She patted London on the back. “London, sweetheart? Would you like to try one of the cookies we made yesterday? They’re in the cookie jar by the toaster.”
“I know where they are,” London said. My daughter practically skipped to the kitchen, as if the sugary cereal hadn’t been enough.
“I really appreciate you helping me out with London,” I said.
“Well, see, that’s the thing.”
“What’s the thing?”
“I have a lunch today with the Red Hat Society.” She pointed to her hat, which sat on the table next door; it was the color of clown lipstick and adorned with feathers that I guessed had been plucked from peacocks.
“But I told you that I had meetings all week.”
“I remember. But you only asked if I could watch London on Monday.”
“I just assumed you knew that’s what I meant. And London loves spending time with you.”
She put a hand on my arm. “Now, Russ… You know how much I love her, too, but I can’t watch London every day until she starts school,” she said. “Like you, I have things to do.”
“It’s just temporary,” I protested. “By next week, I’m hoping you won’t have to.”
“Tomorrow, I won’t be here. My gardening club is hosting a tulip and daffodil workshop, and they have some exotic bulbs we can buy. I’m hoping to surprise your father next spring. You know he’s never had great luck with tulips. And I volunteer on Thursdays and Fridays.”
“Oh,” I said, my head suddenly spinning. I heard my mom let out a sigh.
“As for today, though, and since London is already here… what time will you be finished with your meeting?”
“A quarter to twelve, maybe?”
“My lunch is at noon, so why don’t you plan on coming to the restaurant to pick her up. London can sit with me and my friends until you get there.”
“That would great,” I said, feeling a surge of relief. “Where is it?”
She mentioned a place that I happened to know, though I’d never been there before.
“What time is your meeting again?”
The meeting. Oh crap.
“I’ve got to go, Mom. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.”
“Seriously?” Marge asked. “You’re upset with Mom because she happens to have her own life?”
I was zipping along the highway, talking through my Bluetooth. “Weren’t you listening? I have meetings all week. What am I going to do?”
“Hello? Day care? Hire a babysitter for a couple of hours? Ask one of the neighbors? Set up a playdate, and then ditch the kid?”
“I haven’t had a spare minute to explore anything like that.”
“You have time to talk to me right now.”
Because I’m hoping you’ll watch London tomorrow for a couple of hours tomorrow.
“Vivian and I talked about it. London’s already having a hard enough time with Vivian going off to work.”
“Is she?”
Aside from an apparent dislike of dance class, not that I’ve noticed. But…
“Anyway, I called because I was hoping that—”
“Don’t even go there,” Marge warned, cutting me off.
“Go where?”
“You’re going to ask me if I can watch London tomorrow, since Mom closed that door. Or Thursday or Friday. Or all three.”
Like I said, Marge is wise. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
I could practically hear my sister rolling her eyes. “Don’t play dumb and don’t bother denying it, either. Why else would you be calling? Do you know how many times in the past five years you’ve called me at work?”
“Not offhand,” I admitted.
“Zero.”
“That’s not true.”
“You’re right. I’m lying to you. You call me every day. We chat and giggle like middle-school girls for hours while I’m doodling. Hold on for a second.”
I heard my sister cough, the sound deep and harsh. “You okay?” I asked.
“I think I picked up a virus.”
“In the summer?”
“I had to bring Dad to the doctor yesterday and the waiting room was filled with sickness and disease. It’s a wonder I didn’t leave on a stretcher.”
“How’s Dad?”
“It’ll take a few days for the labs to come in, but the stress test and EKG showed his heart was fine. Lungs, too. The doctor seemed pretty amazed, despite how surly Dad was.”
“Sounds like him,” I agreed. My mind circled back to London again. “What am I supposed to do with London if I can’t find anyone to watch her?”
“You’re smart. You’ll figure it out.”
“You’re such a supportive and helpful sister.”
“I try.”
The meeting with the owners of the sandwich shop went about as well as the one with the chiropractor the day before. Not because they weren’t interested. The owners, a married couple from Greece, knew that advertising would help their business; the problem was that they were barely earning enough to keep the doors open and still cover their expenses. They told me to come back in a few months, when they had a better handle on things, and offered me a sandwich as I was getting ready to leave.
“It’s delicious,” the husband said. “All our sandwiches are served in fresh pita bread that we make here.”
“It’s my grandmother’s recipe,” the wife added.
I had to admit that the bread smelled heaven-sent, and I could see the great care the husband took when making the sandwich. The wife asked if I wanted some chips and something to drink—why not?—and they handed me my lunch, both of them wearing smiles.
After that, they presented me with the bill.
I made it to the lunch gathering of the Red Hat Society at a quarter past twelve. Despite the inconvenience I’d no doubt caused my mom, I had the sense that my mom was proud to show off her granddaughter, who was something of a novelty in that group.
“Daddy!” London called out as soon as she saw me. She scooted off her chair and ran toward me. “They said I could come back to one of their lunches any time!”
My mom got up from the table and gave me a hug, away from the group.
“Thanks for watching her, Mom.”
“My pleasure,” she said. “She was a hit.”
“I could tell.”
“But tomorrow and the rest of the week…”
“I know,” I said. “Tulips. Volunteering.”
On our way out, I reached for London’s hand. It was small in mine, warm and comforting.
“Daddy?” she said.
“Yes.”
“I’m hungry.”
“Let’s go home and get you a peanut butter and jelly sandwich.”
“We can’t,” London said.
“Why not?”
“We don’t have any bread.”
We went to the grocery store, where—for the first time—I grabbed a cart.
For the next hour, I slowly worked my way through Vivian’s list, backtracking to a previously visited aisle more than once. I have no idea what I would have done had London not been there to help me, since she had a knowledge of the brands that went well beyond her five years. I had no idea where to find spaghetti squash, nor could I tell whether an avocado was ripe by squeezing it, but somehow with her and a few store employees’ help I was able to cross everything off the list. While I was there, I saw mothers with children of all ages, most appearing as overwhelmed as I felt and I felt a fleeting kinship with them. I wondered how many of them, like me, would rather have been in an office instead of the meats section of the store, where it took me nearly five minutes to find the organic free-range chicken breasts that Vivian had specified.
Back home, after making a sandwich for London and unpacking the groceries, I spent the rest of the afternoon alternately working and cleaning while making sure London was okay, feeling the whole time like I was swimming against a never-ending current. Vivian arrived home at half past six and spent time with London for a few minutes before meeting me in the kitchen, where I’d started putting together a salad.
“How’s the chicken Marsala coming?”
“Chicken Marsala?”
“With spaghetti squash on the side?”
“Uh…”
She laughed. “I’m kidding. I’ll get it going. It won’t take long.”
“How was work today?”
“Busy,” she said. “I spent most of the day learning about the journalist I mentioned yesterday and trying to figure out the angle he wants to take for the article. And, of course, how to contain the story once it’s out and generate some positive coverage instead.”