11. Carolina
Chapter eleven
Carolina
M y dreams that night are vivid. Louisa is on the other side of an impossibly high fence and every time I try to climb it to get to her, I fall down into a knee deep puddle of cold, sticky mud that sucks at my feet. When I wake, my body is aching and I wince when I swallow. Even after chugging the cold water from the bottle that lives on my nightstand, there’s a dull ache on both sides. Those dreams were something else and they must be why I’m so wiped. If this is what’s going on in my subconscious after only a week of knowing these girls, I don’t even want to know what nightmares haunt Berg.
As I shuffle to the bathroom, Berg’s offer from last night comes rushing back as quickly as the icy water pouring from the tap. I splash my puffy face until it’s numb, trying my best to keep the bandage on my hand somewhat dry. Reaching blindly for a towel, my fingers close around the same one Berg threw at me last night while I stood there freaking out over a little blood. My stomach swirls at the memory of him banging the door open with that resolute expression on his face. It’s easy to recall how effortlessly he lifted me up onto the counter, how good those powerful hands felt around my waist. Sure, his eyes might have nearly popped out of his head when he saw me nude, but then he dialled in on my injuries, and he was in protection mode. Every touch was tender, every word designed to wish away my worries. I’ve never been more vulnerable, and yet there was no trace of fear.
“Enough,” I say, babying my hand while I bundle up in some sweats.
Talk about white knight syndrome. The man helps me with minor first aid and I’m swooning? Please.
If I’m going to be his nanny, not that I’ve decided, I can’t be harbouring some sort of silly crush.
From now on, I apply my own bandaids.
I decide to take the morning to think things through. Write a pros and cons list, soul search, whatever. I’d be crazy to not at least consider it when I’ve been hating bartending so much. But as I’m hunting down my phone, because I crashed hard last night without even plugging it in, a shrill ringing fills my apartment.
“Oh my god,” I yell, blocking my ears with my sweatshirt covered hands .
Did I accidentally set off the smoke detector? Or, god, what if it’s carbon monoxide? But my eyes zero in on the phone on the counter. How on earth did I change my ringtone to something so god awful? I fumble with it, answering as quickly as possible, so the noise stops.
“Hello?”
A woman is on the other end. My first thought is my mother, but it sounds nothing like her.
“Good morning, Joan in the office here!”
I frown. Who at the what?
“The office?” I repeat.
“Unfortunately, I’ve got Louisa with me.”
Louisa? Crap.
I pull the phone away from my ear, recognizing how weird it feels in my hand. This isn’t even mine. I piece it all together, recalling the way Berg slid his phone across my counter last night to illustrate how busy he was. I’d had my phone out on the counter too, so we must have mixed them up. I guess that’s pretty easy to do when you’re focused on not making googly eyes at the hot guy that just saw you naked.
“Oh, there’s actually been a mixup. Let me call her Dad–”
“Lou is pretty feverish, so she’s here in the office ready for pickup.”
A fever? I press the back of my hand to my head, assessing my own temperature.
“Wait, but– ”
Joan’s voice is bright and unbothered by my attempts to interject. “See you shortly!”
“Um…” I’m frozen in my kitchen.
If I have Berg’s phone, he has to have mine. I dial my number, tapping my foot as I wait forever for an answer.
“Hello?” Berg’s voice sounds tinny and far away. Laced with the same tone of confusion I had a minute ago.
“Hi, it’s Carolina. We mixed up our phones last night, I guess.”
In the background, a truck beeps, and I wonder if he can even hear me.
“Do you know the looks I got for having a Save A Horse ringtone?”
I press my lips together. “At least your eardrums are intact. Why the hell is yours set to geriatric mode?”
I know I hear him laugh, and the gruff sound almost makes me forget why I’m calling.
“The girls' school called. Lou is sick and needs to be picked up.”
“Now?”
When the hell else would she need to be picked up?
“Um. Yes? The secretary said she was in the office.”
He groans in frustration.
“Fuck. Caro, I’m a good hour out of town at a job site. It will take me,” he pauses, “at least an hour and half to get things wrapped up and across town to the school.”
I know exactly where this is going.
“Berg. No! I cannot take care of a sick child!”
I pace through my kitchen, examining the bandage I couldn’t even apply on my own.
“I know you haven’t said yes to the nannying thing. This would be a huge favour. Please. Please, Caro.”
“You really sprung that on me last night.”
“I know. It came to me in a stroke of genius.”
“Don’t get carried away.”
Silence stretches between us as I imagine Berg pleading with those expressive green eyes and then I think of Lou and the idea of that little bean feeling yucky at school kills me.
“I’m not gonna let a sick child sit there. Yeah, I’ll do it,” I sigh.
Power tools whine somewhere in the background.
“Thank you, thank you. I owe you. Big time!”
“Wait, don’t I need car seats or something?”
“Caro, if you’re trying to convince me you’re not the right woman for this position, you’re doing a bad job at it.”
I laugh. “What do I do?”
“I’ll text you, or me, I guess, the code for the house. There’s two booster seats in Natalie’s closet. We used them for a trip a couple of years ago. You set them in the backseat and then use the seatbelt—”
“I’ll Google it. Oh, better text me your phone password, too.”
“Forward, but okay.”
“Excuse me, time is of the essence. And I need to change that goddamn ringtone. ”
“You know, timeliness is probably the number one thing on my list for a nanny.”
“Goodbye, Berg,” I say, wishing he could see how hard I’m rolling my eyes at him.
When his text comes through with the code to his place, I head upstairs. It feels bizarre to let myself into Berg’s house, even with permission. The scent of rich coffee lingers in the air and quiet music is playing somewhere. A light blue floral runner covers the foyer’s oak wood flooring. An assortment of items clutter the floor, speaking to the type of morning Berg might have had. I scan the framed photos on top of a console table. Front and centre is a recent Christmas photo, the girls perched on Santa’s lap and Berg smiling behind the big guy's oversized, velour chair. To the left of the short hall must be Berg’s room, and compared to the front entrance of the house, it’s serene. A window overlooks the front yard and a large bed is properly made up in white linens. Centred over a lowboy dresser is a rectangular mirror topped with more photos, some folded laundry, and a bottle of cologne. Booster seats, I remind myself, taking a step back and returning to my task. The oak planks creak beneath my feet as I pass a bathroom with an oceanic shower curtain. The music grows louder toward the end of the hall and I find that it opens up into a large eat-in kitchen. A Smart speaker is tucked into the corner of the countertop playing a local radio station. I turn back into the hall and find the room that’s obviously theirs. A set of oak bunk beds lines one wall, a huge bookshelf dominating most of the other. Louisa told me they tried to have their own rooms last year, but switched back weeks later. The boosters are right where Berg said they’d be, tucked into the back of a small closet beneath some blankets. I take both seats, just in case.
The elementary school is only a few minutes away and since it isn’t the normal hours for pickup, I easily find a parking spot in the school lot. If I thought I felt out-of-place walking into Berg’s house, entering an elementary school to pick up a child is five times weirder. Especially since Chris and I went here. The office is at the entrance, where it’s always been, and I spot Louisa right away, hunched over a tiny table working on a colouring sheet.
“Joan?”
The secretary is younger than I’d imagined, dark brown hair pulled into a high pony as she blinks away from her monitor and notices me. She’s sporting a grey hoodie with the same pine tree emblem I remember.
“Hi? We spoke on the phone. I’m here to pick up Louisa.”
At the sound of her name, Lou’s head pops up, and a smile takes over her face, temporarily lighting her tired-looking eyes.
“Caro!”
“I need to see some photo ID.”
“I’m not going to be on the list,” I say, handing my licence over and preparing to call Berg again.
“Carolina Wolfe?”
“Yeah, that’s me.”
“Yep. You’re right here. Dad called a few minutes ago and added you to the approved pick up list. ”
Of course he did.
“Oh, okay. That makes things easier.”
“Get your things, Lou,” Joan says, twisting in her office chair to face her.
Louisa sticks close to my side as we walk toward my car.
“How come you’re picking me up? Where’s my dad? What happened to your hand?”
“Woah,” I laugh, taking her bag from her. “One question at a time.”
I open the back door and she climbs in.
“Do I need to buckle you?”
She gives me a look of disdain. “I’m not a baby, Caro.”
I hold up my hands in surrender. “Of course. You’re seven now."
As I back out of the parking spot and head back toward home, I address her questions.
“I’m picking you up because I’m awesome. Your dad is stuck at work. And I accidentally cut my hand on some glass.”
“Ouch.”
I nod my agreement, accelerating as I leave the school zone.
“And how are you feeling?”
“My head is hot.”
“I bet. We’ll take it easy today, okay?”
Berg’s phone rings in my cup holder, which it’s done about half a dozen times in the last half hour. I’ve turned down the volume considerably. Apparently, working in construction means a lot of people have your number. I try not to think too hard about what notifications Berg is getting on my phone today. Period trackers? Reminders to meditate that I normally ignore? Probably texts that my telephone bill is overdue.
“Crap,” I say, recognizing the number. “I mean, darn.”
I’m not a big swearer, but I’ll need to do a better job censoring myself.
“Hello, Joan,” I sigh. “Natalie too?”
“Yep. Sorry.”
I glance behind me at Lou, who is drawing hearts on the slightly fogged up back windows.
I’m so relieved I brought both the car seats. For someone who keeps telling herself I can’t do this job, I’m feeling remarkably like a nanny.
***
“This doesn’t taste as good as hot chocolate,” Natalie says, eyeballing the steaming surface of her mug.
“It’s not supposed to. This is better for you guys if you aren’t feeling good. That last thing you need is a bunch of milk and sugar.”
I text Berg that I have both the girls and to not bother coming home from work early. He messages back about a dozen thank you’s. All the kids wanted when they came in was to curl up in their dad’s bed and watch television, which sounded like a great idea to me. I remember doing the same thing as a kid and being doted on by my mom .
“I think it’s yummy,” Lou says over the rim of her tea.
“Good. Drink up.”
It’s stuffy nose city at the MacMillan household. And with every minute that goes by, it’s hard to convince myself that I’m not sick too. We’ve been through an entire box of Kleenex and I’ve made us all mint teas with lemon and honey. Their fevers are low grade, but their eyes are glassy and they aren’t nearly as energetic as I’ve seen them.
“Will you watch this with us?”
“Sure,” I say, settling down cross-legged on the floor next to the bed.
“Not there.”
I glance around the room and there’s not a chair I can reposition to where I’ll have a good line of sight of the television. Lou’s little hand pats the comforter beside her.
“Daddy has the comfiest bed. Try it!”
I shake my head. “Oh, that’s okay. The floor is really fine, girls.”
Natalie lifts the covers between her and her sister invitingly. “Get in, it’s starting,” she whispers.
My throat aches, my neck is stiff and sore, and it’s impossible to ignore the fact that I have a cold, too. I don’t know if Lou passed this on to me when she was pressed up against me at her birthday party or if it’s something else entirely, but I’m not going to miss an opportunity to lie down. Pretty sure climbing into your landlord's bed is not professional, but neither was him letting himself into my apartment last night. Or taking my door off the hinges. I shrug, reassuring myself that he’s not even home. Everything hurts and those pillows look like clouds. It’s not like it’s nighttime or I’m naked or any of the things that make lying in a bed seem far more intimate than it is.
“Shove over.”
Despite having a good foot of mattress on either side of them, the girls both snuggle right up to me, and I give up on the idea of personal space. So, this is why parents have King-sized beds. I try to fight how comfortable this bed is, but I’m sinking into some type of luxurious pillow top and I can actually smell the light scent of feathers in the pillows and hints of Berg.
Louisa reaches for her cup and fumbles it, spilling half of the lukewarm liquid down the front of me.
“Sorry, Caro!”
“That’s okay, it’s only tea. I don’t think any got on the bed.”
I climb back out, patting myself off with a hand towel I find beneath the bathroom sink, but my shirt is soaked. The tea cooled immediately and my cotton t-shirt is damp and sticky from the honey.
“I’m gonna run downstairs and change–”
“No! Don’t go!” Louisa croaks.
“Oh, Lou. I’ll only be a minute. Right downstairs.”
Her pout turns into a quivering lip and the last thing any of us need is tears.
“Okay.” I hold a hand up. “I’ll stay.”
I peel off my top and leave it in the bathroom sink and approach Berg’s dresser. Deliberately skipping the top drawer, because I figure there’s a high chance of seeing his underwear if I look in that one. Believe me, I’ve already debated at length whether the man wears boxers or briefs and knowing for certain won’t help me one bit in getting those thoughts out of my mind. The second drawer down holds all manner of shirts, and I snag one at random, slipping it over my head before I can overthink it. There’s an unspoken rule that if someone’s sick kids spill things on you that the least they can do is owe you a t-shirt.
I’ve checked everyone’s temperatures so many times they’re rolling their eyes when they hear the thermometer beep. The curtains are drawn and being the filling in a little girl sandwich isn’t half bad, even if they are little germ carriers. Could I do this? Pick kids up from school, check their temperature when they’re under the weather, watch movies, and walk to the park? It beats bartending. Right now I’d be washing dishes and having a man triple my age ask me, ‘what’s a sweet thing like you doin’ in a place like this?’. I know Chris really cares about these little girls, he’s practically an uncle to them. This might be my opportunity to fix my mistakes.
“Hey, Caro?”
I shift my head towards Lou’s voice. “Mmm?” I ask, my eyes feeling droopy.
“Do you know how to make wedding chicken?” Her voice sounds raw and tired.
“Hmm? ”
I frown, having no clue what she’s talking about. Her eyes flicker shut before she can repeat her question. Poor thing. Her nose is already pink from all the tissues.
“Lou fell asleep? I don’t take naps anymore,” says Natalie, with an air of big kid superiority.
“Oh, ya? Even when you’re sick?”
She stifles a yawn. “Nope.”
I draw the duvet up to her chin and tuck her in the best I can with one of my arms stuck around Louisa.
“We’ll see about that. Let’s watch the movie.”
It’s not long after that both of them are conked right out, and I can’t really find a good reason to stay awake myself. So I fall asleep on Berg’s pillow, surrounded by his scent and the people he loves the most.