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Fabulous.
So besides dealing with work, finding childcare, and dreading CPS, why not add an inconsolable four-year-old and my own smashed heart to the mix?
I also can’t fathom my sister’s choices in life—or why in God’s name she won’t talk.
Outside the county jail, I buckle Millie into the purple car seat with the fancy cupholder Nick bought her. It’s nicer than the one in her mom’s car. We drive over to the office quickly.
“Auntie Reese?” she asks once we’re exiting the car. What she really means is what now?
Good question. It sums up my life perfectly. I let out a broken laugh.
Millie doesn’t understand why I’m laughing, but joins in with a loud, confused giggle of her own, which only makes me laugh harder. This time for real.
Leaning down, I kiss her on the forehead. “I need to figure out what to do about work tomorrow. Do you want to see Nick?”
She claps her hands. “Nick the—”
“Nuh-uh, bumblebee.” I keep my face firm and raise my eyebrows. “Bad word. I told you not to say it again.”
Her face falls. “But it rhymes. You and Mommy do.”
“Your Mommy and I pay the rent. One day you’ll grow up and pay for your own place too, and then you can say whatever you want. Deal?”
“What’s rent?”
“Never-ending payments for the privilege of living under someone else’s roof,” I say glumly.
“I have a dollar.” She smiles at me like she’s just solved the whole city’s housing problems.
“You’re a sweetheart, but a full month’s rent costs a little more, baby,” I say, biting back a smile.
“Maybe for my birthday!” She giggles.
“Maybe.” I shut the car door behind her.
My second hand Camry feels out of place in the company garage. I’ve always done my best to maintain it—there’s not a scratch on her—but I’m just too stubborn to break down and buy the kind of shiny new car the average Brandt Ideas employee drives even if I can afford it.
I’m too used to being resourceful, and now, as I clutch Millie’s hand and we walk into the lobby, I realize I need to be more than ever.
“It’s a castle!” Millie chirps.
“Not quite, just a really fantastic office building.” Beatrice Brandt’s touch lingers everywhere here, from the swirling rows of neatly trimmed flowering trees on every floor to the Parisian-like fountain perched on four heroic shoulders on our way to the elevator. This building has floors that cost more than any make-believe castle Millie’s ever seen, even for the other businesses that just rent space here.
“Wowie, look!” She points at the fountain.
I check my pockets for loose change and only come up with an old arcade token from the last time I took Millie there a week ago. I hand it to her.
“Make a wish.”
She stares up at me.
“Wish for something you want and throw it in. It’s an old tradition,” I say, stooping down to smile at her.
For a second, she’s thoughtful, her tiny face scrunched up. Then she palms the coin and flings it into the fountain like a baseball pitcher. I smile at the splash that echoes through the lobby.
“Nice. It sounds like you wished really hard,” I say cheerfully.
“I wished Mommy gets outta jail!”
Oh, God. My smile evaporates. I don’t even have the heart to tell her you’re not supposed to share your wishes if you want them to come true.
I scan the lobby. There are a couple other people standing around the elevator.
Oof. I hope no one heard her.
“Jail? Why do you say that?” I ask.
“The window. Mommy was stuck and...and Mommy looked sad.”
“But we saw your mommy at the doctor before, remember? Lots of windows there, just like offices.” I don’t know why I bother fighting for this charade.
Millie, like the little brainiac she is, puts her hands on her hips with a pout. “Auntie Reese, why you lie? I watch TV. We watch Hawaii Five-0. I know what jail is!”
Damn, she’s good. Also, what was Abby thinking?
“You don’t have to worry. She’ll be home soon. I promise,” I tell her, hating that I have no earthly way to make good on that vow.
“But I miss her...”
“I know, baby.” I tussle her hair and take her hand so I can move us toward the elevator. “I know, and we all miss her.”
“Can I push the button?” she asks, thankfully distracted.
“Go for it.”
Upstairs, Nick isn’t in his office. Just great.
I’m about to leave, annoyed that we wasted a trip here. Then again, I’m not really dressed presentable enough to grace the halls of Brandt Ideas anyway, and it’s pretty rare to have people bringing young kids around.
Just as I’m trying to pull Millie away from an anime cat bobblehead on someone’s desk, there’s movement in Beatrice Nightingale Brandt’s old office.
Huh. Cleaning crew?
Beatrice is the reason I got this job. She’s a lovely lady, and they’ve treated her old stomping grounds like a shrine ever since she retired.
