Vicki’s visibly bristled. In an overly patronizing tone, she said, “It would only be four hours per week. And I’m sure with your part time workload, that time requirement shouldn’t be too hard, right?”
I stiffened, biting back my retort. I was used to this kind of judgment from men. But from a woman it immediately felt personal. Weren’t we all supposed to have each other’s backs? Giving her placating smile, I plucked a napkin from the Daisy’s bag and wiped my hands, giving me a moment to think. Dropping my call requirement this fall was a win, but taking on a medical directorship of a school district? I had no idea what kind of commitment that really took. But, I needed health insurance. Eighteen thousand dollars a year would put a large dent in Max’s therapy bills. I didn’t have the luxury of turning down any extra income.
Hiding any discomfort, I stood and extended my hand to Vicki.
“Please send me the contract and put any meetings on my schedule. I’ll be in touch.”
* * *
I was about a mile from the country house, when I saw something up ahead.
Someone was walking on the road. A narrow, Tennessee county road, with twists and turns and densely lined trees. Meaning, this was not a road that lent itself to walking.
I turned down my audiobook and made out a small figure—or maybe, was it a kid? Who’d let their kid walk on a road like this? I got closer, squinting . . .
Panic flooded me as recognition hit.
Because the young kid who was walking determinedly toward me, little hands fisted on her backpack straps, blonde hair high up in a ponytail, wearing the same sequined rainbow shirt I’d set out for her this morning, wasmy kid.
Sucking in a breath, I pulled over and hopped out of the car, sprinting toward her. “Ryla!” I shouted coming to a stop in front of my almost six-year-old. “What in the world are you doing?”
“Running AWAY!” she yelled, continuing to walk at her steady pace, little face furious.
I grabbed my phone with a sweat-soaked palm. No missed calls. Did Clarice, our nanny of one day, even know Ryla was gone? We were a good three-quarters of a mile from the house. Granted, Ryla appeared significantly more prepared than her last runaway attempt in February, where she’d left the house in the middle of winter dressed in a t-shirt, leggings, and Crocs with her favorite stuffed animal goat under her arm. This time, she was significantly better prepared, wearing socks and tennis shoes as well as a backpack complete with her flamingo thermos tucked in the side pocket. If I hadn’t been so blinded by rage, I might’ve actually been proud.
Because how far would Ryla have gotten if I hadn’t found her? I mean, these were the rural woods of Tennessee. Mountain territory. She could have been hit by a car, eaten by a bear, or have gottenfucking kidnapped.
“Ryla.” My tone was firm, but I dug deep to remain calm. Ryla wasn’t one to be wrangled easily. Even though I wanted to simultaneously hug her tight and scream at her for putting herself in such danger, I had to get her off the road without her bolting.
“Ryla, please stop.” I crouched down to her level before she passed me. Surprisingly, I was able to stop her easily; she came to a halt as soon as my hand came in contact with her arm. “What are you doing?”
“I’m gonna go live with Giselle!” she cried, eyes welling with tears. And like every other time she’s said this during the last seven months, telling me flat-out that she’d rather be with our former au pair than with me, my heart broke a tiny bit more.
“I promise we can talk about that. Right now, we’re on the side of a road. It’s not safe.”
I waited fifteen seconds. Ryla didn’t fold, not giving an inch.
“Does Clarice know you left?” That only earned me a scowl.
After another long moment of silence, I’d had enough. Angry, tired, and hot, I resorted to a low-down parenting trick. A lazy one, but incredibly effective.
“I have Daisy’s donuts in the car. If you come with me right now, I’ll let you have the chocolate one with sprinkles.”
Like everyone else with a soul, Ryla was a sucker for chocolate. As a rule, I didn’t trust anyone who didn’t like chocolate. It seemed unnatural.
“Fi-nah,” Ryla whined, overly enunciating the wordfineand stomping to the car. As I began to help her up into her booster seat, she whipped her head to me, eyes flashing with impressive vitriol. I held my hands up, letting her do it by herself.
Biting my tongue, I closed her door and got into the driver’s seat; the relief that she was safely in the car warred with the intense anger that she’d been on the road in the first place.
She was sullen in her booster seat on the short trip to the house, arms crossed, stonily looking out the window. I had to give her time. She had big emotions. After a blowup, she would eventually apologize, usually with a dramatic flair. I knew that my daughter seemed, to most everyone else, like a spoiled brat. I’d already heard this enough from my ex-husband and even my father, on the few occasions he’d spent any time with her. Never mind that in between blowups, she was a smart, funny, and charismatic delight. Never mind that she was still five for another week and it was my job to help her process her big emotions rather than belittle and yell at her for having them.
Just over a minute later, I parked in the three-car garage, anxious to find Clarice and figure out what the hell was going on. I knew my mother’s intuition was tingling this morning for a reason.
“Hello? Clarice? Max?” I shouted as Ryla and I walked through the garage entrance, which was situated in the west wing of the house. I didn’t realize that other families didn’t have things like “wings” in their homes until eight-year-old Leah discovered our house had a west wing and a library and literally spent the entire day searching our home for a talking candlestick, mantel clock, and teapot.
I walked down the hallway, past the small laundry room and library, to the middle of the house, which opened into a large kitchen overlooking the backyard.
“Max?” I called out, dropping my purse on the island countertop, then past the kitchen table and looked through the sliding glass patio doors, seeing the stone patio and pool beyond.
