I sighed. “No. That’s a ridiculous assumption.”
CJ slowly lowered his spoon. “What if she finally got arrested for tax fraud?”
I stared at him. “Why would you think Winnie commits tax fraud?”
CJ shrugged. “Her energy is complicated.”
I called again while the kids ate breakfast and discussed the various (and ridiculous) reasons Winnie would be late.
Still no answer.
Something cold settled deeper into my stomach. Winnie always communicated—the break-in, when someone fell and she wondered if they needed stitches… even when she wasn’t sure what to make for dinner. Winnie always touched base with me.
Always.
I finally texted her while helping Billie locate her second shoe beneath the couch.
Me:Are you okay?
A minute later:
Me:Kids are worried.
Then, because I enjoyed emotional self-destruction:
Me:I’m worried too.
Nothing. No typing bubble. No response.
By seven-thirty, I’d officially crossed from mildly concerned into full tizzy. I called my boss as I packed the kids’ lunches.
“Morning, Conrad,” Greg answered distractedly. “Please tell me you finished the preliminary projections.”
“Not yet. My nanny didn’t show up.”
Silence. “Congratulations?”
“I have to stay home.”
That got his attention. “What happened?”
“I don’t know yet.” I shoved apple slices into reusable containers with perhaps unnecessary aggression. “She’s not answering calls or texts. I need to get the kids off to school and be here when they come home.”
Greg sighed heavily enough that I could practically hear his disappointment radiating through the phone. “We really need that quarterly report polished off today.”
“I know.”
Longer silence.
“As long as I get the report by tonight, I don’t give a damn if you’re working from home, the office, or the moon.”
“Thank you.”
“You owe me,” he said.
“I definitely do.”
By eight-fifteen, the kids were finally out the door. Billie hugged me hard before climbing into the carpool. “Tell Winnie I said hi if she escaped the tax police.”
