Chapter 3
Cally
I gaze out the half-open passenger seat window, my eyes wide. I thought the coastline around Boston was beautiful, but this is scenery on steroids. Snowcapped mountains. Lush green fields. High-definition blue sky. Vast swathes of pine trees that make the whole place smell like air freshener.
I had mixed feelings about this new chapter in my life when I flew out of Logan with just a heavy backpack for my year away from home – because having zero choice is never a good starting point.
But with every hour that passed, fidgeting in an American Airlines middle seat, I became more excited about my new adventure.
And now – with this incredible tableau – I’m even starting to feel a bit optimistic about how things have turned out.
I uncoil my spine and lean back against the seat cushion.
Finally, I’ve had some luck. And jeez, it’s been a long time coming.
I didn’t make it into an Ivy League university like my brother Luke did.
And I got my grandma’s creative brain rather than either of my parents’ scientific ones, halving my earning potential in one DNA irregularity.
And then I make one stupid mistake, and suddenly I’m exiled from my own city.
But none of that matters now. Because not only have I found a way to solve my own problem, I am deep diving into the crazy, wild world of tradwife influencers.
And not just any influencer, but Madison March, the absolute queen.
I’m not buying the lifestyle she’s selling, all that saying grace before dinner and kowtowing to your husband.
But wow, that house. Those cute kids. The amazing food she makes from scratch.
And she’s got to be one of the most beautiful women on the planet.
When I started tutoring sixth- and seventh-grade children in my neighborhood back home, it was just a way to earn some pocket money while I decided what to do with my life.
But after some false starts on the career front – marketing wasn’t for me, and apparently, I wasn’t right for human resources – suddenly my two years’ tutoring was my only solid employment history.
Then one day, the tutoring agency said they had an interesting opportunity to run past me.
I had nothing else on the horizon, so I agreed to an interview.
And by the time that came around, I would have taken any job that took me out of state.
‘So I hear you’re the new tutor.’
I turn and stare at Bill, the driver. I have watched enough Westerns in my twenty-four years to know that cowboys wear Stetsons and plaid shirts in the movies. I just hadn’t realized they dressed that way in real life too. ‘That’s right.’
‘They’re livewires those kids,’ he warns, his Montana accent like a slow smile. ‘I imagine you’ll have your work cut out for you there, Cally. Getting them to sit still for more than five minutes.’
I look at Bill with renewed interest. His description of the children is news – they always seem super well-behaved on Madison’s reels, and I thought children and animals were the two things you couldn’t stage-manage – but it’s more that Bill knows them well enough to make the comment.
‘It sounds like you spend plenty of time with the Marches then?’
‘I’m there most days, yeah. Depending on Mrs. March’s schedule.’
‘Oh, right.’ Of course a woman with four children, ten million Instagram followers, and a husband who’s never changed a diaper has a schedule.
Madison must spend a ton of hours editing her reels to make her life look perfect.
But I guess I assumed the rest of her day would be spent getting through the mush of raising kids and keeping home.
I look back at Bill. ‘So what’s it like then, her schedule? ’
Bill taps the steering wheel. He’s quiet for a moment, a frown forming on his face. ‘I take it you’ve signed the legal stuff?’ he finally says.
‘What legal stuff?’
Her tilts his head, then shakes it. ‘Ain’t no way the Marches employed a new tutor without getting you to sign a confidentiality agreement.’
I dredge up a memory of the offer letter that arrived in the mail a few weeks ago, a large envelope stuffed with papers I skimmed rather than read.
My interview had been via a Zoom call with Madison in mid-July.
It wasn’t easy. I had to pretend I shared her views on how children should be educated – and decide if I had any red lines on the issue (which, once my bonus had been explained, it turned out I didn’t).
The conversation had then widened to questions I found easier to lie about.
The only sticking point came when I let slip that I was vegetarian, but it clearly wasn’t too much of a problem, because a couple of hours later the tutoring agency phoned to say I’d got the job.
And a week after that, the paperwork arrived.
Once I’d seen my pay confirmed in black and white – my living costs covered plus a fifty-dollar weekly allowance, and then a fifty-thousand-dollar bonus if I completed one full school year – I realized someone up there was soundly coming to my rescue, and nothing was going to stop me taking the job.
So I signed the rest of the forms without paying much attention to the detail.
‘I guess maybe I did,’ I admit, shrugging, trying to hide how dumb I feel.
‘Listen, we all sign it,’ Bill says, the warm voice back. ‘It’s for our benefit as well as theirs, just so everyone knows what’s what.’
‘All?’ So Bill and I aren’t the only ones on the payroll?
Madison never mentions having staff on her social media posts, and she always gives the impression that she does the domestic stuff herself.
Originally, I thought that she homeschooled her children, but I’m not an avid follower, so I wasn’t too surprised when I discovered I’d got that wrong.
But now Bill’s talking like there’s a whole team behind her.
My surprise must show on my face too, because Bill cackles with laughter and shakes his head.
‘I think you’re going to learn a few things about the Marches, Miss Cally.
’ Then he turns up the volume on the car stereo and starts swaying in time with the music, a vaguely familiar country and western song.
I stare out the windshield and try to swallow my embarrassment.
Of course Madison has an entourage. My parents only had two children, and Mom still talks about how hard it was when we were little, how going out to work felt like a rest – and she’s an emergency doctor.
Madison has got double the number of kids, and enough money to hire all the help she needs.
And if she wants to pretend that she does everything herself for gullible followers to lap up, then who am I to judge? I’ve made a fair number of morally questionable decisions in my time too.
Suddenly the truck screeches to a halt and I’m flung forward, the seatbelt cutting into my shoulder. My head ricochets back up to the sight of a huge black cow staring at me through the
windshield nostrils flaring. I sense Bill reach forward, then watch him pull a pistol from under the dash. Jeez, the ease with which he handles that thing. Then my shock morphs into a hot, sick feeling as I realize he’s going to shoot the cow. My eyes bulge as he maneuvers the gun out the window.
But instead he cocks his arm and aims at the sky. As he pulls the trigger, a deep boom rips through my eardrums. The cow tilts, then flees.
And Bill carries on driving as though nothing has happened.