I know that.”
“That’s a start.”
Adrian nodded.
He looked tired.
Older.
More human.
“Evelyn.”
“Yes?”
“If I become unreasonable again—”
“When.”
He gave her a look.
“When I become unreasonable again, tell me.”
“I already do.”
“You seem to enjoy it.”
“A little.”
Claire sighed in her sleep.
Adrian smiled.
The second major change began outside the house.
Evelyn’s younger brother, Daniel, lost his job.
He had been working warehouse shifts in New Jersey while taking community college classes. The company reduced staff after the holidays.
Daniel called Evelyn at midnight.
“I’m fine.”
That was how Evelyn knew he was not.
“How much do you have saved?”
“Enough.”
“How much?”
“Why do you always do that?”
“Do what?”
“Turn into Mom.”
“Our mother would already be in your apartment with groceries.”
“She did text me about soup.”
“See?”
Daniel laughed weakly.
Evelyn sent him money the next morning.
More than she could comfortably afford.
Then again two weeks later.
Then she began paying part of his tuition.
The nanny salary made it possible.
That frightened her.
Virginia’s warning returned.
Indispensability worked in both directions.
Evelyn was becoming financially dependent on the job just as the family became emotionally dependent on her.
She started thinking about the future.
The girls would not be babies forever.
They would go to preschool.
Then school.
Nannies stayed, sometimes.
Sometimes they did not.
She had spent most of her twenties adapting to other people’s households.
What did she want?
The question annoyed her because it lacked an immediate answer.
She talked to Denise.
They sat in a coffee shop after a training session.
“You could get certified as a newborn care specialist,” Denise said. “Or early childhood education. You’re good.”
“I don’t want to spend my life working for rich people.”
“Then don’t.”
“That was very useful.”
“You want me to invent your ambition?”
Evelyn stirred sugar into coffee she had already sweetened.
“I like the girls.”
“I know.”
“I love them.”
Denise nodded.
That was harder to say.
Evelyn looked down.
“That feels dangerous.”
“Love usually is.”
“Helpful again.”
“You’re welcome.”
“What happens when they don’t need me?”
“They’ll always need people. Maybe not you in the same way.”
“That’s comforting.”
“It isn’t supposed to be.”
Denise leaned back.
“Being good for children means helping them need you less over time.”
Evelyn hated that sentence enough to believe it.
She enrolled in evening early-childhood development courses.
She did not tell Adrian until the schedule required adjustment.
He reacted badly.
Not dramatically.
Worse.
Quietly.
“You’re planning to leave.”
Evelyn looked up from the calendar.
“I’m taking classes.”
“For what?”
“To learn.”
“You already have training.”
“Learning isn’t an illness you cure.”
He ignored that.
“Is there another position?”
“No.”
“Did someone contact you?”
“No.”
“Then why now?”
May you like
Evelyn stared at him.
“Because I have a life.”
