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Tracy
“Good night, Tracy,” Amelia says in a lisp while wrapping her little arms around my neck. “See you in the morning.”
I give her cheek a small kiss.
“I won’t be here in the morning because I’m your babysitter, remember? But your Daddy will be on hand, and I’ll see you next week, okay? Friday night, just as usual.”
Amelia nods, pulling herFrozencomforter up to her chin while smiling sweetly.
“Oh yes, I forgot. Love you, Tracy. See you next week.”
I smile, my heart melting, while switching off the light on her desk.
“Good night, baby girl. I love you too.”
With that, I tiptoe out of the room, making sure to shut the door most of the way, but not all the way. Amelia likes to sleep in darkness, but the little girl gets freaked out if it’s too dark. She prefers that the lamp from the hallway shine in just a bit, and as a result, I’ve learned to leave her bedroom door open a crack after tucking her in.
But instead of walking away immediately, I pause for a moment outside my tiny charge’s door. There’s no sound, and within minutes, I can hear Amelia breathing deeply and evenly. Oh good. The little darling must be tuckered out from playing Kids Monopoly, Uno, as well as that new board game, Swords for Words, which involves using metaphors, similes, and good old-fashioned rhymes too. I didn’t know games for six year olds were so advanced these days, but who knows? I’m neither a game designer nor the game police.
Finally satisfied that Amelia’s resting, I let out a deep breath and place both hands on my burgeoning tummy. Will it be like this after I give birth to my own child? Will I feel a tug at my heart every time he or she smiles? Will it feel like there’s a piece of me walking around on his or her own two feet, vulnerable and yet hopeful at once?
I think so because I’m the maternal type, although you wouldn’t know it from my past behavior. I dote on children, even if I’ve led quite the scandalous life recently. But hey, women can have many facets to their personalities and just because I don’t know who the father of my baby is doesn’t mean that I’m going to be a bad mom. Instead, I just see it as another side to who I am – and in this case, my actions have ensured that I’m going to be a single parent soon.
After all, my break-up with Neil was bad, and I admit that I wasn’t exactly classy about the whole thing. Neil and I dated seven years, and I was totally prepared for a ring, a big white wedding, and a house with a white picket fence, not to mention a couple of rug rats and maybe some dogs and cats thrown in.
But Neil sat me down one evening with a long look on his face. He gave me all the usual excuses: it wasn’t me, it was him; I was gold and he was the one who was dross; we had been growing apart for a long time and just hadn’t noticed the gradual drift. But something sounded off to me, and when I forced the issue, he admitted he’d fallen in love with his co-worker Nicola. The air evaporated from my lungs, and suddenly, I couldn’t breathe because I’ve met Nicola many times. Heck, she and I have even hung out before, and had a good time too. She’s one of those women who’s pretty, but not overly-pretty, and who has a good sense of humor and a good head on her shoulders too. I easily saw her as a friendly acquaintance, even if we weren’t quite friends yet.
But it turns out that Neil saw Nicola as more than that, and it seems he wanted to break things off with me in order to take up with her. Even worse, when I asked how long the relationship had been going on, he stammered and turned red without really giving me an answer. That’s when I knew that he and Nicola had likely been having an affair for a while. So every time I had coffee with that bitch, she was probably sleeping with my boyfriend behind my back.
Well, the shit hit the fan after that. I did everything that scorned women do. I threw Neil’s belongings out onto the lawn before setting them on fire. I told all of my ex’s friends what a two-faced shithead he was (although, I suspect most of them already knew about his cheating). I even drove by Nicola’s apartment a few times to see if Neil’s car was parked in the driveway with thoughts to slash his tires and maybe key his vehicle (thankfully, it didn’t happen). Okay, so I went a little crazy, but I also felt justified about it. I mean, what the hell? Seven years down the drain just like that.
But things got even worse. I was so angry and mad that I literally lost my marbles a bit and became a super-slutty tramp. I started hooking up with men right and left to drive the anger out of my body, and it kind of worked actually.
At first, it was hook-ups with men I knew. My partners were male acquaintances, ex-boyfriends, and even my old high school teacher who’d just moved back to town. But after I ran through that pool, I went on-line and continued my rampage there. I met all sorts of gorgeous, handsome men who were only too happy to meet my physical needs, especially since I didn’t want to know their names, much less date them. So yes, I slept with Tom, Dick, and Harry, and I felt really great about it.
The problem is that after that frenetic phase passed, I discovered I was pregnant, and not only that, but there was no way to realistically determine who the father was. After all, some of my hook-ups had been anonymous, and their emails and cell phone numbers no longer worked when I tried. So what’s a girl to do?
Well, it turns out that the pregnancy was the best thing that ever happened to me because I got my head put on straight after seeing the first ultrasounds. There was something about the image of the child that tugged at my heartstrings and suddenly, I knew I didn’t want to continue living life in the fast lane. As a result, I quit my job as a personal stylist at Nordstrom, and started spending my days at home, cooking, gardening and generally nesting in anticipation of my baby. I also stopped going out, and focused instead on eating healthy, minimizing stress, and getting lots of rest and relaxation. It was quite the turnabout in lifestyle, and just in time, if I say so myself.
But a girl’s got to put food on the table, and at first, I didn’t now what to do with myself. Then, I realized I could babysit. I live in a humble cottage on the edge of a fancy neighborhood. The manors around me likely all had children, and most of them probably were in search of a reliable babysitter.
As a result, I started posting flyers around the neighborhood, as well as ads on the Internet. Truthfully, I hadn’t babysat since high school, but it was okay. Most of the parents just wanted someone trustworthy who knows their way around kids, and I was that person. I started getting regular gigs, and then those customers started introducing me to their friends. That’s how I met Amelia’s family, actually. An old client knows Amelia’s father through a neighborhood group, and when Rick posted asking about babysitters, the client forwarded my contact info.
I haven’t been babysitting the little girl for long, actually. Probably only about a month, but what’s really interesting is that her dad, Rick Patton, is actually home when I’m over. It seems that Rick is a high-flying jewelry executive who’s always buying gems from far-flung locations. Evidently, he needs to be on phone calls to India, Nepal, Hong Kong, and Saudi Arabia all the time, and because of the time difference, these calls can take place at 8 p.m. or later. As a result, he needs a sitter to watch his daughter, even though he’s technically at home in his office.
Tonight’s one such night. I can hear Mr. Patton’s deep voice as I tiptoe down the dark hallway. Goodness, it’s almost 9 p.m. already, and yet the conversation sounds quite animated. I walk soundlessly towards the sliver of light on the ground, and then pause on the carpet outside his door.
“Thirteen carats?” Rick growls. “That’s not enough. You know the mines from Golconda produce twenty carats regularly.”
I gasp soundlessly. Is he talking about diamonds? I know Golconda is a famed mining region in India that’s known for its precious gems. In fact, twenty carats of anything would be remarkable, much less a diamond.
But it sounds like Mr. Patton’s not getting the right response because his voice lowers into a snarl then.
“Fuck that,” he rasps. “If Cartier’s also looking to buy, then we won’t give an inch. They’re not going to steal this from under my nose.”
My eyes grow wide because as a dealer of fine jewels, Mr. Patton must be up against the most famousmaisonsin the world. Cartier must be one such competitor, as well as Buccellati, Verdura, and the like. Goodness, the competition must be cutthroat.
