Khaki

PARANORMAL ACTIVITY

I absolutely love decorating with the color pink. While I don’t think it has to be only for little girls’ rooms, Graham wasn’t too keen on the idea of having his house resemble a princess palace. So, we never found out the sex of baby Grace, but when your daddy decided she was a girl, I went with his instinct and had that room painted pink before he could even tell me to wait. I had picked a rug, curtains, a crib, a changing table, an armoire, a diaper pail, a toy chest, a bookshelf, a mirror, a pair of paintings, and a store’s worth of clothes, shoes, and baby blankets. What I had failed to choose was the most important and by far the most difficult thing: a nanny.

The last thing you want to do when you get home from the hospital and are juggling three under five is look for a new nanny. I had intended to have this all worked out before Grace was born, but, obviously, I thought I had three more weeks.

Looking for a nanny is, to me, essentially the same as dating. If I know there’s no chance I’m going to marry you, I don’t waste a bunch of time. When my first interview of the day walked through the door, though, I thought that maybe we’d go ahead and say our vows so I could get back in bed. She had long blond hair, crystal-blue eyes, a clear complexion, and a voice like a midnight train rolling down the tracks. I loved her immediately.

“I thought you might want some references,” she practically whispered, handing me a list of names and phone numbers. “I used to be a full-time nanny for four children, and it was the best experience of my life.”

I tried to shift positions but found it too painful, so I stayed slouched down on the couch instead of sitting up straight. “Do you have any experience with babies?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” she said. “Two of the four children were twins, and I helped their parents bring them home from the hospital.”

Charlie walked in about that time, throwing a handful of peanuts into her mouth and handing me a plate of the orzo with vegetables that had been the only thing I could stomach since I got home. Charlie smiled weakly, glowered at me, and said, “Sorry to interrupt.” She walked around behind that field of glowing blond and mimed, Are you crazy?

I smiled like nothing had happened. My husband and I had spent decades trying to be together. It was doubtful that one dead husband and one dumped-at-the-altar fiancée later he was going to have an affair with the nanny. Nevertheless, I could hear Mother’s voice in my head. “When you hire a nanny you make sure she’s old, heavy, and unattractive. In a weak moment, a man might be with a woman who’s old or heavy or unattractive. But things would never be so bad that he would succumb to all three.”

The tiny me in my head pushed away Mother like you push away Alex when he’s trying to get a toy you’re playing with. (It’s so cute!) My nanny candidate continued telling me that she had formerly been a vegan chef and liked to cook and clean when the children’s schedule permitted it. “I don’t believe in sitting around,” she said, and I almost cried, picturing her folding the five loads of laundry per day that our family now produced. I’d read that cloth diapers prevent diaper rash, and I couldn’t bear the thought of those raw little tushies.

I was about to say, “You’re hired,” cancel the rest of my afternoon appointments, and go on about my day when I asked, “Is there anything else I should know about you?”

“Well,” she demurred, teeth whiter than freshly fallen snow gleaming at me. “I’m having a baby five months from now, and I’m planning to stay home for six months.” Then she had the nerve to add, “Do you pay for maternity leave?”

I gritted my teeth, forced a smile like Alex into church clothes, and said, “We’ll be in touch.”

As I slammed the door, Stacey sauntered in like a ballerina, her curly brown hair pulled up in a ribbon, and said, “Surely you aren’t crazy enough to hire her.”

“She’s pregnant,” was all I said in reply.

Greg came in and said, “Pregnant or no, she can be my nanny.”

Charlie slapped his arm.

I said, “She had the nerve to ask if I would pay her for maternity leave.”

“Maybe you should have asked if you could help with her baby,” Stacey said, and we all laughed. I writhed in pain and shot her a look. “No one is allowed to say anything funny for four more weeks.”

Stacey and Charlie agreed to take over the next four interviews so that I could get some much-needed rest. Three hours that felt more like five minutes later they were up in my room, plopping résumés on my desk with a pleasing “thunk.” Charlie dropped the first one and said, “Scientologist.”

Stacey cringed and said, “If we’ve learned anything from Katie Holmes, it’s that you don’t mess with that no matter how sexy it is.”

Another slam of paper and Charlie pointed between her legs and said, “Inappropriate piercing.”

Stacey shuddered.

I put my hand up. “Wait a second. Do we care about that?”

“We don’t care so much about the piercing as that we’ve known this person for twenty minutes, and she told us all about it,” Stacey said.

“In an interview to be your nanny,” Charlie added.

She had a point. “Okay. Please have good news for me on this next one.”

Another thump and Charlie said, “Hate to tell you, sweetheart. Criminal record.”

I peered at Charlie. “How on earth do you know that?”

“Please, I’m a lawyer,” she said like she was saying, Please, I’m in the FBI.

I put my hands over my eyes and said, “Well, that settles it. Stacey, you’re never going back to New York, and, Charlie, you and Greg are going to have to sell Mrs. Jacobs’s house and move in here.”

“Don’t give up yet,” Stacey said in her best motivational speaker tone. “You have one more interview at four thirty.”

When Diane (pronounced Dee-ahn) breezed through my front door, I have to admit that I judged her on her outer appearance. She looked a little like the Wicked Witch of the West, with long, unruly gray-and-white hair, glasses, a pointy nose, and an all-black outfit.

“At least you don’t have to worry about your husband screwing her,” Charlie said out of the corner of her mouth.

I had to clear my throat to keep from laughing. She met only two of Mother’s three criteria, but I thought that maybe being skinnier than the stray cats wandering around downtown might be as big a turnoff as being overweight.

You crawled up to her, put your hand on her leg, and didn’t even cry when she picked you up. You were fascinated with her glasses all through our interview, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, I had found the one. When she said, “I’ve been so lonely since my husband passed away,” I felt myself tear up. When she added, “So I’m available for nights, weekends, and I could even go away with you if you wanted,” the tears dried faster than a bathing suit in the sun.

I held my breath when I asked, “Is there anything else I should know about you?”

She shook her head and said, “Just that I absolutely love children, and they tend to love me too.”

That was clear from the fact that, for a child who was into everything and never stayed still, you had sat with Diane for forty-five minutes, examining her strange jewelry. I looked at Charlie and Stacey, and their knowing glances confirmed my thoughts: Diane was going to work out great.

She had four children, eleven grandchildren, and decades of baby-raising experience; I couldn’t think of anyone better. So I sent you and Diane to join Alex in the playroom while I went upstairs to feed Grace. We had agreed that for a week Diane would come over for an hour or so at a time so you could all get acclimated to each other.

When I walked back downstairs, gripping the rail for dear life, realizing how much we actually use those poor, incision-ridden stomach muscles to do everything, I heard Alex laughing. I was thinking that I sure had made the right decision with Diane, and said, “What’s so funny, honey?” I noticed Diane in the corner, holding you on her lap, looking like Stacey when she’s deep in meditation.

Alex started laughing all over again and said, “Mommy, we’re talking to ghosts.”

I could feel the confusion written all over my face. “You’re pretending there’s a ghost in here?”

Diane piped up in an eerily monotone voice like a Clear Eyes commercial gone wrong, “I am a medium, and I’m helping a soul cross over.”

“Now?” I asked, my voice getting high and squeaky like a bike wheel in need of WD-40.

She cracked one eye and said, “It’s a gift, not a time clock. I can’t turn it on and off.”

With that, I snatched you off her lap, doubling over in pain, and said, “Thank you very much, Diane, but I don’t think we’ll be needing your services.”

She got up, looking befuddled (I mean, honestly, why would a person care if her nanny was helping souls cross over instead of watching her three children?), and handed me her card on the way out. “This is a very old house,” she said. “I sense a high frequency of paranormal activity here.”

I nodded. “Of course you do.”

The house was actually only ten years old, so the logical part of me knew that Diane was mistaken. But it didn’t keep me from feeling totally creeped out.

“If your lights start flickering or you feel breath on the back of your neck at night, call me.”

Every hair on my body stood on end. I looked nonplussed, but I immediately went in the house to call Graham and tell him that he had to come home right away, as we had a high level of paranormal activity. I could tell he was trying not to laugh when he said, “Okay, honey. I’ll leave the crew of twenty-five I’ve got in the fields and rush right over to save you from the monsters in the closet.”

“Not monsters,” I hissed like an aggravated cat. “Ghosts.”

“So I take it the nanny search isn’t going well.”

“Well, let’s see,” I said sarcastically. “We’ve had the pregnant chick, the pierced weirdo, the Scientologist, the convict, and now the medium. You could say this isn’t what I had pictured.”

“I’ll see if I can ask around for someone too, sweetheart.” He paused and then said, “Hey, you know . . .”

“Hey, you know what?”

“Jodi is working for us anyway and—”

“No,” I interjected, feeling my momma bear instincts rise to the surface like oil on water. I couldn’t decide if I was worried that Jodi would see how wonderful you were and want you back or if I couldn’t imagine asking someone to take care of a child she had birthed without getting to be her momma. Either way, it was a firm no.

“Maybe one of the guys has a wife or sister or somebody.”

I sighed. I thought of the laundry and cleaning that even the four-days-a-week cleaning lady couldn’t keep up with, the interminable amount of cooking that had to be done for children at different stages of eating, the hours on end of breast-feeding, the sleepless nights, the cupcakes for school, the field trips, the birthday parties. I didn’t know how I was going to do any of that much less fly back and forth to New York, promote a book, design homes, run a store, pay payroll taxes . . . “Maybe I should quit work.”

Graham laughed like the time Alex pulled his pants down and peed in front of church.

“What?” I asked.

“Oh, honey,” he said. “You’re not the kind of woman who can quit work and be okay.”

I wanted to argue, but I was sore and tired. Plus, I knew he was right. My children were my life, sure. But my work was my identity.

One of the most important things to consider when taking on a new design project is the emotion of the space, the feeling that the family wants a room to convey. Most of the time, I like to bathe a room in neutrals and textures so that it can adapt to whatever mood a person is actually feeling. It is okay, after all, to not feel new-puppy pleased all the time.

While decorating Jodi and Ricky’s trailer, I most definitely veered from that course. I filled it with pieces I hadn’t been able to move from the store and focused on yellow as the main component of the color palette. Ricky was such a loose cannon that I always thought if he could walk in the door and immediately feel happy it would be best. Too bad it didn’t work. The truth of the matter is that, sometimes, no matter how many times you kiss that damn frog, he’s never going to turn into Prince Charming.

We had done everything we could to protect Jodi from Ricky: scared the daylights out of him, had him sign his rights away to you, and gotten a restraining order. The private investigator who tracked him down promised that he was skeezing around Mexico, but I still got the feeling that every time Jodi had to go back to that trailer, she felt a bit like a dog with an abusive master, fearing his return.

Somewhere in the first month after Grace was born, when Jodi was staying the nights with us, I stopped worrying about the dynamic between you two. It seemed normal and easy, like she was a fun and well-meaning aunt. I could sense her relief that she hadn’t been a mother so young. I wished that we could have helped her more, but she didn’t need me mothering her, I reminded myself about ten thousand times a day.

Recovering from a C-section on no sleep had been particularly difficult for me, and I wasn’t ready to leave the house for a couple of weeks after Grace was born. One morning, though, I had had enough. Graham was at work, I was alone with three kids, and I thought I would rip my fingernails off one by one if I had to look at those same four walls any longer—even if they were papered in a handprinted Scalamandre.

It was just the grocery store, but anywhere I could walk outside, get in my car, and drive away was okay by me. Jodi asked sweetly, “Khaki, you sure the doctor said it’d be all right to drive?” I shot her a look, and Charlie chimed in, “I’m not sure it’s such a good idea.” Stacey didn’t say anything because she was the least assertive of the group. But I could tell she didn’t approve.

“Ladies,” I said. “I am a thirty-two-year-old woman. I feel perfectly fine. If I can take care of three children, I can certainly drive a car.”

That was sort of an overstatement since I had had Jodi, Charlie, and Stacey there to help the entire time, not to mention daily visits from Momma, Daddy, and Pauline. But still, even when there’s help everywhere you look, kids want their momma.

I was through the produce aisle, perusing the rows of Oreos and chocolate chip cookies that weren’t proper fare for girls on a postbaby weight loss plan, when I noticed a woman who looked familiar out of the corner of my eye.

When I got close enough to see her jaw smacking open and shut like a screen door in the breeze, I recognized that it was Jodi’s friend Marlene.

“Hey there, Khaki,” she called.

I waved back, hoping to avoid a conversation. When she stopped her cart beside mine I knew I was out of luck.

“Sure is nice of y’all to take Jodi in like that,” Marlene said, and I marveled at her ability to smack her gum and talk at the same time.

I laughed. “We didn’t take her in. She has been helping me with the babies. I couldn’t have survived without her.”

Marlene crinkled her forehead. “Oh. But you know she’s scared outta her mind to go back to that Ricky-infested trailer.”

I was reading the ingredients on the back of a box of crackers when I began to feel sad. The thing about feeling sad when you’re a hormonal train wreck is that you absolutely can’t hold it together. So, there I was, a leaky watering can in the cracker aisle, and Marlene, whom I had met one time, was holding and comforting me as I sobbed.

“Oh, honey, it’s okay,” she said. “I wish somebody’d took care of me like you’re taking care of Jodi. You done everything for that girl.”

Then I started crying all over again for all the children in the world who were mistreated and uncared for. “It’s just not fair,” I said.

I spotted Pauline out of the corner of my eye and tried to get myself back together. “That my baby over there?” she called, pushing her cart toward me, a woman on a mission.

I nodded. “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

Pauline pushed Marlene out of the way and held me to her ample chest like she had when I was little and someone had hurt my feelings at school. “You tell me what’s wrong right now, baby.”

I realized I was still holding a box of crackers, and, wiping my eyes with my free hand, I said, venturing a smile, “So many of these crackers have hydrogenated vegetable oils and genetically modified ingredients, and without even knowing, people feed them to their children.”

Pauline howled with laughter, and Marlene and I joined her.

In the car on the way home, I allowed myself to think the things that I pushed away hardest. I faced my biggest fear, that Jodi would want to take you back. And I finally let that little voice in my head say, Carolina is going to love Jodi more than you.

I realized how selfish it was to deny a girl I loved the safety she craved because I was insecure.

Then I called Graham. “What do you think about Jodi being our nanny?”

“I think I thought of the idea a long time ago.”

I winced as I turned my body to check my blind spot before switching lanes. “I mean, how do you feel about it in terms of Carolina and the adoption and all of that?”

Graham sighed. “I know that the therapist and the social worker and the books and our friends make like this is supposed to be this ridiculously complex blending of families. But we were already family before, you know?”

I nodded, even though he couldn’t see me. “The kids love her so much.”

“Right,” Graham agreed. “And Carolina is at that stage where she cries for everyone. I’d rather her be happy with Jodi than miserable with a stranger.” Graham sighed. “And, beyond all that, Khaki, we forget that the girl is twenty. I mean, what were you doing when you were twenty?”

He knew what I was doing at twenty because it pretty much revolved around him. I was staying out too late, going to parties, talking all night with my sorority sisters, sneaking into his fraternity house every now and then. I was going to classes to pass the time, having no idea what I was going to do with my life. And Daddy sent those checks every month like clockwork. I didn’t know anything different than having people taking care of me everywhere I looked. I thought I was being this independent woman, but in reality, I had no real responsibility for anything besides my grades, something that had always come easily to me. Above all, I was in my little bubble, safe from harm, and felt totally invincible.

And then there was Jodi, working her tail off every day, trying to pay for her own house, her own car, her own insurance, already having been through one of the most horrible things I could imagine. And she didn’t have anyone that she could count on. Anyone besides us, that is. I could feel the tears gathering in my eyes again, so torn between my fear and that deeply ingrained knowledge that you take care of your family first and always. Even when you’re scared or hurt or angry, family always comes first.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and said, “Okay. So maybe we could try it short term?”

“Sure,” Graham said. “I mean, think of all the people in family adoptions where the mother and the baby are under the same roof the whole time. If it doesn’t work out or any of us feels uncomfortable, then we’ll go back to the weekly visits.”

“Graham.” I paused.

“Yeah.”

“Do you think . . .”

“She’s not going to take her back, Khak. She’s not.”

When I walked through the front door, you were napping, and Jodi was rocking Grace while Alex colored on the floor. I sighed deeply like I hadn’t exhaled in a month and said, “Jodi, I hate to ask you for anything as much as you’ve done for us, but I’ve thought and thought, and I can’t come to any other logical conclusion.”

Concern passed her face, and she said, “You can ask me dern near anything.”

I shook my head and sat down on the couch across from the rocker. “I know you need your independence, and I want that for you more than anything.” I looked hyperbolically nervous. “But I was wondering if you could possibly stay at our house for a while—I mean, all the time, not just a night here and there.”

Jodi looked like she had just gotten a full scholarship and her book was being bid on at auction. She bit her lip. “You done so much for me, Khaki. I’d help you with near about anything.”

“I’ve talked to Graham about it too. Let’s all stay open and talk about the situation with Carolina. If anyone feels uncomfortable, we can always take a step back.”

Jodi nodded. “I’d feel right good ’bout all of them being taken care of by family. Better than some stranger off the street.”

I nodded. “Obviously, we’ll pay you a salary, and you’ll stay here and eat with us whenever you want.”

So that settled it. Just like that, with two minutes of discussion, Graham and I had yet another child to feed, clothe, and house. I told him that since we had always wanted four kids, I was trying to get a jump on that as quickly as possible. He said at least this one was potty trained.