Dear Editor,
In response to the most recent letter written to this newspaper by Fired Up in Lovestruck, I submit the following:
Three Reasons Why I Refuse to Accept Fired Up’s Apology:
1. Fired Up in Lovestruck continued his ceaseless attack on my work in the second paragraph of the letter, effectively negating any goodwill he’d managed to foster with his brief, two-sentence apology.
2. A proper apology should be directed at the person who was slighted, not that person’s employer.
3. Listicles are a thing. Get used to it.
I could go on, but three seems like a nice place to stop—a perfectly thorough list, by any definition.
Sincerely,
Queen Bee
“So how was it?” Aunt Alice slid a bowl of oatmeal topped with a generous helping of cinnamon-baked apples in front of Madison, then turned her attention back to her knitting.
Beneath the table, Toby pawed at Madison’s shins. She didn’t bother pushing him away, nor did she take a bite of the breakfast her aunt had so lovingly prepared for her. She couldn’t, even if she’d wanted to.
She’d never been so exhausted in her life. She was tired to the bone. It was a miracle she’d even managed to make her way home from Jack’s house.
“Coffee.” She pushed herself to her feet and shuffled toward the kitchen counter. “Now.”
The clickety-clack of Alice’s knitting needles came to a halt. “Oh, dear. It was that bad?”
“I just…” Madison shook her head. Words failed her, and that never happened. She made her living off words! “Those twins are adorable, but wow. Why didn’t anyone ever tell me how much work babies are? I can’t even hold them properly, unless they’re asleep. How do actual parents do this?”
No wonder Jack Cole was so cranky all the time. He was completely outnumbered in his own home.
“Um, isn’t that precisely what Fired Up in Lovestruck tried to tell you two weeks ago? Don’t you remember? It was right after your column about which babies to follow on Instant Pot.”
“Instagram,” Madison said between gulps of coffee.
Looking back, maybe that column hadn’t been her best. Entertaining, certainly. But helpful in any way when it came to actual parenting? Not so much.
No wonder Mr. Grant wanted her to get some hands-on experience with children. After the first half hour at Jack’s house, she’d been ready to pack it in.
She couldn’t go back there. Absolutely not.
“Are you sure it’s Instagram? Instant Pot sounds more familiar.” Aunt Alice frowned.
“I’m sure. You look at pictures on Instagram. I’m not entirely sure what an Instant Pot is for, but it involves cooking.” That was her problem in a nutshell, wasn’t it? She knew nothing about domestic life—not about cooking or cleaning or what kind of hair appliance might burn down a barn, and even less about babies.
She’d had to Google just about everything—how to heat up a bottle, how to change a diaper, what to do when they cried. Maybe it wouldn’t have been so terrible if she hadn’t been outnumbered. But there were two of them. She hadn’t stood a chance. The only time she hadn’t been on the verge of tears was when she’d fallen asleep in the massive swishy chair in the twins’ bedroom, a baby in each arm.
That chair was a godsend. Whoever had invented it should be awarded a Nobel Peace Prize…or three.
“Anyway, I can’t believe you’re quoting Fired Up in Lovestruck. I’m more furious than ever at that creep.” She refilled her mug to the brim.
At this rate it was going to take half a pot to make it through breakfast and get to the office on time. She needed a shower, too. Her hair was dotted with cereal, and she didn’t even want to identify the mustard-colored stain on her blouse. Coco Chanel was probably rolling in her grave.
“Why?” Alice brushed past her to scoop Toby’s breakfast out of the bag of premium dog food she kept in the pantry. Like everything else in Vermont, it was maple-flavored. “You proved your point about the applesauce. He apologized, didn’t he?”
Madison rolled her eyes. “Please. That was hardly an apology.”
In truth, Fired Up’s lame attempt at saying he was sorry didn’t have anything to do with her current indignation. She was angry at him because his letters were the reason she was working two jobs at the moment.
But mostly, she was furious because he’d been right about her all along.
She knew that now. One night caring for Jack Cole’s little girls had taught her a thing or two. Mostly, it had confirmed the fear she’d managed to bury deep inside all her adult life—she wasn’t cut out to be a mother.
Tears welled in her eyes, and she blinked hard. She’d been on the fast track since she’d graduated from Columbia, determined to make a name for herself in Manhattan. She’d always loved fashion and for a while, she’d thought about going to Parsons School of Design. Her dad had been the one to steer her toward fashion journalism instead, suggesting it might the safer choice. The secure choice.
She’d thought she’d simply been emulating her father. He’d been a powerhouse, a corporate legend. Madison had been less than a year old when her mom died, so she had no idea what kind of man Edward Jules had been before fate had cast him into the role of single dad. The father she’d grown up with had been one who’d taught her to work for a life built on a solid foundation. Taking the safe and logical route meant never having the rug swept out from under you. It meant security. It meant control—inasmuch as life could be controlled.
Madison adored her dad, so of course she’d chosen to follow in his footsteps. She’d found a way to pursue her dreams of a job in fashion the smart way, the practical way. She was her father’s daughter, through and through. But despite all her efforts to safeguard her life, she’d been laid off. Since her dad’s fatal heart attack five years ago, her career had been her entire life. And she’d lost that life in the blink of an eye, in the same sort of heartbreaking efficiency with which she’d lost her father.
Madison had been so busy trying to get her life back that she hadn’t stopped to think about everything she’d given up for her success.
Until now.
She knew her dad’s intentions had been good. He’d only been trying to protect his little girl from further pain. Further loss. But maybe there was more to life than simply feeling safe and secure. After all, a life without loss was a life without love.
So yeah. In a moment of weakness, she’d seen those two sweet babies and they’d reminded her so much of herself at their age that she’d actually wanted the nanny job. She’d wanted to dote on Ella and Emma and perhaps find a part of herself that had been lost all those years ago.
What a fool she’d been. There wasn’t a maternal bone in her body. No wonder her parenting column was such a disaster that a critic had made it his own personal mission to make her life miserable. Fired Up in Lovestruck knew the truth.
“I’m going to quit,” she said quietly.
Aunt Alice’s hand fluttered to her chest. “Your column?”
“No, of course not. The nanny job. It’s—” Madison swallowed around the lump in her throat “—it’s just not for me. I don’t have time. I don’t know what I was thinking.”
“I thought it was only two or three times a week? Just the nights that Sarah’s son has off from the fire station.”
“It is.” Madison shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “But look at me. I’m a mess. I’ve had maybe three hours of sleep and I have to work today. At my real career.”
“Okay, then. Whatever you think is best, dear,” her aunt said, supportive as always.
But her heart wasn’t in it. Madison could hear the slight hint of disappointment in her tone, and it was like an arrow to her heart.
Join the club, she wanted to say. No one was more disappointed in Madison than she was in herself.
Maybe she should tell her aunt about the baby powder explosion she’d created when she’d dropped the container and it had bounced from the end table to the sofa to the floor. Or perhaps she should share the fact that it had taken her four tries to get the rice cereal right and probably glued a bowl permanently to the inside of the microwave in the process. Even the clothes had been tough to figure out. Did infant pajamas really need 10,000 snaps?
As for the diaper situation…it was beyond description.
As humiliating as those mistakes had been, nothing had been as mortifying as waking up just before dawn, stumbling into the den and realizing that at some point during the night, Jack had gotten up and cleaned every inch of the mess she’d made. The sight of the pristine kitchen had nearly made her weep from shame. He was going to fire her. Obviously. Any sane person would.
Her only saving grace had been the fact that Sarah showed up promptly at six in the morning, before Jack had even emerged from his bedroom. By some miracle, Emma and Ella had also been asleep in their cribs. Sarah couldn’t stop gushing about what a wonderful job she’d done, and Madison just couldn’t take it. She’d slunk away before Jack even made an appearance.
And now here she stood in her aunt’s kitchen, too ashamed to admit the truth: she was a horrendous night nanny, and Jack’s baby girls deserved better. They deserved the world.
Madison took a bite of her oatmeal. It was delicious, but for some silly reason, the homey flavors of nutmeg, cinnamon and apples made her want to cry all over again.
She looked up, and her aunt cast her a questioning glance.
Are you sure you want to quit?
The question was written all over the older woman’s face. Even Toby was looking at her with wide, penetrating eyes.
“I just can’t do it,” Madison said, and it might have been the most honest thing she’d uttered all morning.
* * *
It was a good thing Jack had finally gotten some sleep, because the morning awaiting him at the fire station was the busiest he’d had in quite some time.
First up was a motor vehicle collision on the highway on the outskirts of town. Engine Co. 24 was the first to arrive on the scene, which involved multiple injuries. Luckily, everyone was fairly easily patched up. One of the drivers and a few passengers required transport to the big hospital up in Burlington, but none of the injuries appeared to be life-threatening.
Just minutes after the crew returned to the station, they got another call for a small grass fire at the local junior high, which turned out to be the result of some kids messing around with firecrackers behind the gym. Jack and Wade had the fire out within minutes, but they’d spent nearly an hour educating the culprits as to the dangers of fireworks. It was the sort of call that Jack used to love best—a chance to personally get involved with the residents of Lovestruck, beyond issuing permits or putting out fires.
In recent months he’d lost his passion for interacting with members of the community. Sometimes, as much as he hated to admit it, dealing with the good citizens of Lovestruck made Jack feel like the list of people who wanted or needed something from him was longer than he could manage.
Today he felt different. Some of his spark was back. He didn’t want to think too hard on why he felt like the old Jack Cole, nor did he want to get into another big discussion about his personal life with his coworkers over breakfast. He just wanted to enjoy it, which was why he was the first to volunteer for the third call of the day. It was the call that every member of Engine Co. 24 dreaded most—Ethel Monroe’s cat, Fancy, was stuck at the top of her old sugar maple tree again.
“No way.” Brody didn’t even bother glancing up from the report he was working on for the traffic accident call. “I did it last time, and I’ve still got the scratches to prove it.”
“I’m pulling rank. That cat is a demon. Besides, I’m allergic,” Cap said as he hung up the phone with dispatch.
“Can’t we just tell Ethel to wait it out? Ask her if she’s ever seen a cat skeleton in a tree before. I guarantee the answer is no.” Brody shook his head. “Fancy will eventually come down on her own. Firefighters in Birmingham would never respond to a cat-in-a-tree call.”
“I’ll do it.” Jack closed his laptop on the high school grass fire report, nearly complete.
“Wait. What?” Brody finally looked up. “You’re volunteering to rescue that nightmare?”
“You heard me.” Jack stood. “But Wade’s got to come along and handle the ladder while I climb up there.”
“I’m in.” Wade shrugged. “So long as I don’t have to go anywhere near the cat. That thing is a monster and, like Brody, I’m fundamentally opposed to perpetuating the myth that we save kittens from trees.”
It wasn’t a myth, though. Not in Lovestruck, anyway.
Firefighters didn’t actually rescue cats from trees in big cities, but in rural Vermont, anything went. Last year alone, Engine 24 had responded to four calls for cat rescues, and three of those calls had involved Fancy. One of these days Ethel Monroe’s cranky Persian was going to remember that she was terrified of heights, but today was not that day.
“Come on,” Jack said, grabbing his turnout gear. He didn’t want to get caught without it if something happened to catch on fire before they got back to the station. Also, Brody wasn’t exaggerating. Jack had seen the scratches on his arms and they weren’t pretty.
A couple hours later Fancy was safely back inside Miss Ethel’s cottage. Despite his turnout gear, Jack suffered a few minor scratches—mostly on his face—and returned to the firehouse dressed in cargo pants, his LFD T-shirt and a sizable adhesive bandage on his left cheek. Wade had done the patching up for him, so of course the bandage wasn’t a regular, flesh-colored one, but was instead decorated with colorful cartoon Dalmatians.
All in a day’s work. Somehow Jack’s good humor remained mostly intact. But when he climbed down from the ladder truck and saw Madison Jules sitting primly on the teak park bench outside the firehouse, his spirits soared foolishly higher.
Get ahold of yourself.
He cleared his throat and pretended nothing was out of the ordinary as he walked up the long drive toward the station. Beside him, Wade droned on about something that Jack completely ignored. He tried his best to keep his gaze straight ahead, but it was practically impossible. As usual, Madison looked woefully out of place for Lovestruck. She wore bright red stilettos and a floaty dress—sleeveless, white with black polka dots and a soft bow tied at her throat. It occurred to him that her fancy ensemble almost matched his cartoon bandage, and he bit back a smile. The way she always stuck out like a sore thumb was beginning to grow on him.
What was wrong with him?
Surely, she wasn’t there to see him. She’d probably stopped by on some type of official business. Maybe she needed someone to inspect a new flat iron or blow-dryer.
“Wait a minute.” Wade’s steps slowed as he squinted at Madison sitting in the shade of the American flag flapping in the light summer breeze. “Isn’t that…?”
Before Jack could respond, Madison’s eyes lit up with recognition, and she stood to give him a tentative wave. Jack waved back as Wade’s eyes went wide.
“Is she here to see you?” Wade said under his breath as they drew closer. “Well done, man.”
“Shut. Up.” Jack shot him a death glare. “It’s not what you think.”
Wade’s only response was a gigantic smirk, which Jack could do nothing about because they’d just about reached the park bench where Madison stood waiting for him.
“Hi.” Her gaze moved over his face, and her expression went from worried to amused and back again. “I feel like I should ask if you’re hurt, but I can’t get past the irony of your Dalmatian Band-Aid.”
“The bandage was my idea.” Wade raised his hand. “Glad you like it.”
“I’m fine,” Jack said, but no one seemed to be listening.
“He’s just a little scratched up from rescuing a kitten in a tree,” Wade interjected, oh so helpfully.
Madison laughed. “Seriously? That’s a real thing that you do?”
“He does.” Wade nodded. “He also rescues other cute animals. Last week it was a pair of ducklings stuck in a storm drain.”
For the love of God, would he stop talking already?
Jack raked a hand through his hair, tugging hard at the ends. Time to set the record straight before Wade started planning their wedding. “Wade, this is Madison Jules. She’s my…”
Night nanny.
The words were right there on the tip of his tongue, but Madison interrupted before he could get them out.
“Um, actually I need to talk to you about the whole nanny thing,” she said, smile faltering.
And that was all it took for something in Jack’s gut to harden into stone.
“Well.” Wade shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other. “I’ll let you two chat. It was nice to see you again, Madison.”
“Nice to see you, too.” She grinned, but it didn’t reach her eyes the way it always seemed to do when she was busy arguing with Jack.
Despite the warning bells currently going off in his head, a proprietary surge of awareness flowed through his veins. Good grief, he was a mess.
“So,” he said once Wade was out of earshot. “What can I help you with, Madison?”
She took a deep breath, and then her face crumpled. “Stop it, would you?”
He blinked. What had he done now? “Stop what?”
“Stop being so nice and…and—” she glared at his bandage “—heroic,” she spat, as if it was a dirty word.
Jack wanted to laugh, but he didn’t dare. “I’ll do my best.”
“Honestly. Could you please just go ahead and do it?” She wrapped her arms around herself as if it took every ounce of her strength to hold herself together, and Jack was reminded of the lecture Wade had given him on the rig after the first time he’d seen her.
Don’t you think she seemed a little vulnerable?
He’d scoffed at the idea back then, but suddenly it didn’t seem so far off base.
“Madison.” He had to bite his tongue to keep himself from tacking an endearment onto her name. Honey. Sweetheart. Darlin’. Why did he keep forgetting she was his employee? “I’m not sure what all this is about.”
Over her shoulder, Jack spotted Wade, Cap and Brody watching them through the upstairs kitchen window, and he wished they were having this conversation someplace else other than the front steps of the firehouse. Anyplace else.
He lowered himself onto the bench, which wasn’t entirely out of view, but better.
Then he patted the empty space next to him. “Talk to me. Please?”
She sat down gingerly beside him, all womanly softness and polka dot chiffon. God, she smelled fantastic—like daisies and sunlight, with just a telltale hint of baby powder.
“I’m fired,” she said succinctly. “There. If you won’t say it, I will.”
He reached for her hand with his, then caught himself and rested his empty palm in his lap instead. “You’re not fired.”
“Oh, please. I so am. And I definitely deserve it. I’m sorry to barge in at your workplace like this, but I thought it would be best to get this over with so you’d have time to find someone else to take care of the girls.” She gave him a decisive nod. “Someone better.”
He looked at her long and hard. He didn’t want someone better. He wanted her. “Still not firing you. Sorry.”
Her gaze narrowed. “Fine. Then I quit.”
“Resignation not accepted.” He stood and planted his hands on his hips. “Now that we’ve got that all settled, I should probably get back to work. There’s probably a baby animal in need of saving somewhere.”
She flew to her feet just as he started to walk away. “Wait!”
He arched a brow. “Is there something else?”
She studied him for a quiet moment, and something unspoken passed between them—something beyond banter and bravado—something real. And a strange sort of joy bubbled up inside Jack as he got his first glimpse of what it might feel like to be on Madison’s good side.
“Toby is a Chinese crested,” she blurted without preamble.
Jack was lost again. Keeping up with this woman was a full-time job. “A what?”
“A Chinese crested. It’s a type of dog.” She pulled a face. “A hairless one. He’s got an impressive collection of hand-knit sweaters, though.”
So Toby the three-year-old who worshipped her was, in fact, a dog. That explained the baby powder. And the diapers. And the rest of the mess she’d made.
“I would expect nothing less than a stellar wardrobe for the canine in your life,” he deadpanned.
“He’s not technically mine. He belongs to my aunt. I’m staying with them for a while.”
A while. Jack tensed, and he wasn’t entirely sure why.
He shrugged. “You’re still not fired.”
“But I lied,” she countered.
“We all lie from time to time,” he said, thinking of his letters to the Lovestruck Bee. He’d been actively lying about his own identity to a stranger in the newspaper every single day. For weeks. “We’ll see you Friday night, Madison. Ella and Emma are looking forward to it.”
So was he, but Jack didn’t say so.
We all lie from time to time.
A lie by omission was a lie, all the same.