Chương 9
She set down the knife.
“I’m not doing it to convince you to stay.”
“All right.”
“I’m doing it because the current arrangement is wrong.”
“All right.”
“You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you canceled a trip.”
“I transferred operating authority.”
“That’s bigger.”
“Yes.”
She resumed slicing.
Daniel waited.
“What do you want me to say?”
“That it changes something.”
“It changes your calendar.”
He leaned against the counter. “You told me to learn what they need.”
“I did.”
“I am trying.”
“I see that.”
“But you’re still leaving.”
Elise placed the pear slices in a small container.
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She washed the knife. “Because if I stay now, every improvement you make will be tied to whether I approve of you. You’ll resent me. Helen will resent me. I’ll start measuring my value by whether the twins cry when I leave the room. None of that is good for them.”
Daniel watched water run over her hands.
“You’ve thought about this.”
“I’ve had trouble sleeping.”
“You could stay for the ninety days. After that, we review.”
“That sounds like one of your contracts.”
“It is a contract.”
“That’s the problem.”
He stepped closer.
Elise turned off the water.
Daniel could see the small pulse at the base of her throat. She looked tired, but not frightened. He had not realized until that moment how much he had wanted her fear of leaving to outweigh her reasons.
“That first night,” he said, “when they laughed—you gave something back to this house.”
Elise dried her hands slowly.
“They gave it back,” she said. “I was wearing gloves.”
“You know that isn’t true.”
“I know you’re grieving. And I know grief can make a person confuse relief with rescue.”
Daniel looked away.
On the counter, the yellow gloves lay beside the fruit bowl, their drawn faces faded from washing.
Elise picked up the container of pears.
“I’ll finish my notice,” she said. “I’ll help train whoever comes next. I won’t disappear on them.”
She left the kitchen.
Daniel stayed beside the sink until the overhead light switched itself off.
Elise’s final night arrived on a Thursday.
Mrs. Vale had interviewed eleven candidates. Daniel rejected eight. Elise rejected none, which irritated him until she explained that the next nanny did not need to perform exactly as she did.
“They need someone safe, patient, and consistent,” she said. “Not a replacement.”
The phrase followed him through the day.
The chosen temporary nanny was a woman named Marisol Greene, forty-six, with twenty years of experience and a laugh that made Rosie startle. She was competent, calm, and entirely uninterested in Daniel’s moods. Elise spent three days walking her through routines.
On Thursday evening, Elise packed the headphones into a canvas bag.
She left the yellow gloves in the nursery drawer.
“They belong here,” she said.
Daniel stood beside the tall giraffe.
“What do they belong to?”
“The act.”
“You invented the act.”
“I bought the gloves at the grocery store because your kitchen ones cost more than my shoes.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
Elise closed the drawer.
“Keep them.”
The twins were awake in their cribs, watching her. Maisie held the pink teddy bear. Rosie had one fist around the cream bear’s flattened ear.
Elise moved from one crib to the other, kissing each baby’s forehead. She did not cry. Her breathing changed, but only once.
“I’ll come visit,” she whispered. “Not tomorrow. You need to give Miss Greene a chance.”
Rosie’s face crumpled.
Elise touched her cheek.
“No,” she said softly. “Don’t do that.”
The baby began to cry.
Maisie followed.
Daniel looked toward Elise.
She closed her eyes for a moment.
“Go,” he said.
Her eyes opened.
“I’ll handle it.”
“I can stay until they sleep.”
“If you do, tomorrow will be worse.”
Elise nodded.
She lifted the canvas bag and walked toward the doorway.
At the threshold, she turned back.
Daniel stood between the cribs with both babies crying.
For the first time since she had entered his home, he looked afraid without covering it.
Elise placed one hand against the doorframe.
“Their nighttime bottles are in the refrigerator,” she said. “Rosie’s is marked with blue tape. Maisie will pretend she isn’t tired. She is.”
“I know.”
“Don’t turn on the overhead light.”
“I know.”
“The cream bear needs a new seam before washing.”
“Elise.”
She stopped.
“Thank you,” he said.
Her eyes shone.
She nodded once and left.
The apartment door closed five minutes later.
The twins cried for forty-three minutes.
Daniel knew because he timed it.
Marisol offered to take over. He refused. She stayed in the nursery anyway, sitting quietly near the window while he moved between the cribs.
He tried bottles. Rosie drank half an ounce and turned away. Maisie slapped hers aside.
He tried the rabbit book. His voice shook, and the rabbit’s missing shoe seemed like a personal attack.
He tried the pink teddy bear. Maisie threw it.
At last he opened the drawer and took out the yellow gloves.
The faded puppet faces stared at him.
He put them on.
Rosie paused.
Daniel raised his left hand.
“This is a terrible idea,” the puppet said.
His right hand answered, “Most family decisions are.”
Marisol made a small choking sound near the window.
Daniel looked at her.
“Sorry,” she said. “Continue.”
He turned back to the babies.
The left puppet accused the right puppet of hiding a spoon. The right puppet blamed the giraffe. Daniel gave the giraffe a slow, disapproving voice. It was not a good performance. It had no structure and ended with a long argument about whether socks had feelings.
Maisie stopped crying.
Rosie hiccuped and watched.
Daniel continued until both babies slept.
Then he sat on the rug with the gloves still on his hands.
Marisol picked up the rejected bottle.
“You did fine,” she said.
“No, I didn’t.”
“They’re asleep.”
“That is not the same thing.”
“No,” she agreed. “It usually isn’t.”
May you like
The first week without Elise went badly.
Daniel stayed home, but presence did not make him skilled. He confused bottles, dressed Rosie in Maisie’s pajamas, forgot to replace the diaper bag after using the last clean outfit, and once spent twenty minutes searching for a pacifier that was in his shirt pocket.
