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Hurrying to the front door, I take a quick glance in the gilded mirror hanging above the trestle table. I gasp in shock. The dark circles under my eyes make me look like I’ve taken up boxing and am using my face to stop the punches. I quickly run my fingers through my straggly light brown hair before telling my kids to wait on the couch and decide what they want for breakfast. Then I step out my front door wearing nothing more than my shortie white nightgown.
The man formerly lounging in my Magnolia tree jumps down and starts taking rapid fire pictures while shouting questions like, “Harper, do you have anything to say about your husband taking your ex-nanny to Maui with him? Have you already filed for divorce?” and my favorite, “Are you worried you’ll never love again?”
With my arms crossed in front of my chest to protect any last vestiges of modesty, I smile disingenuously. “Brett can vacation with anyone he wants. The end of our marriage was a mutual decision, and no, I have no current interest or concerns involving my own love life.”
I take a deep breath before adding, “What does concern me is that you just took photographs of my children without my consent while they were in the privacy of their own home. If you don’t want a giant lawsuit, you’ll hand over your SIM card right now before the police get here.”
Mr. Scruffy Beard, (who also has the beginning of dreadlocks), glances toward the street and back to me like he’s trying to decide if he should make a run for it.
“My friend called me from the road,” I tell him. “She saw you sneak in. I’m pretty sure she’s slashed your tires by now.” I have no trouble lying to this scumbag.
“What? Dude, Harper, that’s not cool. I have bills to pay.” Why do paparazzi always try to make you feel guilty for not letting them violate your privacy? “I’m just doing my job here.”
“And I’m just doingmyjob.” At his look of confusion, I add, “I’m protecting my children from douchebag creeps who think it’s okay to sneak onto private property and photograph them without their pants on.” With his camera hanging around his neck and hands stretched out in front of him like this is a holdup, he promises, “I won’t use those pictures. I swear.”
“What’s your name?” I ask, using my least-hostile tone, which still sounds pretty menacing. When he doesn’t answer, I add, “My friend already has your license number.”
“Tony. Tony Watkins.”
“Well, Tony. Tony Watkins. Here’s how this is going to go down. You are going to hand me your SIM card and then you’re going to walk down the driveway through the gate. If your tires haven’t been slashed, you’re going to drive away. If they have, you’d better figure out how to get out of here before the cops show up.”
“That’s it? I don’t get anything for my troubles?” Once again, he’s acting like he’s the wronged party, which is really chapping my ass.
“Hand me the camera and I’ll give you something good.” I hold my palm out for his Nikon. “What are you going to give me?” he asks dubiously.
“The camera first.” Once it’s in my possession, I turn it on and do a mass deleting of the whole card. Then I flip the lens and screw my face up in a panicked expression. I take one selfie before handing the camera back.
“That’s it? You’re giving me a selfie?”
Nodding my head, I answer, “Yup. That’s it.” As he walks away, I call after him, “Oh, and Tony, I categorically deny the accusation that Brett has ever hit me. Those dark circles under my eyes are from lack of sleep and nothing more.”
The smile that consumes his face is blinding. “Dude, nice! That ought to bring in enough serious coin to pay my rent for at least a year.”
I don’t respond. Instead, I turn around and walk back into my home, relieved that I was able to garner some control of the situation. Brett hasn’t been gone a week, and already the vultures are circling.
In the living room I find my two beautiful babies huddled together on the couch looking as sad as orphans from a Charles Dickens novel.Bleak Housecomes to mind. “I want Daddy to come home,” Lily sniffles with a giveaway hiccup that makes it clear she’s been crying.
“Me, too,” Liam adds with some heat.
Sitting on a footstool in front of them, I reach out to take their hands in mine. “Daddy had to go to Hawaii on business.”
“What?” Lily looks wild-eyed. “He didn’t tell us!”
“It was all very last minute, honey.” I will lie like a dog to protect my children’s hearts, even if it means covering for their father.
Liam looks skeptical. “Dad’s never gone away without telling us before.”
“It can be a little awkward at first when a mommy and daddy decide to divorce,” I tell them softly. “I bet your dad was just nervous about calling.”
“Is Daddy divorcing us, too?” Lily asks as the pools shimmering in her baby blue eyes spill over and run down her cheeks.
“No, sweetie, no.” I pull her toward me and hold her tightly. “Daddy isn’t divorcing you. He loves you very much.”
“Does Dad want us to go live with him?” Liam asks. He’s only eight, and he must be hurting every bit as much as his sister.
“Daddy and I will be working out a schedule so you can spend time with both of us, but he absolutely wants to see you as often as possible.” I force a brighter tone as I open my eyes wide in excitement. “I have a great idea! Let’s go on vacation, too!”
“You said Dad was away for work,” Liam says, narrowing his eyes.
