Count My Lies

Chapter 8

8

At a quarter to one the next afternoon, I tell Natasha that I need to run a quick errand and ask her to keep an eye on my station. Luckily, I finished my twelve o’clock appointment early, and my next one isn’t until two. Begrudgingly, Natasha agrees to get my two o’clock started if I’m not back, and I promise to make it up to her. I’ll bring her a coffee and her favorite Danish in the morning, an apricot strudel from a bakery around the corner. She’ll forgive me—I know she will.

Before I go, I put a loose sweater on over my scrub top, swap my scrub pants for a pair of leggings. I walk toward the park, a spring in my step. I’m wearing the hat I bought yesterday, too. Today, I feel slightly self-conscious about it, like I’m an imposter, playing dress-up. I’m not sure if it suits me, but I decide to leave it on, tipping up the brim like Violet had done.

Harper is already on the swings when I get to the park, Violet behind her, pushing. They both smile when they see me. Violet says something I can’t hear, and Harper leaps off the swing and sprints toward me. Violet follows, giving me a wave. She’s in a dress today, high-collared with tiny white polka dots, long-sleeved, that hits midcalf, and the same wedges she wore the first time we met.

Harper slows when she reaches me, smiling shyly at me. Violet joins us a moment later, placing her hand on Harper’s shoulder. “Hi,” Violet says. “Cute hat.”

“Thanks,” I say casually, but my chest swells with pride, thrilled I decided to wear it. Then I squat down to Harper’s level.

“Hi, Harper,” I say. “I love your shirt. Red, just like the shirt Winnie-the-Pooh wears!” Harper’s face lights up. “Do you like honey as much as he does?” I ask.

She nods. “My mom puts it on my strawberries. Sometimes,” she says, leaning closer to me, “I lick it off a spoon. If I’m really good, Mom buys me a honey stick from the market. But that’s our secret.”

I laugh. “Yum! That sounds delicious.”

“It is,” she says. “Do you know how old I am?”

I shake my head. “Can I guess?”

“Okay,” Harper agrees. She looks delighted by my request.

“Are you twenty-five?” I ask. When she shakes her head, giggling, I pretend to be shocked. “What? Older? Twenty-eight? Thirty?!”

She giggles. “No! I’m almost five. My birthday is in August. August twenty-second. I’m going to have chocolate cupcakes with pink sprinkles. And I asked for a kitten, but Mom said no.” Then, to Violet, “Can I go play over there?” She points to a sand pit in the corner of the park. Violet nods, and Harper bounds off, limbs loose like a puppy. She beelines for an abandoned plastic bucket, faded from the sun, and begins to scoop sand into it.

“Want to sit?” Violet motions to a park bench a few feet away.

I take a seat beside her. She smells like the bloom of gardenias on her kitchen counter. “Oh!” she says, remembering. “Here.” She reaches into her bag and pulls out my red flannel shirt. “Before I forget.”

“Thanks,” I say breezily. I take it from her and put it into my purse. I’m pleased with myself, by how well the plan worked. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s no problem,” she says. Then she leans toward me. “I love your necklace,” she says, squinting to get a better look. I put a hand to my neck. The pearl is cool and smooth. “Where’d you get it?”

“It was my grandmother’s,” I say, repeating the lie I told Natasha.

She looks disappointed. “Shoot. I was hoping you’d tell me where I could buy it. I’ve been looking for one just like it.”

I want to kick myself. Now I wish I had told the truth. I like the idea of us wearing the same necklace. “Well, she bought it not long before she passed, actually. I can find out where, if you want?” I offer. “I think it’s probably somewhere local. My mom will know.”

Violet brightens. “I’d love that, thanks.” She smiles and looks back toward Harper. She’s now forming sand patties with another little girl, shaping them carefully with her small hands then pretending to eat them in one bite.

“Are you home with her full-time?” I ask.

Violet nods. “I left my job when we moved out of San Francisco. I hired some help—Nina—after we got here, so I could start studying for the New York bar, but that didn’t work out, so…” She trails off, shrugging. “We’ll see. It’s funny, though: this job, the stay-at-home-mom gig, is a hundred times harder than my job as an attorney. But it’s more fun.” She smiles. “I never got to spend Wednesday afternoons at the park before I was a mom.”

“Do you want more kids?” I ask. Immediately, I wish I could take it back. It’s too personal a question, too premature, given that we just met. I hope she doesn’t take offense.

The smile on Violet’s face doesn’t falter, but it changes. Her eyes flick to her lap, then back up at me. “I did. I thought we’d have a big family. At least three kids. But—” She stops abruptly, clears her throat. “Harper has some medical issues. It’s been hard for us. All of the doctor visits, appointments with specialists.”

A lump forms in my throat. “What’s… what’s wrong with her?” I ask.

“It’s her heart.” Violet looks down at her hands again. She fiddles with her diamond. “It’s weak. She had an infection as a baby, and it damaged the tissue. Blood doesn’t always pump correctly. She has these fainting spells. Not often—the last one was over a year ago—and usually they’re just a few seconds, but once she needed a defibrillator.”

We both look over at Harper, who is still playing happily in the sand. My heart aches for her. And for Violet. And Jay.

“It’s probably why Jay was so flustered about the bee sting the other day. We’re always holding our breath, hoping she’s okay. Jay won’t even talk about it. Pretends like everything is fine. I don’t think he wants to admit that we could lose her, you know?” Then Violet smiles. “But she’s tough. We don’t treat her any differently—we don’t want her to feel like she can’t do anything any other kid can. But it’s one of the reasons I’m having such a hard time finding another nanny. I really want someone with a medical background, you know, just in case.”

Then Violet bites down on her lip, looks at me sheepishly. “Which brings me to the real reason I wanted to meet up today. Aside from returning your jacket, of course.”

I stare back at her, waiting for her to explain, hoping, hoping—

“I know you offered to babysit every once in a while, but I couldn’t help but think, I don’t know, would you be interested in more than that? Maybe nannying a few shifts a week? Just until you go back to nursing school?”

“You want me to be your nanny?” I repeat.

Violet nods. “It would just be a few hours a week. I was thinking Tuesday and Thursday afternoons when Harper gets out of school, a Friday here and there? Then I could dedicate a few hours a week to studying again. Maybe take the bar next February. Please tell me if I’m overstepping, but I had to ask. Like I said, we have a hard time trusting people with Harper, and with your background, it just seems so… right .”

My heart feels like it’s beating in triple time. It’s exactly what I wanted, what I hoped for when I made the offer, but—and this is a big “but”—that was before I knew Harper was sick. She needs a real nurse, not a make-believe nursing student. I should say no. I should tell Violet the truth. I know I should. I want to do the right thing, but I also want her to like me. I want so badly for her to like me. And when you want someone to like you, you tell them what they want to hear.

“I—” I start, unsure how to finish. “I’m—”

“I’d pay you, of course,” Violet says. “Thirty-five an hour? Is that fair?”

Thirty-five an hour is more than I make at the spa. More than I made as a teacher. A couple of nannying shifts a week would be another thousand dollars a month, at least. And if—when—I do a good job, maybe those few shifts will turn into more. Maybe a live-in position, like I hoped. It would mean I could move out. I’m happy to take care of my mom, I always have been, but in the last few years, the walls have been closing in, the apartment becoming smaller, making my life smaller, me smaller. I want to start living for myself, for once, finally stand on my own two feet. This offer could make that happen.

Violet stares at me hopefully, eyebrows raised in anticipation. She wants me to say yes. I want to say yes.

A smile breaks out across my face. “I’d love to,” I say. I can’t help myself. It feels like kismet. Every moment from Harper’s bee sting until now, everything falling into place, just so. The last eighteen months have been so hard, but this—a chance to start over—is what I’ve been waiting for. And it hasn’t all been lies, not really. I do have experience with children, in and out of the classroom, some medical expertise.

No, I’m not a nurse, but I am well-versed in first aid, something required at the preschool. I’ve dealt with plenty of injured kids, kids with sprained wrists and ankles, kids with bloody knees from a fall, kids with fevers, kids with stomachaches, earaches, headaches, peanut allergies, half the class with EpiPens in their backpacks. Several of my students dealt with medical conditions, too. Riley, a four-year-old in my first year of teaching, had epilepsy; Cleo, in my third year, had diabetes. I’d had conferences with their parents, kept medical files in the top drawer of my desk, knew what to do if Riley began to seize, if Cleo’s monitoring device went off. This wasn’t much different, really. I’ll read up on Harper’s condition, too. I’ll be prepared. And Violet had said it herself, Harper hadn’t had an episode in a long time.

“Really?” Violet says, her voice rising a pitch. She claps happily. “Seriously, you’d be a lifesaver.”

“Yeah.” I nod, grinning. “I’d be glad to.”

She beams. “Great! Is Friday too soon to start? Maybe you could come over for a few hours in the morning while Harper’s still at school. We can talk logistics.”

My stomach flutters. This isn’t just a hypothetical; it’s really happening. “Sure. Is ten a good time?”

“Perfect,” Violet says enthusiastically.

I smile back at her until I notice the time on her Apple Watch. Shit. It’s almost two thirty. I have to get back to work. If I don’t, Natasha will kill me. And then feed me to her Jersey cousins.

“I should go,” I say reluctantly. “I have to swing by the pharmacy for a prescription refill.”

Violet nods. “We should get going, too,” she says. “If I can ever pry Harper from this playground. And seriously, thank you again.”

“I’m happy to do it,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. But inside, I am elated. I’m going to be working for the Lockharts. I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from grinning. I stand. “See you Friday?”

“Friday at ten!” she says.

I leave on cloud nine.

I’m floating when I get home. Natasha glowered at me when I returned to the chair beside hers, but I didn’t care. She’ll get over it; she always does. I’ll get her two Danishes instead of the one I’d planned on. Another day her attitude might have bothered me, but not today. Nothing could burst my bubble.

My mother notices. How could she not? The happiness is spilling out of me like an overflowing tub, the faucet left cranked too high. It bubbles up and over the porcelain edge, sloshing onto the floor.

“You’re humming,” she says from her armchair. I pretend not to hear her. She’s right, though: I am. I’m in our small kitchen, next to the living room, cooking our dinner. I’m attempting to re-create Violet’s pappardelle Bolognese from the other night.

I tip the boiled pasta into a colander in the sink, steam rising from the basin. I take my time mixing in the sauce, weighing what I’m going to tell my mom.

I walk into the living room with two servings, a shaker of Parmesan tucked under one arm, hand my mom a plate, then the cheese. She adds more than she should, but I don’t comment.

“What’d you say?” I ask.

“You were humming,” she says again. “Good day at work?”

I sit down on the couch, in the seat closest to her, and set my plate on the coffee table. “I met up with Violet again today. And Harper. At the park,” I admit. I don’t look at her. I keep my eyes on the muted television. A rerun of Seinfeld is playing, the one with the babka, I think. “She asked me to nanny for her. A few times a week.”

I hadn’t planned on telling her—she’ll worry; she always does—but I can’t help it. I’m so excited about spending so much time with Violet and Harper—and Jay—I want to shout it from the rooftop.

“Nanny for her?” my mom repeats.

I nod. “Yeah, I told her I used to nanny. It’s just a couple hours a week.” I try to sound offhand, but it’s futile. I sound giddy. I glance over at my mom. Her lips are pressed together in a tight line.

“Does she know?”

I stare at her, then shake my head. “No,” I say quietly. “I didn’t tell her.” I’m never going to tell her. Violet can never find out why I don’t work at Mockingbird Montessori anymore.

My mom stares back at me. She blinks a few times, then nods.

“It’ll be fine,” I say. “This will be good for me. I miss being with kids. Plus, the pay is great. Which means one step closer to my own apartment,” I add. She knows how much I want this.

Her mouth relaxes. She reaches over and squeezes my thigh. “I’m glad for you,” she says. Then she looks back at the TV, picks up the remote. She aims it at the screen but hesitates before pressing the button. “But be careful. You hear me?” She doesn’t look at me when she says this.

I nod. She’s right. We both know how I am. Then she unmutes it. Kramer bursts into Jerry’s apartment, and we both laugh along with the studio audience.

That night, when I go to bed, I realize I’m still humming, my favorite Taylor Swift song, the one about the players and the haters, the heartbreakers and the fakers, the one where she tells you it’s going to be all right.