4

The following Monday, Amy returned to work. It was as if nothing had happened. Ellen greeted her as she always did—on those rare occasions when Amy was on time—with a smile and a nod. Amy wanted to ask if her discussion with the contractor had spurred him to action … but realized it was better if she did not know. She did not want to get dragged back into it.

That said, she had to admit that resuming her role as a lawyer, even if only for a few minutes, felt good. In control. Knowledgeable. Worth something. And it also scared the crap out of her.

As she kneaded the dough, she glanced up at Ellen—but averted her eyes when Ellen looked in her direction.

The morning skipped by, but other than some work-related banter with Bobby, she kept to herself. She wondered if Ellen had said anything to him about Amy’s past—or her previous career. If she had, Bobby did not mention it. Ex-husband or not, she did not know how close they remained.

Amy removed her apron and hairnet, then grabbed her lunch bag from the staff refrigerator and walked down the block to Lake Merritt. She tried to get there a few times per week to clear her head and breathe some fresh air. It did not always make her feel better, but Loren and Zach insisted it would help her and, in theory, she knew it should. With nothing better to do during lunch, she stuck with the routine.

As she padded along the path around the lake, she finished the sandwich, crumpled the empty paper sack into a ball—and realized she had walked in the opposite direction than usual. While in the past she preferred to vary her route, after the accident she found comfort in rote tasks and patterns. It required less effort, less thought.

A few yards later, she realized why she had subconsciously started in this direction: she had gone to the location where she had seen the au pair. And the girl.

Like yesterday, they were camped out on the grass on a colorful blanket, a wicker picnic basket set out between them.

Amy tried to make her feet carry her past them, but she felt an overwhelming draw toward the girl. “Hi again.”

The woman looked up and shielded her eyes from the glare of the bright sky.

“Oh. Hi.” Her eyes made a quick assessment of Amy’s clothing. “You’re not running today.”

Amy laughed. “No, I’m on lunch break. I work right up the street.”

“I’m Giselle.”

“Amy.” She set her knees on the edge of the blanket. “And you are?”

Those crystal-clear eyes locked onto Amy’s. “Melissa,” she said, singing it and drawing out the sound of the s.

“Melissa. Very pretty name. And you’ve got very pretty eyes. I bet lots of people tell you that.”

Melissa grinned broadly and looked down, turning away and clasping her hands in front of her body.

“So you guys like spending time at the lake.”

“Melissa’s favorite place,” Giselle said, her accent permeating each word. “Well, second to Disneyland.”

“You enjoy feeding the ducks?” Amy asked.

Melissa nodded and looked away.

“Use your words,” Giselle said. “Do not be shy.”

Melissa swung her gaze back toward Amy. “Yes. I like feeding the ducks. They eat my bread. But I like bread, too. So I don’t really want to give it to them. Giselle says I can’t give them peanut butter.”

Amy laughed. “Peanut butter may be kind of difficult for them to swallow.”

“I like ice cream too. And the ice cream man comes three times.” She held up three fingers.

“Monday, Wednesday, and Friday,” Giselle explained. She cupped a hand and shielded her mouth from Melissa. “Weekends too,” she mouthed, then winked.

Amy stifled a smile. “So, Melissa, what’s your favorite flavor?”

“Strawberry.”

“Strawberry? Really?”

Melissa animatedly nodded her head up and down.

“Mine too. I used to pick strawberries when I was your age.”

“Pick strawberries?” Melissa scrunched her nose.

“Yes, they grow on little plants.” She pulled out her iPhone and found a picture that supported her claim.

“I want to pick strawberries too.”

“Maybe Giselle can plant some with you. In a pot at your house.” She turned to Giselle and shrugged.

“We can try. I am not good with plants. I mostly kill them. What is it you Americans say? Green thumb?”

“Yes.”

“I have a brown one.”

They both chuckled.

Amy bent forward to engage with Melissa. “So you said you like bread. What’s your favorite kind?”

Melissa shrugged.

Amy tilted her head. “How about pumpernickel?”

“I don’t know.”

“It’s brown bread. Kind of sweet. It’s delicious. Would you like to taste it?”

Melissa nodded.

“Well you know what? I work in a bakery. I make bread all day long. Would you like me to bring you the absolute bestest pumpernickel in Oakland?”

Melissa looked at Giselle.

“That would be fine. But I do not think we should feed it to the ducks.”

“We’ve always got some day-old loaves that don’t sell. I’ll bring one of them too. You can give that to the ducks.” Amy caught the time on Giselle’s watch and jumped up. “Whoops. Gotta get back to work. Will you be here tomorrow?”

Giselle canted her head toward the gray sky. “Unless the weather’s bad, we’re here every day for lunch.”

“Great,” Amy said as she backed away. “See you tomorrow. With some delicious brown bread.” She gave Melissa a wink and headed off down the path.