“No.”
“I’ll double your salary.”
She paused at that.
Hope blossomed briefly inside me.
Then she reached into the trunk and took out one of the backup pairs of glasses, even though her current ones looked clean tome. Granted, she was covered in flour and, more than likely, her glasses had received some residual drippage from the flour in her eyebrows.
She took the old pair off and slid them carefully into their case before looking at me with the exhausted pity of someone watching a man unknowingly board a sinking ship.
“Mr. Lawrence,” she said, “your children do not need a nanny.”
I swallowed.
“They need a miracle.”
Then she placed the new pair of glasses on her mean face, climbed into her car, and sped down the driveway so fast, I was concerned for the local wildlife.
Silence settled over the yard.
I stood in the driveway for a few seconds after Mrs. Cornell disappeared around the bend, mostly because I wasn’t emotionally prepared to go inside and face my children with no one to back me up.
Miss Kearney, the one who’d made it a month before she left us high and dry, had informed me that my children were “organized.” It had sounded like a compliment until she clarified she meant “in the way small criminal enterprises are organized.”
Before that, there’d been Miss Julie Poppins, who’d started referring to her wine as “medicine” after a few days.
Damn, could I relate.
I picked up the cheesecake and headed inside, resigned with the knowledge that I was walking into a situation I’d already lost.
The foyer was too quiet. Never a good sign.
I shut the door behind me slowly and looked up toward the lofted landing above the staircase. There they were. All three of them lined up almost angelically beneath the bright overhead lighting.
CJ leaned casually against the railing with his hands in his pockets, looking heartbreakingly sincere. I hadn’t even accused him of anything yet. Bianca sat cross-legged on the floor with a book open in her lap, entirely composed. Billie crouched beside the wall, drawing large swirls onto the paint with what looked like raw egg mixed with flour.
I stared at the wall, then looked at Billie. “Is that… batter?”
Billie grinned up at me. “It’s art, Daddy.”
“Billie.”
“It’s temporary.”
I growled. “That’s not thepoint.”
She nodded seriously, smearing another spiral onto the wall with her entire hand. “Whatever you say, Daddy. I think you’ll really like this non-art piece I’m working on.”
I closed my eyes briefly. When I opened them again, CJ was watching me carefully. That kid could read a room faster than most of the adults I worked with.
“Dad,” he said gently, “before you get upset?—”
I held up a hand. “Let me stop you right there, son. I’m already upset.”
“Okay, but emotionally upset or practically upset? Can you be persuaded not to be upset?”
Bianca turned a page in her book. “He’s practically upset. Emotionally, he still has cheesecake.”
