10. Berg
Chapter ten
Berg
I transfer a soaking wet Louisa into Chris’s arms, then wipe my dirty palms on my jeans.
“Would you watch her for a minute, please?”
“Yeah, I have a blanket in the Jeep,” he says, shifting his attention to my daughter. “Let's get warmed up, ‘kay?”
Lou told me everything. How Milly climbed over the fence like she owned the place and goaded her into joining. How Caro made sure she was safe.
“Tamara.” I stride through the grass after Milly’s mom, my boots squelching with each step. “Damn it, Tamara, stop.”
I catch up with her in the parking lot as Milly climbs into the back seat. She slams the heavy door of her white SUV and whirls around with a vengeance .
“No,” I tell her, shaking my head. “Uh uh. You don’t get to be mad about this.”
“Don’t tell me what I get to be angry about, Berg. Milly was almost kicked by a donkey.”
“Right. Because she was on what side of the fence again?”
Tamara snorts her disagreement, waving her hand flippantly.
I’m seething. A dozen scenarios playing out in my mind of how this could have been a lot worse. There’s a lump in my throat when I picture a hospital trip. My daughters have always been healthy kids, but when I took Natalie to the ER for croup last year, it took me by surprise how much being in the hospital environment affected me. Nobody likes hospitals, I know that, but losing your wife at age thirty-three makes medical emergencies that much worse.
“Louisa told me that Milly encouraged her to climb over. She’s older. She should know better.”
“They’re kids. And maybe that woman should have been watching them better.”
“What woman? Carolina? Carolina wasn’t here to babysit. She’s a guest.”
One with a handmade invitation.
Her face sours.
“Carolina, is it?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing at all.”
I watch her go, stepping back to avoid the spray as she peels out of the lot.
** *
I lean against the edge of the tub, legs stretched out in front of me on the bathroom floor while the girls bathe before bed. My daughter doesn’t have a scratch on her, and that’s thanks to Carolina. I don’t know what got into Louisa, climbing over the fence like that. Yeah, both my girls are kinda wild and free, but putting themselves into dangerous situations isn’t like them. She pouted with her arms crossed tight over her chest as I cleaned up the party and apologised profusely to the farm owner. Tamara is on the top of my shit list. And when I think of Caro? Well, I hate the fact that she’s downstairs alone after leaving the party with her tail between her legs. She didn’t have a damn thing to be embarrassed about. I scoop up a handful of bubbles from the surface of the girls bathtub and plop them down on top of Louisa’s hair.
“What am I gonna do with you, hmm?” I ask her playfully.
She’s still a little sullen, and I’d guess she’s embarrassed too. You don’t have to be a seven-year-old girl to know that getting covered in mud at your own birthday party isn’t exactly what she’d envisioned.
“Highs and lows?” I ask, even though we’re not at supper.
“Can your high and low be the same thing?” Lou asks.
“Sure.” I shrug.
“Then my high and low is my birthday party. I was having a lot of fun…and then I wasn’t. ”
“I know, honey.”
Natalie rests her elbows on the tub, rivulets of water dripping over the edge. “Please don’t marry Milly’s mom.”
I sputter on a sip of my beer. “I’m sorry, what? Why would you say that?”
“She’s always giggling when you’re around,” Natalie answers. “And you invited her to the party.”
“Yeah.” Lou presses her lips together, crossing her soapy arms over her chest. “I didn’t make her an invitation.”
Obviously, something has gotten lost in translation here.
“I already explained that I didn’t mean to invite her. And of course we aren’t going to get married!”
“She wants to marry you with chicken!”
I choke down a laugh, because I know that to the girls, this is serious.
“That’s only the name of a recipe. It’s like…the chicken is supposed to taste sooooo gooood,” I hold my arms out wide, “that you want to marry the person who made it because they are such an excellent cook. Don’t worry, I’m not planning on marrying anyone at all. I’ve got all the girls I need.”
Bubbles slide off Natalie’s head, her wet lashes framing her eyes. “Anyone? Ever?”
What did I do to deserve the third degree tonight?
“Well, ever is a long time. Do you…want me to date someone?” I reach into the tub and twist the plug.
The girls understand the concept of dating and girlfriends and boyfriends. They were pretty excited for Chris even though moving in with Anna took him away from living downstairs. I’ve been on maybe three proper dates since Trudy passed away, and I can honestly say that trying to get into a relationship with someone has been so far off my radar, it’s on another planet. I go from the job site, to the kids’ school, to home. I don’t even know where I’d meet someone. The right person would need to respect my past and be able to build a future with a family that already exists.
“Someone nice.”
“And pretty.”
“And who likes colouring,” Lou adds.
I hold out towels for the girls and lift them out of the tub onto the damp bath mat. I suck in a breath of air through my teeth. “That’s a tall order, girls. Hard to find women that are into good old-fashioned colouring these days.”
“Caro said she likes to colour.”
Aaaand, there it is. Oh, boy.
She’s nice, pretty, and so much more. The soapy water swirls as it drains, the smell of lavender bubbles and the weight of Caro’s name lingering in the humid bathroom.
“Carolina is my tenant. And Daddy is much older than her.”
“How much older? Is she a teenager?”
I sputter, nearly choking on my spit. “No. No, she is not a teenager. I think she’s…twenty five?”
I can see Lou trying to do the mental math on that, but Natalie is faster.
“That’s fifteen years different. ”
Yes, yes, it is. Thank you, dear daughter. Which is why whatever ‘feelings’ I’ve had for Caro is simply sensible protectiveness over a woman living alone in my house. She’s one of my best friends younger sisters, for god’s sake. Of course I’m going to look out for her. Although, looking out for someone probably shouldn’t involve imagining what her hair would feel like under my palm or what her lips might taste like.
“Jammies, both of you,” I say, using another towel to mop up the puddles on the bathroom floor.
When a pretty woman rescues your daughter from a barnyard animal, you’re going to be fond of her.
Fondness? My stomach swoops. Yeah, right. This feels like a whole lot more.
***
With a fresh beer, and the girls fast asleep, I settle against the pillows on my bed to watch the sports highlights. Except I can’t focus because our bath time conversation about dating and marriage has me rattled. I’m not opposed to the idea of falling in love again, but I didn’t know it was something my children were contemplating. I blow out a long breath. If the girls are thinking about adding someone to our family, does that mean I’m falling short? I’m gauging whether I have the energy for a workout before bed, when I hear a sharp crash. My head whips toward my bedroom door and I’m on my feet in a second. That sounded too far away to be coming from the girls’ room .
“Caro,” I breathe, halfway toward the front door before I even realise what I’m doing.
Moisture soaks through my socks as I rush down the steps and knock on her door. With my head on a swivel, I strain my ears to hear anything else coming from inside.
Could it have been a sound on her tv? Or maybe next door?
I put my mouth close to the door. “Carolina!”
I can see light through the window, but she isn’t answering. There’s a yelp from somewhere inside and my mouth goes dry. I briefly consider breaking the damn door down when I remember that I totally saw her enter her code. Relief courses through me when the mechanism whirs and the door swings open.
“Caro? Are you here?”
The sound of water pouring from the bathroom draws my attention and I scrunch my eyes shut for a moment. What if she fell and hit her head? I know full well that there’s a tile shower bench in there that could easily become a hazard if you fell the wrong way. For the second time today, I’m having visions of medical emergencies. Giving a cursory bang on the door and calling her name again, I finally get a reply.
“Berg?”
Blame it on the panic, or being a dad, or the intrusive thought of her with a fucking head injury. But I barge into the bathroom at the sound of her muffled voice. Steam fills the space, a stark contrast to the temperature outside.
“Oh, my god!” Caro screams. “Berg! ”
The shower door is open, but Caro isn’t in it. She’s standing on a bath mat in front of the sink, trying in vain to cover her naked body. But instead of running right out of the room, I see the glint of broken glass on the shower tile and the trickle of diluted blood tracking down her left wrist and forearm. What’s more, there’s a massive, angry bruise covering most of her shoulder. All that pale skin fades into the background when I see that she’s hurt.
“Where the hell did you get that bruise?”
“No wonder your freaking kids don’t understand how doors work! I’m naked, Berg!”
I’d laugh if I wasn’t so upset by her injuries.
“I couldn’t care less, Caro.”
I look away, settling on a pile of fluffy white towels on a shelf I built behind the door. I toss her one without looking.
“Well, I do!” She shrieks and I hear the towel hit the floor. “I can’t use that!”
“Why not?”
“I’m gonna get blood all over it. They aren’t mine! They’re my brothers.”
An image of Chris scowling at me fills my mind. It was the same feeling I had at the party when she joked about it being her job as a little sister to tell embarrassing stories about Chris. When we’re talking and laughing, it’s so easy to forget who she is.
I stare at the ceiling. “Oh my god, please don’t talk about your brother while you’re naked. ”
“Oh, I thought you didn’t care?” she sasses. “Get me something else. The dish towels in the kitchen are dark.”
I’m back in a flash with a navy blue towel that is great for the blood still trickling down her arm, but not so great for hiding her damn body.
“Okay, now I can take the towel.”
I notice her stoop down out the corner of my eye to retrieve the towel I’d tossed in her direction before.
“What the hell are you doing, Berg? How did you even get in here?”
I take the fact that she’s addressing me as my sign to look at her.
“I heard a crash and was worried. I did knock. But you didn’t answer. And I saw you enter your code,” I add.
“So you came on in? I–I dropped a bottle because my arm hurts and while I was cleaning it up–”
“You cut yourself.”
“Obviously.”
She has the towel wrapped around her, one end tucked in over her chest. She’s cradling her hurt hand, and it’s obvious that it’s still bleeding, a droplet rolling down from beneath the edge of the towel.
“You’re going to need to hold it firmer than that. It’s still bleeding.”
“Yeah?” she says, voice wobbly, “I don’t…really like blood.”
Her face is approaching a level of pale that competes with the cotton. First, I switch off the shower. The last thing someone who is queasy about blood needs is for the room to be a million degrees. And I want her to sit down. Clearing some products off the counter, I grip her waist and lift her up onto it.
She gasps.
“Did that hurt?”
“No. The counter is cold on my…legs.”
I swallow, trying desperately not to notice how short that towel is around her hips.
Imaginary Chris clenches his fists.
“You don’t need to do this.”
“I want to see if it needs stitches.”
She groans. “It better fucking not.”
I smile at her language, but I’m still worried about her.
“Deep, slow breaths.”
“Yeah. Right. Breathing. I can breathe.”
I’m not so sure about that, because I watch her make a solid attempt, but the cadence is all wrong, and her cheeks are still grey. I run my hand under the cold tap and press it to her forehead.
“That’s nice,” she whispers as I watch a drop of water trail down her temple.
“Is that bruise from today?”
The cut distracted me from the fact she had a big fall at the party.
She nods. “Yeah, I landed on my shoulder pretty hard. I think there might have been a rock in the puddle.”
“Christ. ”
It’s going to be about seven shades of black and blue by tomorrow.
“You should have told me.”
“And what first aid would you have provided for a bruise?”
I shrug.
“I’d already showered after the party. But all I could smell was the…mud in my hair. I thought I’d give it one more wash before bed.”
“Getting Lou out of the way today was so brave. You’re doing great. What’s a little blood when you can go head to head with an eight hundred pound animal?”
She leans back against the mirror while I repeatedly cool my palm with icy water and press it to her brow.
“Have you ever fainted before?”
“Once. When I was travelling, I saw an old woman trip on a curb and cut her forehead. It bled a lot. Too much heat, not enough water. It wasn’t good.”
“What happened?”
“They called two ambulances.”
“Sounds like quite the adventure.”
“You have no idea,” she sighs, glancing toward the cut for a moment before flitting her eyes away again.
“I think you’re okay. Your cheeks are pink again.”
“That’s because I’m remembering that you saw me buck naked.”
It’s a sight I doubt I’ll ever forget.
“I saw nothing. ”
She laughs softly. “Liar.”
I shut my eyes with determination, but the image of her breasts spilling out over her arm and the smooth stretch of her midsection makes my cock twitch.
“Now, who’s pink?” She giggles, obviously feeling better.
I offer a stern expression. “Caro.”
“I’m teasing.”
“Good. So you must feel well enough for me to look at your hand, then.”
She sighs, stretching her neck from side to side like she’s prepping for a big fight.
“Yes. Get it over with.”
I pull her hurt arm away from her chest and run it beneath a gentle flow of water.
“It’s not bad. I think the fact your skin was wet made it look like a lot more blood than there was. You have bandages?”
“Chris left the medicine cabinet stocked.”
One more reminder that I’ve seen my best friend's little sister's boobs. Maybe the fact I’m providing her with first aid balances all this out to neutral. He wouldn’t want me leaving his sister to bleed down here by herself, would he? Of course not, I think. I’m the bestest friend ever.
I pull an unopened box from the cabinet, and a tube of something called Arnica cream that says it’s for bruising. I smooth a piece of gauze over the cut and secure the edges with some tape, Caro’s powder blue eyes appraising me as I finish.
“Good?” I ask her .
She nods.
That damn bruise spans her whole shoulder, about the width of my hand. Gently, I brush my thumb around the angry edges. Caro emits a soft noise from the back of her throat, completely unlike the sounds of pain she made earlier. She watches as I squeeze some of the thick cream from the tube and doesn’t stop me as I begin to apply it to the worst spots.
“That hurts worse than the cut.”
“I’m sorry,” I tell her, using the lightest touch as I finish.
I am sorry she’s hurting, but there isn’t a single cell in my body that will regret these moments.
“Go get dressed and I’ll clean up this glass.”
“You don’t have to do that. It’s my house.”
“I will anyway.”
She slides off the counter, careful to keep her towel in place, and I pick up the chunks of glass off the shower floor. Rinsing the smallest shards down the drain, I wipe up the few drops of blood off the ground and give the sink a quick rinse.
I find Caro in her kitchen, boiling water for tea and snacking on a banana. She’s wearing slippers and leggings and a baggy t-shirt.
“Do you want a tea?”
“No, thanks. I should get back upstairs in case someone wakes up.”
She smiles. “Do they wake up at night very often?”
“Not much. Usually if they have a bad dream or aren’t feeling well. ”
“That must be hard.”
“Waking up at night?” I shrug. “I’m used to it.”
“Must have been hard to get up in the morning, though, when they woke up a lot. You know, as babies?”
Her expression changes to something darker, more shuttered, and I can imagine what she’s thinking. How long have I been doing it alone? Did I have help? I don’t know what Chris has told her about my history. About my life.
“I was basically on my own with Louisa since day one,” I offer, figuring it’s simpler to get this info out in the open.
Caro’s eyes look soft but her expression isn’t one of pity, she’s open to hearing me tell my story.
“There was a complication right after birth and I lost their mom. Everything happened really fast.”
“That sounds impossibly hard. I’m sorry.”
“But we’re doing okay now,” I add.
“You’re doing more than okay. Your girls are adorable, funny, and smart. And Louisa is super good at climbing fences quickly. You’ve got this.”
Her ability to make a subtle joke when I told her how my wife died is fucking refreshing. Caro doesn’t feel sorry for me. I can tell. I’ve had grown women call me a poor baby when they find out that I’m a widower. Some have suggested they don’t know how I carried on, as if I had the choice to give up. Every day all around the world people parent against the odds and I owed it to Trudy and my daughters to give the best I could, even if on many days that wasn’t very good at all .
“Yep,” I say gruffly. “One day at a time.”
“I won’t keep you up. You don’t need to babysit me.”
I scoff, immediately reminded of Tamara’s rude comments earlier. I’m sure that wasn’t the last I’ll hear about the party from her.
“What? What’s funny?”
I shake my head. “Nothing, actually. Milly’s mom suggested that…” I don’t want to repeat it. It’s too rude. “I had to tell her you weren’t a babysitter.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Ha! Not for a long time.”
“Too bad. It’s hard to find good babysitters these day–”
I stop mid sentence, zoning out as I stare at the pattern in the granite bar top until it blurs.
“Berg? Earth to Berg?”
I shake my head to clear it. “Sorry, I just…”
Caro was so brave today, like I already told her. I smile as I imagine her working as some type of child bodyguard, protecting them from dangerous donkeys and other wayward barn animals. And then it hits me. Not a bodyguard. Not even a babysitter. A nanny.
“The girls,” I say, refocusing on her face.
“What?” She tilts her ear toward the ceiling, dropping her voice to a whisper. “Did we wake them?”
“No. You can watch the girls for me.”
“Like, right now? Do you…have somewhere to go?”
I almost roll my eyes. When was the last time I went anywhere after supper ?
“For work. You can watch the girls. Be our nanny.”
“A nanny?” Her tone is doubtful. She’s looking at me like I’ve lost the plot.
“Yes! I need…”
“Help?”
“No.” My expression sounds curt, even to my ears. “I mean,” I soften my voice. “I’m doing fine on my own.”
“Berg, if you don’t need any help…why hire me? I have a job and the girls have before and after school care, right?”
They do. But with me taking on more responsibilities at work, there’s a chance I’ll need more flexibility from my childcare. The rules around pick up and drop off at the girls’ school are strict. I pull my phone from my jeans pocket and open the calendar app. It’s jam packed with colourful boxes denoting before and after school care, birthday parties, swim lessons, play dates, and appointments. There’s a solid chance I’ve forgotten to put something on there too.
“Uh, wow.” She scrolls to the next month, which looks equally crappy. “That’s…messy.”
“That’s one word for it.”
She smiles and I feel like I’m floating.
Then she shakes her head.
“I don’t have any qualifications for that, Berg. I haven’t cared for children beyond watching them for a few hours at a time.”
“That doesn't matter.”
She screws up her face. “How can that not matter? It’s literally the key thing that matters. ”
“No.” I shake my head. “It’s not. When you met them, you talked to them like people. You shook their hand for god’s sake. You asked how many months old they were.”
“You remember that?”
“Yeah. I may not remember to change light bulbs or fix doors, but I remember when people were kind to my kids.”
She dips the bag of chamomile in and out of the steaming mug of water on the counter between us.
“You can live here rent free and I’ll pay you what I’m paying the girls before and after school care.”
“You’re serious?”
I nod. “Very.”
She bites her bottom lip, staring into the swirls rising off the surface of her tea, contemplating the offer.
“I don’t think I want that type of responsibility, Berg. I can’t.”
I’m not sure where this insecurity comes from. She’s already shown me she can literally be trusted with Louisa’s life.
“At least think about it.”
Before I realise it, I’m leaning over the bar counter to gently touch the edge of the gauze covering her wound. There’s a tiny speck of blood in the centre of the bandage.
“The bleeding stopped.”
She nods. “Thank you. I was feeling pretty queasy before you…showed up.”
“I promise I’ll never let myself in like that again.”
She smiles, shaking her head. “Why do I find that very hard to believe?”