8. Chapter 8
Chapter eight
Charles
The kiss caught me completely off-guard. As did the hug. It wasn’t romantic — just a quick peck on the check and an enthusiastic squeeze, similar to the kind of embrace I might get from Cece, or a sister if I had one.
It is over before I can even put my arms around her. My body, sensitized from the dream, is fully awake and aware, and I can’t stop the galant reflex. The brief contact told me that she was lightly muscled, like a dancer or runner. She smelled like coconut and lemon.
But now she is backing up from me, one hand lifted to cover her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . it’s just . . . this is glorious! It reminds me of the one time I saw the ocean, or the time we drove through Arkansas and saw the Arkansas Grand Canyon. I hope you don’t think . . .”
She is blushing and looks scared. I have to fix this and fast! “It’s quite alright,” I say, wishing I’d worn a jacket or robe. “I wish I’d had a camera. The look of on your face paid me back for all the expense of planning the place, the extra reinforcement to make it possible to have the weight of all those beds up here at the top of the building.”
“Oh, that’s a relief,” she says, her cheeks still rosy with an embarrassed blush. “I thought I’d for sure I’d messed up my chance to work in this garden.”
“Not in any way,” I assure her. But you sure do have my attention. And I should be ashamed of myself. Em’s ashes are scarcely cold, and here I am, latching after you like some slum scumbag. “ I take it as a supreme compliment. I wish all my work would get that kind of response. You enjoy gardening?”
“I love it!” she says. “I plan to do my graduate thesis on the benefits of plants and pets for children.”
I’m surprised. “You are in graduate school?”
She wrinkles her nose. It is the most adorable expression I’d ever seen on a grown woman, let alone on James’ bratty sister. “Not yet. I’m just thinking ahead. It’s taken me a little while to get this close to completing my undergraduate studies. I took some time out to work and save money instead of getting student loans. And I’ve worked part-time while going to school.”
I mentally revise my estimation of her age. I can always look at her contract to find out for sure.
“Daddy? Miss Kate? What are you doing out here in the garden?” I turn around to see Cece standing in the doorway.
“I’m showing Miss Bailey around before I start work,” I say. “Would you like to help me?”
“Sure,” Cece replies. “But I’d like some breakfast. Where’s Manuela?”
“Manuela called. Someone in her building is sick, so she can’t come to work today,” I explain.
Cece’s face clouds over with worry. “Is Manuela going to get sick and go to heaven like Mommy?”
I don’t know what to say. Sometimes Cece is way too smart for her own good .
Miss Bailey comes to the rescue. “Manuela isn’t sick. One of her neighbors is, and all the people in her building have to stay home just in case someone else gets sick. That way, the doctors can be sure they won’t make anyone else sick.”
“Oh.” Cece thinks that over for a minute. “Can I call and talk to her?”
“I bet you can,” Miss Bailey says. “Your daddy probably has her number. I bet Manuela is bored and lonesome, and would like to hear from you.”
Right then, I wish I could return the hug and kiss. It is the perfect thing to say to Cece. My baby girl lights up like a hundred-watt LED bulb. “Can we call her right after breakfast?”
Miss Bailey laughs. “Ask your daddy.”
“Of course we can,” I say. “We’ll get you started on breakfast. I can finish showing Miss Bailey around . . .”
“Who’s Miss Bailey?” Cece asks.
“That’s me,” Kate says. “But you can call me Miss Kate, just like you do at school.”
“Ok,” Cece says. “I’m really hungry. Can I have cereal? And grapefruit juice?”
While Miss Bailey helps Cece with her breakfast, I nip into the office and set up an amended contract for my new household manager. I also go down to my bedroom and change into jeans — a less revealing cover for my unruly member.
By the time I return to the kitchen, Cece is finished eating, and it looks as if Kate has polished off her two cold waffles and her coffee.
She has also found the cat food, and the resident nihilist who had stunk up my favorite pair of slacks is face down in a cat dish crunching away.
“I see you’ve met Mr. Fluffy,” I say .
“I have,” Kate says. “And he sure is fluffy. Where was he last night?”
“He sleeps with me,” Cece says. “He got me up ’cause he hadn’t had breakfast, either. Gidget probably hasn’t had her breakfast. Can we go feed her?”
I groan dramatically, hoping to make it funny for Cece. “I forgot the dog. How could I forget the dog? She’s probably starved to death by now.”
Cece giggles. “No, she won’t. She’s got her dog feeder. But she’s probably lonesome and would like her special food.”
“Special food?” I ask, realizing that my daughter might know more about the household than I do.
Cece nods. “Manuela orders it with the groceries and keeps it in the refrigerator. Gidget gets one slice in the morning and one at night.”
Miss Bailey again proves her worth by opening the refrigerator and rummaging until she comes up with something that looks like a roll of hamburger. With Cece directing, she cuts off a slice, re-wraps the remainder of the roll, and puts it back into the refrigerator.
Cece then leads the way out the kitchen entrance to the garden and over to Gidget’s spacious dog kennel. Mr. Fluffy trails along behind us, sniffing the air as if he is hoping for a bite of the dog food.
Kate looks at the cat. “Does Mr. Fluffy have special food, too?”
“Uh-huh,” Cece says. “It was beside the dog food.”
“We’ll feed him when we get back,” Miss Bailey decides. “He’s had cat crunchies this morning, so he can wait a little while.”
Gidget’s spacious run is to the right of the kitchen door. Her heated dog house backs up to the wall where it can be plugged in, and her food dispenser is next to it. I had a custom app on my phone that lets me check on her, but I don’t make it out here often. I’m ashamed to say that I hadn’t even looked at the app since waking up.
Cece runs to the gate. Gidget jumps against the chain links, making the whole structure rattle. She drops back down and runs around the enclosure in circles, emitting high-pitched puppy yaps of excitement.
Kate hands the dish of food to Cece. She then crouches down by the gate, carefully reaches up, undoes the latch, and opens it. Instantly, she has an armload of excited, wiggling puppy. Gidget wags her tail and laps at Kate’s face in a frenzied ecstasy of greeting.
I am embarrassed to notice that Gidget’s run is badly in need of cleaning. Had the dog walker come yesterday at all?
“Does she have a lead?” Miss Bailey asks. “We need to take her out of here until I can clean this up.”
“On the hook over there,” Cece says. “Mommy and I used to walk her around the garden.”
I wait for a renewed freshet of tears, but they don’t come. Cece is occupied with her puppy.
“Put the dish down over there,” Miss Bailey says. “We’ll put her on the lead to have her breakfast. Then, Mr. Emory, I’m afraid I’ll need your help for a little while.”
“Who’s Mr. Emory?” Cece asks.
I laugh. “That’s me, Punkin.”
“Oh,” she observes, without further comment.
After Gidget inhales her food, Miss Bailey directs me to walk the excited little beast around the garden. Cece skips along beside me, pointing out the flowers that are blooming and the new lettuce that is coming up.
By the time we return, Miss Bailey is mopping the kennel. Somewhere she had found a rake, flat-bladed shovel, and trash bags. The mess is neatly bagged and tied closed.
She turns to me with a grim look. “I don’t know who was supposed to be responsible for taking care of the dog, but this is a disgrace. It hasn’t been cleaned for several days.”
“The dog walker is supposed to clean the kennel,” I say. “Manuela usually checks on him. I think we’ve all been a little distracted.”
Kate sighs and relents. “I suppose so. At least the automatic feeder and waterer made sure she had the basics.”
Cece tugs on her sleeve. “Can I show you my garden, Miss Kate? It isn’t ready yet. Mommy was going to help me order seeds, and I was going to learn to grow my own vegetables.”
I trail along behind Cece and Miss Bailey, feeling about two inches high. I should have been seeing about things like this. She is right. That kennel was a disgrace. And I didn’t even know that Cece hoped to have a garden. Guilt gnaws at me. I’d been thinking about myself and letting things go.
Cece’s garden turns out to be six metal raised bed containers. Five of them have earth in them, and the sixth has a layer of kitchen waste in the bottom.
“I didn’t mean to make extra work for you, Miss Bailey,” I say. “With your classes, and everything…”
She turns and gives me a brilliant smile. “This will be no trouble at all. Cece and I can have fun with this. We can put a table out here when the weather is warmer, and we can do our work together, can’t we, Cece?”
“We sure can!” Cece exclaims.
We take another lap around the gardens, admiring the spring flowers, salad vegetables sprouting in protected beds, and leaves growing on young trees that are set in containers.
It is nearly lunchtime when we go back inside. Kate rummages in the refrigerator and finds the fixings for sandwiches and salad.
When we had finished eating, she says, “You know, I think Cece and I both need to talk with Manuela. I have a feeling that she can tell me a lot more about what needs to be done. This is a large, complex setup. I’m surprised you don’t have more staff.”
“We usually do,” I say. “During the summer months, there’s a gardener, and Em would hire people to do the extra cleaning. We usually send our laundry out, but there is a washer and dryer off the kitchen bathroom, but I don’t know if I should wash my slacks.”
Miss Bailey bites at her lower lip and scrunches up her forehead in thought. I can almost hear her adding and subtracting chores, creating a mental checklist.
“You,” she says, “are the CEO of a big company, and I think you’ve been just a little bit distracted. Do you think you could pay Manuela to do a little bit of coaching? Just so I know where things are, and what’s available.”
“I gave her paid time off since it isn’t her fault she’s missing work, so I don’t think she’ll mind,” I say. “She might even be glad of the distraction. I’ll give her a call and set it up.”
“Come on, Cece,” Miss Bailey says. “It’s time for your nap.”
“Will you read me a story?” my darling manipulator asks. “Daddy reads me stories and sings songs.”
“One story, or one chapter in a long book,” Miss Bailey says, firmly. “If you lie down with your eyes closed for thirty minutes after the story is finished, we can start planning your garden. Do you want a drink and the bathroom before we start?”
To my amazement, Cece says, “Ok, Miss Kate.”
I blink with astonishment. So that’s what professional childcare looks like! I go to my office to make phone calls, beginning with one to Manuela. I sincerely hope she and everyone in her family are well.