Together With You Page 7

  Carly pointed at the concrete walk. “She went in through the side door.”

  “Kyle keeps his baseball gear out here. He must have forgotten to lock up.” As responsible as Kyle was, he was still fifteen, though he’d be sixteen soon.

  When the metal door was halfway up, Carly leaned down to peer at the back end of the car. “What year is it?”

  “1962. It’s a Chevy Impala SS. A family heirloom.”

  “My grandpa owned an Impala. It wasn’t a convertible, though. Yours is amazing.”

  “I enjoy it.” He wished his sons shared his interest, but even Kyle glazed over when Ryan mentioned taking the car out for a spin.

  When the big door locked into place, he entered the stuffy garage and hit the switch for the overhead light. Hands on his hips, he peered down at a collage of purple footprints and groaned.

  Carly stayed outside in the sun, her hands hooked in her pockets and a worried expression on her face. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad.”

  “Penny was oblivious, I’m sure.”

  “Completely.” He sensed she was interviewing him again, so he stopped the inspection and faced her. “This is one of those can’t/won’t times you mentioned. Penny doesn’t think ahead or imagine consequences. I see the berries and make the connection to stains. Penny can’t do that.”

  “So you’re not angry with her.” It was half a question, half a statement.

  “Angry at Penny? No.” Ryan reserved his anger for himself. “It’s frustrating, of course. And I’ve been known to raise my voice, but the best solution is to tell the gardener to pull out the berry bush.” He wished he’d done it sooner.

  “You have a good understanding of her.”

  “We’ve been in counseling for three months now. My first lesson from Miss Monica—she’s the therapist—is that I have a choice. I can either accommodate Penny’s special needs, or I can frustrate us both with expectations she can’t meet.”

  “Exactly. My own view is that it’s up to us as adults to adapt to kids with FASD, because they can’t adapt to us. We wouldn’t ask a blind man to see.”

  “No.”

  A hint of battle flashed in her eyes. “But we would do everything possible to enable the blind man to function as best as he can, and we’d teach him to read in ways he could understand—like Braille instead of print on a page. From what I’ve seen, Penny doesn’t have any of the physical indicators, except she’s small for her age. That suggests Fetal Alcohol Effects rather than full blown FAS.”

  FAE was the least of the evils on the fetal alcohol spectrum but still significant, damaging, and frequently undetected. Without a clear diagnosis, FAE kids and parents like Ryan were often confused and frustrated by a lack of understanding.

  Carly stepped into the garage and looked down at the stain on the seat. “Do you think it’ll come out?”

  “Maybe.”

  She waited for more, her head tipped and her brows slightly arched. “Maybe you should try now. The longer it sets, the worse it gets.”

  Kentucky practicality rang in her voice. “Sure, why not?” He wasn’t optimistic, but he lifted a rag and a can of upholstery cleaner off the workbench, squirted a test spot, and set the can down. “It needs to soak. We might as well finish the interview.”

  Carly scooted onto a tall stool at the workbench behind her and laced her hands in her lap. “Tell me more about Penny.”

  “Her intelligence is in the 110 range on the Wechsler Intelligence Scale.”

  “Normal.”

  “Yes.” Though in the Tremaine family, anything less than a gifted IQ was considered subpar.

  “How was she diagnosed?”

  “Her mother drank during the pregnancy.” Ryan knew for a fact, because he had purchased the gin they consumed in a vain effort to drown their guilt over the affair.

  “Is she on medication?”

  “No, but I haven’t ruled it out.”

  “She’s still young.” Carly glanced down at the test spot, then back at him. “I don’t mean to be nosy, but I’d like to understand your relationship with Penny’s mother.”

  “Does this mean you’ll take the job?”

  “I’m still deciding.”

  Ryan hated telling the story, but he’d bare his soul if it would convince Carly to be Penny’s nanny, even for the summer. He stood straight and faced her, the car, and the stain between them, the rag dangling from his hand.

  “I had an affair. No excuses. I hurt a lot of people, and I’m sorry.”

  Carly said nothing, her expression tighter than before but carefully blank. If he’d just torpedoed himself with her, so be it. His campaign to be a better father meant telling the truth. “I broke it off before I knew Penny had been conceived. She was an accident.” He hated thinking of her in that way, but it was true. “Her mother told me about six months into the pregnancy. I promised to pay child support, saw an attorney, and that was that.” Except for the guilt made even worse by Jenna’s mercy. “Save your marriage, Ryan. Save your family. This baby and I will be just fine.”

  Instead of easing his conscience, her generosity had shamed him even more. So did the horror on Heather’s face when he told her about the affair. Looking at Carly now, Ryan wished for the millionth time that he’d been a better man. “Heather and I tried to work things out but couldn’t. We’ve been divorced four years now. It’s hard on the boys.”

  “Shared custody?”

  “Yes, but I have them for the summer. Heather’s on some sort of mission trip with her church.”

  Carly’s face lit up. “Where did she go?”

  “Haiti.”

  “My father’s a minister. I have a lot of respect for mission trips.”

  To Ryan, a summer in Haiti sounded like a bad vacation. He tried to blank his face, but he let out a snort. Carly drew back, a sign she’d judged his attitude correctly. Hoping she wouldn’t hold it against him, he dabbed at the stain with the rag. “That’s the whole ugly story. If I could change it, I would. Especially what happened to Penny. People blame the mother for FASD, but I’m as responsible as Jenna. I bought the liquor, drank it with her—”

  “Dr. Tremaine?”

  His hand clenched the soiled folds of the rag. Dreading criticism, he lifted his head and faced her.

  Carly stared at him with enough fervor to melt the asphalt driveway. “I don’t judge anyone. You made a mistake, a bad one. I’ve made mistakes, too. As my daddy says, ‘We’re all beggars at the King’s table, sinners in need of grace.’”

  The music of the Bluegrass slipped into Carly’s voice, but the sentiment was Christian claptrap, the same foolishness he’d heard from Heather a year ago when she told him she was a Christian now and had forgiven him. He appreciated the gesture, but he couldn’t forgive himself and never would. When it came to his own life, Ryan was judge and jury, and he was guilty as charged. “I appreciate the sentiment, but the facts stand. Penny’s brain is damaged because of what her parents did to her. She’ll always have certain challenges.”

  “Just like the blind man.” Carly popped off the stool and looked down at the stain. “It’s gone.”

  “I’m surprised.” He glanced at the can and made a note to buy more. “This is good stuff. I’ll work on the rest of the seat over the weekend.”

  Carly smiled at him. “I’ll help.”

  Ryan’s brows lifted. “Did you just accept the job?”

  “Yes.”

  He set the cleaning supplies on the workbench and put his hands on his hips, ready for more negotiation. “Name your salary.”

  She gave a figure that was almost exactly what he had agreed to pay Mrs. Howell. “Perfect. Live in or live out?”

  “Out,” she replied.

  He preferred the nanny to live in for the convenience, but Penny’s prior nannies weren’t in their twenties, pretty, and impressive grad students with long blond hair. It was easy to imagine talking with Carly and sharing tidbits from the day, something he couldn’t do
with an employee, or any woman, until he finished the SOS list and made things right with his sons.

  “That’s fine,” he said about her living out. “When can you start?”

  “I have to give notice at the Animal Factory, but I’m off for the next three days. How about tomorrow?”

  “Perfect.”

  “What time?”

  “Seven a.m.?”

  “I’ll be here.” She glanced at the driveway where long shadows stretched like fingers across the asphalt. “I should go.”

  After hiring four nannies, Ryan followed a routine that included paper work, giving her keys to the house and van, exchanging phone numbers, and showing her the nanny quarters. Even if she didn’t live in, she could use the room during the day. “Can you stay a little longer? I’d like to show you around, give you the tax forms, that sort of thing.”

  “Could we do it in the morning?”

  “Sure.”

  He wondered if she had a date tonight or maybe a serious boyfriend. For all he knew, she was living with some guy. Not that it mattered to Ryan. Carly’s love life was her own business.

  She waited while he closed the door with the keypad; then they walked to the house where she picked up her purse but left the manila envelope with her CV. After shepherding her down the hall, he followed her across the street to her car, an old red Cavalier. At the sight of the worn tires, he almost told her to wait while he fetched the keys to the van, a fairly new model with all the bells and whistles.

  She unlocked the car door, then faced him. “By the way, does Penny know how to swim?”

  “Enough to dog paddle across the pool. She started lessons a few months ago, but it didn’t go well. Too much noise and splashing.”

  “I’ll work with her.”

  “Thanks. She’ll enjoy that.”

  “About the boys . . . How much supervision do they need?”

  “Kyle’s almost sixteen. He’s pretty self sufficient.” Pride filled Ryan’s chest, though his ex-wife deserved most of the credit. “He’ll need a ride now and then, a sandwich or two. Eric . . . Eric’s a bit of a mystery to me.”

  “He’s what? Thirteen?”

  “Barely. His birthday was last month.” Ryan wished he had bought a gift instead of stuffing cash in a funny card, but he didn’t know what to buy.

  “That’s a hard age for anyone,” Carly said. “Plus he’s the middle child with a brand-new special-needs sister.”

  Her analysis impressed him. “He’s been having a rough time for a while.”

  “Does he have friends?”

  “A few.”

  “Good. I’ll help any way I can.”

  Ryan couldn’t remember the last time someone offered to help. With Carly, he even believed she could make a difference. “The boys already met you at the Animal Factory, but I’ll make official introductions in the morning.”

  “Let’s make it fun,” she suggested. “If they’re anything like my older brother, they like to eat. I’ll pick up something from a bakery.”

  “Perfect.” He opened his wallet and handed her cash.

  She slipped the money into her pocket, then gave a shake of her head. “This has been the strangest job interview of my life.”

  “Same here.”

  “This is a change for me, but taking the job feels right.” Her voice pitched a little lower, as if the decision had as much gravity for her as it did for him.

  Ryan didn’t live by his feelings. They were wild things that ran amuck and led to mistakes. Instead, he focused on the practicalities and took his phone out of his pocket. “You should have my cell. What’s yours? I’ll call you.”

  She recited the number, and he punched it in. When the call completed, birds chirped inside her purse. It took him a second to figure out the chirping was her ringtone. Things like that usually annoyed him, especially when a patient’s phone went off in the middle of an exam, but with Carly the playfulness struck him as sweet. “Clever.”

  He opened the car door and held it wide. After climbing in, Carly tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. “Good night, Dr. Tremaine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Good night, Carly.” He moved to close the door but stopped with it still open. “You probably noticed. Penny calls me Dr. Tremaine.”

  She peered up at him, the streetlight bright on her face. “Do you know why?”

  “No, and I hate it.” Staring into her eyes, he saw a friend instead of an employee. “Call me Ryan. It might help Penny see me differently.”

  Carly glanced through the windshield, then faced him again and shrugged. “Okay. Ryan it is.”

  He nodded crisply, closed the door, and stepped back, watching as she steered down the quiet street. The taillights beamed a steady red, flashed brighter when she braked, then disappeared when she turned the corner. Hopeful his nanny problems were solved at last, he made a beeline for his office, slipped the SOS list out from under the desk mat, and crossed off Find a nanny for Penny.

  Instead of going straight home, Carly drove to the Animal Factory. Her boss was there, so Carly gave notice and asked if the customary two weeks’ notice could be shortened. The newest clerk wanted more hours, so Carly was able to quit immediately.

  After hugging her coworkers good-bye, she bought little gifts for Penny and Eric, then popped into a sporting goods store for something for Kyle.

  By the time she left the mall, the sky was black except for streetlights and a handful of faded stars. She didn’t like getting home after dark, but sometimes it couldn’t be helped. The alley, poorly lit, seemed even murkier than usual, and she immediately saw why. Two of the lights in the carport were burned out. She considered parking on the street, but it was late and a good spot would be hard to find.

  Choosing the lesser of two evils, she pulled into the space next to Bette’s old sedan, clutched her pepper spray, and hurried through the gate to the courtyard. Night-blooming jasmine filled her nose with a hint of exotic islands, and she inhaled deeply. The scent was one of the consolations of dusk, a touch of paradise before the neighborhood exploded with noisy cars, sirens, and the chop of a police helicopter circling overhead.

  With the home invasion fresh on her mind, she skipped a stop at her mailbox, hurried to Bette’s door, and knocked. Bette knew about today’s interview and was waiting for news.

  In just a few seconds, she peeked through the side window, turned the deadbolt, and ushered Carly inside. ”How did it go?”

  “I took the job.” She dropped her purse on a chair, a relic from the 1990s and a remnant from Bette’s marriage. Tom Cat leapt off the sofa and landed with a plop. “Days only, so I’ll be around. But what an interview. Penny got lost, her aunt showed up with a stuffed kangaroo, and I saw a fully restored 1962 Chevy Impala.”

  Bette’s eyes crinkled with laughter. “You sure know how to spin a tale, Carly Jo.”

  Carly Jo. Bette did that now and then. Battling a wave of homesickness, Carly reached down and stroked Tom’s silky black fur.

  “The kettle’s boiling for tea,” Bette said. “Want some?”

  “Just one cup.”

  Carly followed her to the kitchen, fetched her favorite mug, and selected something lemony from the boxes jammed on the narrow shelf. As she removed a tea bag, Tom rubbed against her ankles to demand another scratch. Carly obliged, then carried her cup to the table and sat. “I feel good about the decision, but I have to admit I’m a little nervous about it.”

  “Why?”

  “When you work in a family setting, things get personal fast.” She blinked and recalled Dr. Tremaine—now Ryan—standing under the streetlight, the five o’clock shadow evident on his strong jaw, and his business shirt tailored to his lean body. She couldn’t help noticing him in a physical way, but the attraction didn’t mean anything. It couldn’t. He was her employer now. As the recipient of a broken heart in college, she knew better than to fall in love with the wrong person.

  Bette poured boiling water into Carly’s cup. The st
eam rose in a cloud between them and filled the air with the scent of lemons. Bette’s bracelet—a Southwest style made of chunky turquoise—rattled on her wrist as she set down the pot. Carly dipped the bag, gave it a squeeze, and added sugar. Back home, she drank sweet tea all summer long, strong with lots of ice, but folks in California didn’t know how to make it.

  Bette broke into her thoughts. “Being a nanny won’t be like working at the Animal Factory, that’s for sure.”

  “No.” Carly dipped the tea bag a few times. “At the Animal Factory, kids come and go. It’s easy and fun.”

  “It’s like me at the bakery.” Bette lowered her plump body down to the chair. “I know the regulars, some of them surprisingly well because they blurt their troubles, but no one asks about me. It’s funny how that goes.”

  Carly often thought about the way people in Los Angeles talked so openly to strangers about the most personal things—divorces, problems with kids, plastic surgery. It happened in line at stores, in waiting rooms, anywhere. People in Boomer County talked, too, but they knew one another.

  Bette blew on her tea to cool it, risked a sip, and hummed with pleasure. “That sure tastes good after a long day.”

  “Any word on the home invasions?”

  “No, but I’m worried.” Bette studied Carly across the table. “Are you sure about not living in with this family? It makes sense, considering what’s happening here.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “I hope you’re not staying because of me.”

  “Not entirely, but I worry about both of us. We could share a two-bedroom, but it would only be until I finish school.”

  “No, thanks,” Bette said. “The crime scares me, but I’m used to living alone.”

  So was Carly, but she didn’t like it. She missed her family, the little jokes born of a common history, just knowing people cared about her. Her mind leapt to an unsettling future, one where she had gray hair, saggy arms, and only a cat for company. She was twenty-eight, single, and a virgin by choice because she wanted her wedding night to be everything God intended. The thought gave her goose bumps in one breath and filled her with fear in the next. What if that night never came?