“With what?”
“Her schedule.”
By call number eight, I was pacing.
By call number ten, I was bargaining with a woman named Linda, who clearly hated me on behalf of the entire profession.
“I can pay above market,” I said.
“That is generous, Mr. Lawrence.”
“Significantly above market.”
“I’m afraid?—”
“Hazard pay.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“I can offer hazard pay.”
Linda inhaled slowly. “Mr. Lawrence, are you describing your children as hazardous?”
“No,” I said immediately. “Of course not.”
Then I looked through the glass door and saw Billie running past, holding a whisk and wearing swim goggles. CJ followed at a calm walk, holding a clipboard. Bianca trailed behind them both, reading from a book titledHousehold Chemistry.
I averted my eyes. “No,” I repeated, less convincingly.
Linda cleared her throat. “We’ll keep your file active in case we have a good fit for you in the future.”
Which was agency-speak for “may God have mercy on your soul.”
When I finally hung up, I looked hopelessly around my office. My laptop sat open on the desk, inbox multiplying, and little red notification badges spreading everywhere. My life was a series of urgent problems that all needed me immediately, and somehow, the most urgent problem was three rooms away, probably still wearing goggles.
I sat down and took Lady Ferdinand’s card from my pocket.
Miss Winifred Carrington.
I tapped the card against my desk as I dialed. On the third ring, someone answered.
“Carrington.”
A woman. Definitely not elderly—at least, she didn’t sound old.
I sat up a little straighter. “Hello. My name is Conrad Lawrence. Lady Ferdinand gave me your card.”
A pause. “Did she?”
There was something in the way she said it that made me glance down at the card again, checking for instructions I’d missed.
“Yes. She said you might be willing to discuss a childcare position.”
“Lady Ferdinand has always been generous with other people’s time.”
“I can call back another?—”
“No,” she said. “You’ve already called. Tell me about the position.”
