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IN SPITE OF the Swenson’s ultimatum I told George, “No, I don’t think so,” regarding the babysitting question.
“Please,” George said. “Take a day to think about it.” No begging or cajoling, just a reasonable request delivered with dignity and hope.
"How about if I call Susan tomorrow night?” My answer probably wouldn't change, but at least George could report that he’d done his best.
“Thank you,” he told me with a small smile.
In the parking lot I thanked him in return for the luxurious dinner and for being patient with me.
Then I hurried on home to Fideaux.
Our nighttime routine began with a prowl around the yard in the dark. While he patrolled the perimeter for raccoons and deer, I enjoyed the fireflies and stars and listened to crickets and owls and distant traffic, all of which helped to pinpoint my miniscule place in the universe.
In the morning I was back at my daughter’s by eight. A benign cloud cover held the temperature to a comfortable sixty-nine, so I attached Fideaux’s long leash to the huge oak by the side of the yard where he could play sphinx until it was time to nap.
“Water coming right up,” I told him. The house had an outside faucet on the suspicious side, the side with the falling trash bags and explosions. When I looked up from filling Fideaux’s borrowed bowl, I encountered the scowling countenance of the neighbor in question. Never mind that Mrs. Zumstein remained firmly on her own side of the fence, her expression was right in my face.
“You talk to your dog?” A transparent haze of colorless hair exposed the shape of the tiny woman’s skull while sagging puffs of flesh made her appear to be melting.
“Sometimes,” I admitted.
“Sign of insanity, you know.”
Or loneliness, I might have argued, but I didn’t. Or maybe I just have an affection for animals, how about that?
She sent a sneering glance over her shoulder before turning back toward her dingy house.
“Sometimes he answers back,” I called after her, but Mrs. Zumstein didn’t appear to hear. She was switching a coil of clothesline from her right hand to her left in order to pull at her sticky door.
Was that a noose on one end? I wondered, shuddering at the thought. Whatever the woman was up to, it certainly wasn't normal...and you think I'm crazy?
The creepiness of Mrs. Zumstein's noose and the loneliness nerve she’d inadvertently exposed haunted me most of the morning. Yet when I went to relieve Fideaux from the escalating midday heat, the neighboring house looked so ordinary and harmless I convinced myself to focus on something else, specifically whether or not to help Susan Swenson find herself.
I still hadn’t decided when I put down the last tile and stood to admire my work. I confess it wasn’t lost on me that Susan Swenson was yearning for the same sort of satisfaction—with the added incentive of cash, a bonus that would also be mine if I accepted the babysitting job.
By three-thirty I’d put my tools away, swept the floor spotless, and deposited my trash outside in the proper can.
From the open window above me I could hear that baby Caroline was well into her afternoon wail.
Why not? I decided.
Rounding the thick hedge that separated the houses, I tapped on the Voight’s front door, and in short order Cissie greeted me with the howling baby propped against her shoulder.
“Ms. Barnes! What a nice surprise.”
“I’ve got some time to kill. How about if I take Caroline for a walk?”
“You serious? That’d be great. You sure? I mean...”
“I’m sure.”
The young mother couldn’t retrieve the stroller fast enough. Stored in a corner of the entrance hall, it opened with a jerk of the wrist. While Cissie settled the squalling child and fastened straps, she vented her exasperation.
“It’s just her fussy time, I guess. I’ve tried everything—food, diaper, music, the Binkie, her swing. Nothing seems to help. You don’t think she’s sick, do you?”
I touched the baby’s red face, pressed her stomach. No change in the crying. “I don’t think so,” I concluded. “Some kids just get overtired. I know mine did. Tough to settle them down then.”
“You think?”
“Why don’t you do something for yourself while we’re gone? If she’s still crying when we get back, then you can call her doctor.”
“Sure,” Cissie said, but her wrinkled forehead said otherwise. “You won’t be gone long, right?”
“Half an hour. A little longer if she settles down. Deal?”
“Deal.”
Baby Caroline fell asleep before the middle of the next block, so I ventured only as far as the small park down the street and flopped gratefully onto a bench. For forty minutes I watched the sun dapple the dancing leaves of the pin oaks above and the three children using the swing set in the corner by the creek. Passing by as they left, their mother said ‘hi’ and nodded.
I smiled and nodded back. Had we been alone on a city street, the greeting probably wouldn’t have occurred. But women with children, even children not their own, shared a mutual bond.
Which brought Susan Swenson to mind again in a different way. Something seemed off about her interactions with Jack. I wondered if the husband demanded so much of her attention that precious little could be spared for the child. Or maybe it had nothing to do with the father and everything to do with Susan herself. Those long nails and perfect coif, impractical to say the least. I had watched the family interact too briefly to guess what was wrong, but what I'd seen made me curious, and when I get curious...
No. I’d been insulted. Demeaned. I didn’t need people like that no matter how much they might need me. It was summer. Surely a hundred college students would apply for the job I intended to turn down. The Swensons would have three whole months to look for a permanent sitter.
I glanced at my watch. Time to go back before Cissie began to think I’d kidnapped her daughter.
She greeted me warmly at the door.
“Overly tired,” I confirmed, regarding the baby’s crying jag.
“Phew.” Cissie playfully brushed her brow with her hand. “Now I know. Thanks a million.”
I explained that I’d finished working at Chelsea’s and wouldn’t be around for a while. “But for sure I’ll say hello when I’m here. Okay?”
That earned me a hug around the neck and a kiss on my cheek. Women with children; members of the same club.
My own heart did a little giddyup when I saw my own daughter’s car in the drive.
“Mom! It looks gorgeous," she effused as I entered the backdoor. "Thank you so much.”
“Glad you like it.” Glad was only half of how I felt. Relieved was the other.
“Like it? I love it. Bobby will, too.”
“Let’s hope.”
We carried glasses of iced tea into the living room and settled down for a chat.
“How was your day?” I inquired, which prompted a litany of the issues and deadlines that plague teachers at the end of the school year.
“By the way,” I remarked when Chelsea finished. “Mrs. Zumstein thinks I’m crazy.”
The left corner of Chelsea’s lips lifted. “Takes one to know one.”
I gave that the grunt it deserved. Then I mentioned that I’d also met Cissie Voight. “What’s her husband like?”
“An asshole,” my daughter declared without an instant’s thought. “I swear he mows his grass when you’re having a cookout—on purpose. Then when he has company, he parks so nobody can get into our drive.” She waved her head. “I don’t know how Cissie can stand him.”
Not exactly what I’d been hoping to hear. “Maybe you can be nice to her now and then.”
Chelsea shot me that look. “In my spare time?”
“Speaking of spare time...” I described the babysitting job offer and Susan Swenson’s dilemma.
“Reminds me of some Dad’s Bryn Derwyn families. And mine,” Chelsea observed. “Messed up parents; messed up kids.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
“You’d be great with Jack,” Chelsea concluded, “but do you really want the job?”
I lifted my eyes from the spot I’d been staring past and stated what I thought was the truth.
Yes,” I said. “I believe I do.”