Before Newport Cove
WHEN ADDISON WAS SIX weeks old, Tessa hired a part-time nanny. It was ridiculous; she had only two kids, and she was a stay-at-home mom. Shouldn’t she be able to handle this motherhood stuff better?
But Harry was still traveling, and Bree routinely awoke before six a.m., and Addison—though thankfully a cheerful baby who showed no signs of colic—wanted to eat every three hours. The nanny, Celine, had been recommended by a family down the street, who employed the nanny’s older sister. She was young, maybe twenty-one or twenty-two, and had recently immigrated from France.
Later Tessa would berate herself. A recommendation for the nanny’s sister was very different from the nanny herself. The family barely even knew the girl!
Although Celine understood English well, she didn’t speak much of it. But Tessa was just grateful to have another adult in the house three mornings a week, even if her mother told her she was wasting money.
On one Wednesday morning, everything began to fall apart. Addison had awoken at five a.m., the dryer had stopped working with a load of soaking-wet clothes inside, and Tessa was out of milk and bread and everything else. When Celine showed up at ten a.m., Addison had just fallen back asleep in the bassinet in his bedroom.
“I’m going to dash out to the grocery store,” Tessa had said. “Can you call my cell phone as soon as he wakes up?”
Celine had nodded but she didn’t smile. Was she just shy, or sullen? It was hard to know with the language barrier. Even after nearly three weeks together, Tessa didn’t have a sense of the young woman’s personality. She always showed up on time, but she never sang or hummed, and she didn’t seem to particularly enjoy being with the children. More and more, Tessa was asking her to do other things, like tidy the living room or prepare simple lunches for Bree, rather than help take care of the kids. She was beginning to think of giving the nanny notice, and looking for someone else, someone who would inject energy and good cheer into the house.
Still, on that sunny summer morning, as Tessa had breezed through the aisles of the supermarket, she’d felt grateful for Celine. It was remarkable how much easier it was to grocery shop with just a toddler, versus a toddler and an infant, and Tessa had whipped through her list. A helpful employee loaded the groceries into her trunk, and she returned to the house less than thirty minutes later. As she walked up the steps, Bree on her hip, and was about to insert her key into the lock, she heard Addison cry his usual low, drawn-out wail. He’d probably just woken up, Tessa thought, and since his bedroom was in the front of the house and the window was open, she could hear everything clearly.
Then she’d heard Celine say something in her gruff voice, and Addison made another sound—a high-pitched yelp. The only time Tessa had ever heard him make that sound before was when he’d gotten vaccination shots at the pediatrician’s office.
Tessa had flung open the door and raced upstairs, her feet pounding against the steps. Addison was in his room and so was Celine. She was holding him. She looked startled to see Tessa. Startled—or guilty?
Addison’s face was bright red and he was still wailing, arching his back, as if he were trying to get away from the nanny.
“What happened?” Tessa had asked, but the nanny just shrugged. She avoided Tessa’s eyes, looking at the wall behind Tessa. Tessa had put down Bree and stretched out her arms for her baby. She’d stared down at Addison’s tiny, sweet face, wrinkled in misery, and she’d felt rage swell within her. Had Celine pinched him? Or did she just hold him the wrong way, maybe bending his leg awkwardly? She was only a girl and even though the family that recommended her had said she had lots of experience with younger siblings and cousins, Tessa never should have left her alone with an infant.
Tessa had calmed Addison down, then kept Bree in the room with her while she undressed Addison and searched his tiny, helpless body for marks. She couldn’t find any, but the echo of his shriek still reverberated in her mind. Tessa’s purse was on her shoulder so she’d reached inside it, pulled out some twenties, and handed them to the girl.
“You don’t need to come back,” she’d said. “I don’t need any more help. Good-bye.”
She’d rocked her baby, whispering apologies.
Later that night, she’d called Harry and had told him what had happened.
“So he didn’t have any marks on him?” Harry had asked.
“No,” Tessa had said. “But something happened. I know it.” The thought still made her nauseous.
“Maybe he had gas,” Harry had said. “Maybe she was picking him up to comfort him.”
Tessa had felt offended. Why was Harry taking the nanny’s side when he hadn’t even been here? “I don’t think so,” she’d said. “She looked guilty. And Addison never makes that sound when he has gas.”
“Look,” Harry had said. “You need someone to help you. Do you want to call a nanny agency? Get someone who speaks English and has a lot of recommendations?”
“Not now,” Tessa had said. “I think I’d find it hard to trust someone. I’d rather just do it myself.” But the thought of it made her want to weep. All those long, empty days stretching out in front of her, the mind-numbing chores, the broken sleep . . . If Harry had the regular hours of most fathers, he’d come home every night at six or seven. She could go out for a walk, or see a movie. She’d be free.
“Maybe you should talk to someone,” Harry had said. “Look, I know I’ve been gone a lot, and with the colic Bree had . . . It hasn’t been easy.”
“I don’t need a therapist, Harry,” Tessa had said. Actually, she probably did—the idea of unloading her stresses to someone who was paid to be sympathetic was tantalizing. (Tessa’s own mother had raised four kids and couldn’t see what the fuss was all about. But back then, every mother on the block had stayed at home. They’d all gathered every day for coffee while their kids rolled around on a mat, and when the kids were big enough, they were sent outside to play while the mothers smoked and drank Tab. The isolation was what was killing Tessa.) “I’m doing fine, Harry!”
She’d hung up abruptly, and had gone to fix herself a cup of tea and a late dinner of cheese and crackers before remembering all the groceries, including the cheese she’d bought for the empty bin in the refrigerator, were still in the trunk of her car and had probably spoiled by now.
I can’t do this, she’d thought, feeling the gray engulf her like thick, damp fog. I can’t do it much longer.