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“I’ll be in camp.”
Her mouth tightens. It’s clear she’s trying to stay reasonable. I’m not sure why she’s bothering—I don’t sound reasonable at all. “Then I could call the facility, and they would go get you.”
I don’t feel like arguing anymore, but there’s no reason for Tabby to be in that questionable car when I have a different, perfectly acceptable alternative. “Consider it a perk of the job. And I’d like you to keep me posted about everything. How she’s feeling, what she’s done, your thoughts and observations. Everything.” I pull my wallet out of my pocket. “Here’s my credit card.”
“You’re giving me your credit card?” She sounds surprised. That makes sense since I’ve acted like a jackass.
I soften my tone. “You can charge anything she needs. Food, clothes, whatever. Just let me know, okay?” Having said everything I needed to say, I head toward the living room to join Tabby. At the doorway, though, I pause, unable to leave it like this. When I look back, she’s still standing, staring at the papers I gave her. “For what it’s worth, June, I still think you’re the right choice for Tabby.”
She offers me a stiff nod, and I escape, joining my daughter on the couch. June doesn’t join us, but I don’t expect her to. I wouldn’t want to be with me right now if I was her, either.
It’s for the best. Setting the precedent early will help us long-term. Maybe by then I’ll get used to feeling like a dick.
June
I’mgladDuke’sgoneby the time I wake up the next morning. It saves me from any more awkward conversations before I’ve had coffee. The only evidence he had been there was a rinsed-out mug in the dishwasher.
Last night’s conversation was eye-opening. I lay in bed for a long time, playing it over in my head. Any residual hope we could have a normal, adult-like working relationship died. I wish it didn’t bother me, but it does. I’ve spent my entire life trying to be likable, and for him to write me off before he even gives me a chance… it makes me feel helpless in a way I don’t understand.
Admittedly, we didn’t get off on the right foot, but I did everything I could to patch that up. It’s clear he has no intention of smoothing things over with me. In his mind, I’m his daughter’s nanny. Apparently, that job position doesn’t require even the most basic friendly interactions.
One thing is certain—Duke needs me as much as his daughter does. The two of them are closed off, quiet and unreadable, even around each other. But when he was telling me about his worries, how he’s not sure if I’m right for Tabby, I couldn’t help but notice he looked desperate. He might hate watching his daughter struggle, but I can’t help thinking he doesn’t know how to fix the problem either.
I’ve rallied today. I still have a job, and I still believe I can do some good for Tabby. Maybe I can even help her stubborn father, too.
After a quick shower, I start the morning routine Duke has meticulously mapped out for us. When I walk into Tabby’s room, she grumbles when I wake her up. Maybe it’s me. I’ve always been a morning person, and my experience with non-morning people is they find us annoying. But after some coaxing, she’s vertical and dressed for school.
I can’t find much food in the house, so I scramble some eggs. Tabby eats them grudgingly, offering only the shortest answers to questions. When she finishes, she brushes her teeth, and I do my best to tame her tangled blond hair into a ponytail. The brush she has isn’t the best for detangling, so I make a note to buy something better. It’s bad enough to brush knots out of long hair. The proper tools help.
I prod her out the door just in time for the bus, reminding myself to give her more time tomorrow. Sloths move faster than Morning Tabby.
But as I walk her to the bus stop, I notice offhand that I don’t see my car. The bus rounds the corner, and I wave goodbye to her. As it pulls away, I glance down the street. I still don’t see my car anywhere. There’s no way I forgot where I parked. I’d been so nervous when I pulled up, and I was afraid I would park in front of a fire hydrant.
After a walk back and forth, it’s clear my car isn’t there. I hurry back to the house, throwing open the front door. I’m sure I left my keys on the foyer table. There had been another set there, and I assumed they were Duke’s. The basket there is empty now, though.
I need to call someone. Or I’ll text Duke. Maybe he knows. Maybe there’s some tow-away zone I didn’t notice. I left my phone in the kitchen, and when I snag it, I see an envelope on the counter. I didn’t notice it when I was making breakfast. My name’s spelled out in tidy block letters on the front. Sliding a finger under the flap, I unseal it. A key falls out along with a slip of paper.
The Range Rover is in the garage if you need it.
D
What the hell does that mean? I turn the key in my palm and head for the garage, as if it’s the missing piece of a puzzle. Sure enough, I find a gleaming white Range Rover parked in the third stall in the massive garage. I press the unlock button on the key in my hand, and the SUV beeps, confirming the key will work. Did I think it wouldn’t? Honestly, I have no idea what I should think. I told Duke last night I wanted to use my car. But this morning, my car is gone, and he’s left me the keys to his like he didn’t even hear me last night.
Why would that surprise me? Duke doesn’t strike me as someone who cares if others disagree with him.
Locking the car, I go back inside, seething. How dare he do something with my car without asking me? I might be his employee, but that’s my personal property.
Snagging my phone off the counter, I hurry upstairs to my beautiful room. I still can’t believe it’s all for me. Even the towels I used after my shower this morning are the nicest I’ve ever used. Ten-year-old me—the girl who always had to share a bedroom with at least two other people—wouldn’t know what to do with herself in this room. Grown-up me hardly does either. I’m almost afraid to touch anything, worried I’ll break something or that the whole place will go up in smoke, like some sort of dream.
I squash the joy this lovely space brings me as I sift through the stack of papers Duke handed me last night, searching for the contacts list.
Opening my messages, I type in his number. I pause, trying to think of a diplomatic way to ask my question. I settle for:Good morning. Where is my car?
An immediate response.This phone is set to Do Not Disturb. I’ll respond when I see your message.
I seethe. He stole my car, and he’s not even accepting messages? I put my hands on my hips and pace back and forth in my room. I planned to check on Lily today. It’s been a couple of days since I went to the assisted-living facility, and I worry they aren’t taking good enough care of her.
I guess I’m taking the Range Rover if I want to go anywhere. Sifting through the paperwork Duke gave me, I scan his schedule. A plan forms. Ripping into him won’t help me keep this job, even though I feel it’s my right. Who takes someone’s car without asking? Duke York, apparently. Maybe he hopes I’ll get angry, go off on him. That would give him a reason to get rid of me, and something tells me a part of him would like that. He might know he needs help, but he’s not happy about it.
