Chapter 18 #2
Ella and I are silent, and I wish I could properly see her to measure her reaction.
Does she like this as much as me? It’s a lot less poppy, a lot more folksy-Americana, the kind of music I like when I’m not listening to my favorite bands from the ’90s.
I guess now it’s considered classic rock, a fact that makes me want to vomit, but Nirvana and Pearl Jam will never go out of style.
“That’s Dolly doing harmony?” Ella asks, and I realize she’s right. On the final choruses, that unmistakable voice joins in on her own song. I don’t mind it so much blended with another voice, and I can see what Zoey means about a gateway. I could get used to Dolly in little bits like this.
Zoey picks the music for the rest of the ride, introducing Ella and me to bands I’ve never heard of. The Wailing Jennys and the Bittersweets, Act of Congress and a local Austin artist named Jesse Woods.
“I know this one,” I say on a new song. It’s a man and woman singing, their harmonies wrapping around each other in a way that’s beautiful. “The Civil Wars, right?”
Zoey seems pleased, and happiness bursts in my chest like a geyser.
“Yes. A shame they were so short lived. They’re one of my favorites.”
“They broke up over … creative differences?” I’d heard something about that because I don’t live that much under a rock. I think it was actually rumored to be an affair, but I’m not bringing that up in front of Ella, who’s been so quiet that I almost forgot she was here.
“Something like that. Lots of speculation. Especially if you listen to the lyrics from their last album together.”
“I like the guitar,” Ella says suddenly. “I’ve been asking for one, but Mother said no.”
Maybe it’s not bad that Ella doesn’t call me anything but he, because the way she says mother is so filled with derision that it almost chokes me. She hasn’t said anything about Eleanor until now, and that in itself says something. Again, anger at Eleanor leaves me hot and breathless.
I know it’s at least a little bit motivated by spite for Eleanor if not also a strange, growing affection for Ella, but the very first thing on my list to do is to buy that girl a guitar.
* * *
“What do your parents think about all this?” Zoey whispers.
Her voice is closer than it should be, and I realize that she’s leaned forward between the two seats, her cheek close to my shoulder.
Ella fell asleep a few minutes ago, looking much younger and sweeter.
I’ve been driving in a sort of autopilot, my eyes unfocused on the road, taking in the cars in front and checking the mirrors with a kind of robotic regularity.
The sun won’t set for a few more hours, but it’s lower on the horizon, making Zoey’s hair glow like gold, and the blue in her eyes deepen into the blue of a west Texas sky. I quickly turn my gaze back to the road.
“They’re thrilled.”
My mother screamed almost as loudly when I mentioned that I was bringing Zoey home with me.
Mama didn’t seem to care when I said that Zoey is coming as a nanny for Ella.
Not a girlfriend, even if that’s what I wish for.
Nanny is the last title I want for Zoey, because it’s one more layer of distance between us.
But I can understand why Zoey wanted to keep things professional, why she would like to have clear definitions of where we stand.
Why would Zoey want to entangle herself with my mess?
Or with me? If it wasn’t hard enough that I was her boss and much older, now I have a daughter.
Not to mention the fact that she saw—and smelled—me at my very worst.
In the past two days, I ruined our date and her birthday. I gave her a black eye. And if my vague memory serves me well, I think I basically begged her to rub my head.
Zoey is still here, and that says something. I’m just not sure it says what I want it to say. But I have this weekend to work on that. While also getting to know my daughter and introducing them both to my family. No pressure. Keeping things nice and casual.
I turn to look at Zoey, seeing a heaviness to her face even in the brief look I hazard away from the road.
“Do you already regret saying yes?” I ask, unable to be anything other than honest.
She only hesitates for a beat. “No. Though I’m still not sure I’m the right person for this. Kids don’t really like me, and I didn’t even babysit in high school. I called my friend Delilah earlier for reinforcements because I was scared.”
That makes me smile. “Stop it. You’re so great. You don’t even know. I mean, just in this car ride alone.”
“I don’t know how to talk to her,” Zoey says, sounding like she’s telling me a dark secret. I give her a look telling her that she’s completely wrong.
“But you’re doing it. She opens up to you.” There is the tiniest bit of jealousy at that fact. But at least Ella is opening up to someone . That’s a start.
Zoey makes a face that I can see even from my periphery. “I’m not doing it right. I’m just talking to her, like I would an adult. That’s not how you’re supposed to be with kids.”
“I think talking to her like any other person is working.” I pause. “Ella doesn’t seem like the typical eight-year-old. Not that I know much about kids either.”
“No, she doesn’t.” Zoey pauses, long enough to give me a sense of dread. “Your ex … is she—was she always like this?”
I hate to think about what Eleanor did or said when she stopped by the house and met Zoey. There’s no telling, and nothing would surprise me.
I think about my beginning with Eleanor. The early days of bliss and glee. Where I couldn’t see the reality of the woman before me, or the future ahead.
“Eleanor puts on a good face, or at least, she did. Back when we met, she just seemed like a sweet, beautiful girl. It was all a mask. I’ve gone over it in my mind so many times.
Did she change? Did I? But I think she was simply hiding who she was to get what she wanted.
” I chuckle. “And what she wanted was never me. It was money. Over time, what she hid slipped away, leaving only the ugly truth of it.”
“I’m sorry,” Zoey says simply.
She reaches out and squeezes my shoulder, letting her fingertips linger for a moment. Her words make something in the back of my throat tickle.
I swallow it down. “Thanks. We’ve got about an hour left of the drive. Why don’t you take a nap too? I know I didn’t let you get a lot of sleep last night.”
She grins. “Yes, someone was very bossy. Not that I’m not used to it. Usually in a bit more of a professional context.”
I’d like her to get used to it. And definitely not in a professional context. It takes me a moment to recover my voice.
“Sorry for that,” I tell her. “And thank you.”
“My pleasure,” she says, her words a quiet murmur that makes me wonder. Did she enjoy it?
Zoey sinks into the back seat again, leaning toward Ella. I sneak glances in the rearview mirror at the two of them whenever I can.
“It meant a lot to me,” I tell her, wanting her to read the meaning behind my words. “I’m glad you’re here.”
Except I want her here not in some official, contracted position that I stupidly created. I want her here as mine . And I intend to do my very best to make sure she knows it.