I should have made them sit at the table.
I should have been thinking about consequences, boundaries, nutrition, routine, and the fact that yet another nanny had fled our home, telling me that my children needed a miracle.
Instead, I watched my youngest daughter lick soy sauce off her wrist and thought,at least they’re eating something other than chicken nuggets. A low bar, for sure, but still. My children had range.
“Do you think Mrs. Cornell will come back?” CJ asked as he bit into a salmon roll.
“No,” I said.
Billie lowered her pizza. “Even if we apologize?”
I considered lying, then thought better of it. “No.”
“What if we make her a card?” Bianca asked.
I looked over at her in surprise.
She shrugged and picked at her pancake. “People like cards. It makes them feel socially obligated to forgive you.”
“That’s not why we make cards.”
“It’s one reason.”
CJ nodded. “A strong one.”
I pointed at him with my chopsticks. “You are not helping. Mrs. Cornell isn’t coming back. And neither is Miss Kearney.”
Billie frowned. “Which one was she?”
“The one who wore purple every day and said television was rotting your imagination.”
CJ snapped his fingers. “Right.The Incident.”
I set my plate down. “I still don’t know what happened.”
All three children became extremely interested in their food.
“Guys.”
Bianca reached for her water. “The attic contains many mysteries.”
“That’s not an answer,” I pointed out.
“It wasn’t meant to be,” she said primly.
I sighed in exasperation. “And before Miss Kearney, there was Miss Julie Poppins.”
Billie smiled. “She smelled nice.”
“She smelled like peppermint because you put candy canes in her shoes,” I reminded her.
Billie smiled at the memory. CJ coughed into his fist.
I looked at him. “Before Miss Julie Poppins, Miss Mary Andrews.”
“She kept singing,” Bianca said.
“She was cheerful,” Billie added.
