Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
AVERY
It’s silly to believe that a clock can detect true love, even if the guy who created it was supposedly a genius. And no one really agrees on what the tolling of the bell means anyway. Climax kids love to scare each other with Klaus Clijsters ghost stories, claiming that when the bell rings, he sees whatever naughty thing you’re up to. Mayor Diaz has pushed the true love legend, but most reasonable Climaxians recognize that story for what it truly is: a marketing angle.
It’s just a broken clock, and I should be thankful that its random clanging kept me from embarrassing myself. Even if I haven’t been able to stop thinking about that kiss since the moment I walked—or possibly ran—away from Josh.
Just because it was the hottest kiss I’ve ever experienced does not mean that he and I are meant to be together. He’s a widower who is probably still grieving, for fork’s sake. He has two children he needs to focus on. He probably wouldn’t be interested in anything other than a fling, and I can’t afford to get my heart broken all over again.
Apparently, I haven’t entirely convinced myself that I should ignore all signs pointing to Josh because the minute I get to work, I stick my head into Leia’s office and blurt, “Have you ever had the Climax Clock go off on you?”
I’m surprised when she instantly answers in the affirmative, but before I can ask for details, she snorts and adds, “But that relationship didn’t last, so the clock’s love legend is obviously a fairy tale.”
Before she can ask why I’m asking, I make an excuse and hightail it to my office. But the moment my seat hits my office chair, I find a hole in her logic. Travis and Leia may not have stayed married for long, but they will be connected forever by their twins. So maybe the clock does know when two people are fated to share their lives.
It just doesn’t say how.
Or maybe you have to do the work to make the fairy tale come true.
The next day, when Wanda buzzes me with a call from Josh Harmon, I take it. But instead of asking about children’s programming or addressing the kiss I can’t stop thinking about, he asks, “I don’t suppose CPR has any sudden openings in its day camp?”
There’s worry in his tone, and I immediately switch to problem solving mode. “We do, but Percy’s a little young. The cutoff is five.”
“I wasn’t asking for Percy. My daughter Mabel is six. Things have been so bad at the camp she’s been going to that they gave up and refunded my money.”
“Oh no. What happened?”
“It’s not Mabel, at least not in any bad way. I think it was just a poor fit. To me it sounded great. It’s just outside of town and they have all these outdoor activities like fishing and rock climbing. But for her, it was one disaster after another, from getting hives after being stung by a bee to getting a fish hook stuck in her thumb. All topped off by some mean girl drama.”
My heart squeezes in sympathy for the little girl. “Poor thing.”
“When I checked earlier in the summer, CPR’s camp was full. But you have openings now?”
“Our prices are much lower than the private camps, so we fill up fast. But at the end of August, there’s a big drop off when the summer people go back to Manhattan or Albany or wherever.” I click open our current camp roster. “You said Mabel is six?”
Clicking between the upcoming week’s staff list and the camper list tells me that it’ll be tight, but of course I can’t say no. “We lost some of our college-aged counselors, but I could take one little girl who sounds like she needs a positive camp experience.”
“The thing is, she’s just not outdoorsy. Or athletic, really.”
“Got it. She’ll be on the Leia track, then.” I create a record for Mabel and begin to copy and paste contact info from Percy’s.
“Leia as in the CPR director?”
“Yes, but it’s not like she’s a counselor or anything. Before kids start camp, they rank the activities by interest. For the most part, I find they divide themselves in two groups. I call them Leias and Travises. Leias are mostly indoors doing imaginative or learning activities; Travises are mostly outside playing sports. I say mostly because I make the Leias go outside for some fresh air and the Travises come inside for a break.”
“What do the Leias do?”
“I’m going to send you a questionnaire to fill out when we hang up, so you’ll see what’s offered, but it depends on the skill sets of the summer hires. Like, this year we have improv and puppetry; last year we had drumming. But there’s always art, crafting, library visits, puzzles, board games… things like that.”
“What do you teach?”
“Oh, I don’t teach. I’m the administrator.”
“But you teach Playgroup.”
“That’s just because it was my mom’s program, and I’d helped her out a lot over the years. So when we needed someone to take over, I was the best candidate. Even though I really have no business doing it.”
“Why? You’re great at it.”
“That’s kind of you to say, but I’m not a parent, nor did I study child development. I just have my mom’s notes. And I’ve done a lot of research since I took it on,” I add, to make sure he knows I’m not just winging it. And it was a gradual process, really. I went from assisting my mom with any heavy lifting, to subbing occasionally when she didn’t feel well, to taking over the class because she just didn’t have it in her anymore.
“I’m sorry to hear about your mom. Is she…” He lets the question hang in the air, but there’s an empathetic wince in his tone.
“She’s still with us, just not her old self.” That’s as much information as I usually share. My mom’s pretty private about her diagnosis. But something makes me add, “She has chronic COVID.”
If I hadn’t been living with them, I doubt they would’ve figured out that it wasn’t just menopause slowing my mom down. If I didn’t have such a flexible schedule, where I could drive my mom to Hudson, and then Albany as we tried to figure out what was causing her extreme fatigue and depression, it would’ve been even harder to get the diagnosis, or what passes for one since there’s no real test. At least she’s eligible for disability, but it doesn’t make living with the condition any less tricky.
“I’m sorry to hear that. I knew several people with it back in the city. It’s a tough thing to live with.”
“It is,” I agree, thinking how, even now, it’s hard to tell if her anxiety is a result of long-haul COVID or the fact that she can’t do all the things she used to. “My dad lives with chronic pain, so there were times I’d come home from work to find them both still in bed.”
“So you live with your parents too?”
“I do. They need the help and I’m the only one of my siblings left in town.” His wording takes a moment to hit home. “Are you saying that you live with your parents?” He’s so accomplished and put together, it’s hard to imagine him moving back home.
“For me, it’s because I need the help. I couldn’t have gone back to work full time without them.” He clears his throat. “So your camp. It sounds perfect for Mabel. When can she start?”
I spend the rest of the week and the entire weekend berating myself for the pickle I’ve gotten myself into. I may have successfully fixed his daughter’s day camp problem, but neither he nor I managed to bring up his plans for CPR programming. Not to mention that possibly fateful kiss. Considering the number of times I replayed the encounter over the weekend, I doubt I’ll ever be able to talk to him about anything in person without wanting to kiss him again, as unprofessional as that is.
What can I say? The bell made me do it?
Monday morning, I’m trying this argument on for size when my office phone rings. It takes me a moment to shake off the lust haze enough to answer. “This is Avery.”
“Ms. Mills?”
Nobody calls me Ms. Mills. Even the kids call me Miss Avery. And I don’t recognize the older male voice. “This is she.”
“I’m so sorry to bother you. This is Bert Harmon. Josh's dad?”
“Oh, hello. How are you?”
“Well, I’ve been better. Again, I’m so sorry to call you like this but we don’t know many people in town yet and we’ve got a small problem.”
“No worries. How can I help?”
“Well, Frieda—that’s my wife—has broken her ankle.”
“Oh my goodness. Is she okay?”
“She’ll survive.” Something crashes in the background. “Percy’s with us at Urgent Care, and you can imagine how that’s going.”
As if on cue, I hear a familiar squeaky voice shout out, “Pussy!”
“Yep, that’s you buddy,” Mr. Harmon says. “So, the other part of the problem is, Josh is in New York for the day, and I haven’t been able to get him on the phone. Even if I do, it’s at least a couple hours on the train to get back here.”
“Do you want me to come get Percy?”
“I know you’re probably at work and it’s an imposition but?—”
“It’s no problem. I’m just doing paperwork. I can swing by and pick him up and he can hang out here for the rest of the afternoon. You probably know that Mabel started camp here last week.”
“It actually might be more than just the afternoon.” As he talks, I shut down my computer and scrawl a Be Back Soon note, which I pin to my door. “The break is bad enough that the doctor here thinks she needs surgery, which means we’ve got to drive to the hospital in Albany.”
“Oh, dear. That sounds awful.” Grabbing my keys and my bag, I pull my office door shut and head for my car.
“They gave her something for the pain and the ankle is stabilized but she’s pretty uncomfortable.”
“I’ll be there in ten minutes. You just take care of Mrs. Harmon.”
Twenty minutes later, Mr. Harmon and I have moved the car seats from his car to mine and I’ve got Percy buckled in with one of those cheap little toys they hand out at doctors’ offices, a squishy ball already covered in drool. “Looks like somebody’s teething.”
“He is. There are some little drops in the side pocket if he gets fussy.” Mr. Harmon sets a large diaper bag on the front seat. “I hope I’ll be back before dinner, but just in case, keys to the house and the address are also in there.”
“Keep me posted, but don’t worry. I can stay until Josh gets back.”
“I finally got ahold of him, and he said he’d catch the next train, so hopefully it won’t be too long.”
Back at the rec center, Percy plays while I work on my laptop, happy to have all the toys to himself. Near the end of the day, I get a text from Mr. Harmon letting me know that they made it to the hospital but are still waiting for the surgery. I tell him not to worry, and after checking in with my parents and letting them know that I’m babysitting for a friend, I tell Percy we’re going to play with the big kids and go in search of Travis. As expected, I find him inside the humid, funky-smelling gym, watching the twelve-year-old campers do some sort of basketball drill.
“Hey, Travis. Can I get you to watch this little guy for a few minutes?”
Before I can explain who he is, Travis opens his arms wide. “Pussy, my man!”
Percy wiggles and leans toward Travis, so I hand him over.
“High five, Pussy!” Percy’s tiny hand is dwarfed by Travis’s, but he smacks it with all his might. “Good one.”
“I’ll be back in fifteen,” I promise.
“No worries,” Travis says before blowing his whistle. “Pussy can help me put the balls away.”
Checking my watch and running through the camper schedule in my head, I hustle to the art room, where Daisy has the six-year olds for the final period of the day. Thankful that I checked in on Mabel enough during her first week at camp that she’ll know who I am, I pop my head in Daisy’s room. “Can I borrow Mabel for the rest of the afternoon?”
Daisy shoots me an Everything okay? look, which I return with a reassuring nod.
“We’ll be working with the stamps again tomorrow, Mabel,” Daisy says. “So you can finish then.”
“I’m already finished, Miss Daisy.” Mabel hands over a piece of paper covered with colorful splotches.
While Daisy hangs up her artwork to dry, Mabel meets me at the door. “Do you need me to help with the snacks again, Miss Avery?”
As I usher her out, careful to avoid touching her since I’d noticed her flinching away from a counselor’s reach on her first day, she says, “Oh, but it’s not snack time.”
“You’re right, it’s almost pickup time,” I say as I lead her down the hall toward my office.
“Am I in trouble?”
Her tone is more curious than worried, like she’s working her way through all the possibilities in her head.
“Not that I know of. Did you do something naughty?”
I glance over and have to stifle a laugh as I watch her seriously consider the question. “Not today.”
Opening my office door, I gesture for her to enter. “You can tell me about that later, if you’d like, but right now, I need to tell you about a change in plans for your family.” Sitting in the guest chair by my desk so that I’m eye level with her, I say, “Your grandma had an accident this afternoon.”
She blinks rapidly for a few moments before asking, “Is she dead?”
“No, no, honey. She’s fine. She’s going to be fine.” It takes everything I’ve got to keep myself from wrapping her in a hug. What must it be like to have experienced the death of a parent at her age? To be constantly worried that other people in your life will die too? “She fell and hurt her ankle, and your grandpa called me to pick up Percy and I’m going to hang out with both of you until your dad gets back from New York.”
She nods, like she’s tucking this information away for safekeeping. When she asks where Percy is, I take her to the gym. She declines to enter, declaring that it’s too stinky. After I collect her brother and bundle both kids into my car, I get her talking about camp during the drive home.
After Mabel punches in the lock code, the children give me a quick tour of the house. We start upstairs, where Mabel shows me her tidy room, proudly showing off all the books she can read as well as her many art supplies and projects. Percy takes me by the hand and pulls me to his room, where he introduces me to his favorite stuffed animals and trucks. I’m doing my best not to wonder where Josh sleeps, when Percy declares that he’s “hungy.”
Back downstairs, Mabel tells me what they like to eat. The kitchen is bright and homey and well organized, with kid art stuck to cabinets, a bowl of fruit on the island, and a perfect little breakfast nook overlooking the backyard. I get Percy set up in his high chair with a banana while I put together a quick dinner from what’s in the fridge.
After I get the beans warming and the quesadillas browning, I glance over at Percy, who’s managing to get about half of the banana into his mouth, while he uses the other half to make patterns on his tray.
“Nana boo-boo.”
I’ve gotten pretty good at Percy-speak over the past few weeks, so I get that he means his grandmother had an accident. “She did.”
“Owie.”
“She does have an owie. But the doctor will make it better.”
“Wheh dada?” Percy asks, looking around suddenly.
“He’s on the way.” He doesn’t seem upset, but just in case, I divert his attention. “Do you want milk or water to drink?”
“Mik,” Percy says.
“I’ll get it,” Mabel says, jumping down from the table where she’s been quietly coloring.
“Thanks for being so helpful, Mabel. I’d be lost without you.”
“I know.” Mabel pulls a sippy cup from a drawer and carefully fills it and a small cup with milk. “But you have to feed the cat. The food is too stinky for me.”
After I cut up the quesadillas into wedges and serve them with chunks of avocado on top, Mabel tells me where the cat food is.
I look around the kitchen. “But where’s the cat?”
“She’ll come when she hears you. She’s shy.”
As I open the can, Mabel pinches her fingers over her nose. “Yuck!”
“It is kind of stinky.” The moment I set the dish on the counter, a tiny black cat appears out of nowhere. “Aww. She’s adorable.”
After I join the kids at the table, I ask, “What’s her name?”
“Jenny Linksy.”
“Like in Jenny and the Cat Club ?”
Mabel nods enthusiastically. “They’re my favorite books.”
“They were mine too.”
Her brows come together like I’ve disappointed her. “Not anymore?”
“Well, I’m not sure. I’ve read a lot of books since I was your age.”
Her lips twist to the side for a moment, but then she says, “Fair.”
As Mabel and I clear the table, both the cat and Percy get the zoomies, running in circles around the adjoining great room. I follow Mabel’s instructions for bathtime and the rest of their evening routines, managing to get Percy down just as he starts to get fussy. When Mabel and I snuggle in bed to read together, the cat crawls onto my lap. I scratch under her chin, and she purrs loudly.
“Jenny Linsky is afraid of most people,” Mabel says. “But she likes you.”
“Maybe because I like her.”
We take turns reading a couple of the Esther Averil classics featuring the little black cat adopted by a sea captain. Mabel’s reading ability seems to be pretty advanced for her age. Either that, or she has the books completely memorized. As I climb out of the bed and turn off the lamp, the moment feels bittersweet. I always tell myself that I’m happy to hand off the kids I work with to their parents at the end of the day, but if I’m honest with myself, I’d love to have this every night with children of my own.
If that were possible.
Pushing those thoughts to the side, I tuck the covers under Mabel’s chin. “Thanks again for your help today. You’re a very good big sister.”
“I know,” she says on a sigh so heavy it’s almost comical. “Do you have any brothers?”
I’ve babysat enough that I recognize a question meant to put off bedtime, but I answer anyway, telling her that I have an older brother and sister, that I’m the baby of the family.
“So I’m kind of, like, older than you,” she says.
Grinning at her logic, I turn toward the bedroom door just as a tall, dark figure steps through it. I open my mouth to scream but Mabel beats me to it.