Then I put on my sneakers and go for one last run around the neighborhood. I try not to think about how much I’ll miss Spring Brook—all the little shops and restaurants, the ornately detailed houses, the beautiful lawns and gardens. I’ve been to Russell’s condo in Norristown, and his neighborhood isn’t nearly as nice. He lives on the tenth floor of a high-rise that’s next to an office park and an Amazon fulfillment center. The complex is ringed by highways, many miles of steaming asphalt and concrete. Not a pretty place by any definition, but apparently it’s where I’m meant to be.
The pool party is a nice gesture, I guess. Caroline hangs some limp streamers around the back patio, and she and Teddy string up a homemade banner that says thank you mallory. Ted and Caroline do a nice job of pretending I haven’t been fired. We all act like I’m leaving by choice, which makes the afternoon less awkward. Caroline stays in the kitchen, preparing the food, while I swim in the pool with Ted and Teddy. The three of us compete in a series of silly races that Teddy always manages to win. I wonder aloud if Caroline needs any help—if she’d like some time to swim—and then I realize I’ve never actually seen her in the pool.
“The water makes her itchy,” Teddy explains.
“The chlorine,” Ted says. “I’ve tried adjusting the pH balance but nothing works. Her skin is super-sensitive.”
By four o’clock, I’ve still not heard anything from Adrian. I’m thinking about texting him, but then Caroline calls from the patio that dinner is ready. She’s arranged the table with pitchers of ice water and fresh-squeezed lemonade and an abundance of healthful food—there are grilled shrimp skewers and a citrus-seafood salad and bowls of freshly steamed squash and spinach and corn on the cob. She’s clearly put a lot of care and effort into everything, and I sense she feels guilty for sending me away. I start to wonder if she’s reconsidering my future, if there’s still a chance she’ll let me stay. Teddy speaks in an animated voice about his day trip to the beach and boardwalk. He tells me all about the fun house and the bumper cars and the crab in the ocean that pinched his tiny toes. His parents chime in with their own stories, and it feels like we’re all having a terrific family conversation, like everything has gone back to normal.
For dessert Caroline brings out Chocolate Lava Volcanoes—miniature sponge cakes filled with gooey warm ganache and topped with a scoop of vanilla ice cream. They are baked to perfection and when I take my first bite I literally gasp.
Everybody laughs at my reaction.
“I’m sorry,” I tell them. “But this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.”
“Oh that’s wonderful,” Caroline says. “I’m glad we can end the summer on a high note.”
And that’s when I realize nothing has changed.
* * *
I offer to help with the dishes but Ted and Caroline insist on tackling the cleanup. They remind me that I’m the guest of honor. They encourage me to go play with Teddy. So he and I return to the pool and cycle through all our favorite games one last time. We play Castaway and Titanic and Wizard of Oz. And then for a long time we lie side by side on the raft and we float.
“How far is Norristown?” Teddy asks.
“Not far. Less than an hour.”
“So you can still visit for pool parties?”
“I hope so,” I tell him. “I’m not sure.”
The truth? I doubt I’ll ever see him again. Ted and Caroline will have no trouble finding a new nanny, and of course she will be pretty and smart and charming, and Teddy will have all kinds of fun with her. I’ll be remembered as an odd footnote in their family history—the babysitter who only lasted seven weeks.
And here’s the part that really stings: I know that many years in the future, when Teddy brings his college girlfriend home for Thanksgiving dinner, my name will be a punchline around the dinner table. I’ll be remembered as the crazy babysitter who drew all over the walls, the one who believed Teddy’s imaginary friend was real.
He and I lie back on the raft and watch the gorgeous sunset. All the clouds are tinted pink and purple; the sky looks like a painting you’d see in a museum. “We can definitely be pen pals,” I promise. “You can send me pictures and I’ll write you letters.”
“I would like that.”
He points up to an airplane soaring across the horizon, trailing long streaks of white vapor. “Do people take airplanes to Norristown?”
“No, buddy, there’s no airport.”
He’s disappointed.
“Someday I’m going to ride on a plane,” he says. “My daddy says the big ones go five hundred miles an hour.”
I laugh and remind Teddy that he’s already been on a plane. “When you came home from Barcelona.”
He shakes his head. “We drove from Barcelona.”
“No, you drove to the airport. But then you got on an airplane. No one drives from Barcelona to New Jersey.”
“We did. It took us all night.”
“It’s a different continent. There’s a giant ocean in the way.”
“They built an underwater tunnel,” he says. “With super-thick walls to protect you from sea monsters.”
“Now you’re just being silly.”
“Ask my dad, Mallory! It’s true!”
And then over on the pool deck, I can hear my telephone ringing. I have the volume turned all the way up, so I won’t miss Adrian’s call. “Be right back,” I tell Teddy. I flip off the raft and swim to the side of the pool, but I’m not fast enough. By the time I reach my phone, the call has already gone to voice mail.
I see that Adrian has texted me a photograph. It’s an elderly black woman, wearing a thin red cardigan and sitting in a wheelchair. Her eyes have a vacant stare but her hair is neat and trim. She looks well kept and well cared for.
Then a second photo arrives—the same woman posing next to a black man in his fifties. He has his arm around the woman and he’s directing her attention toward the camera, encouraging her to look at the lens.
Adrian calls again.
“Did you get my pictures?”
“Who are these people?”
“That’s Dolores Jean Campbell and her son, Curtis. Annie Barrett’s daughter and grandson. I just spent two hours with them. Curtis comes every Sunday to visit his mom. And we got everything wrong.”
This seems impossible.
“Annie Barrett was black?”
“No, but she’s definitely not Hungarian. She was born in England.”
“She’s British?”
“I’ve got her grandson standing right next to me. I’m going to put Curtis on the line, let him tell you firsthand, okay?”
Teddy stares at me from the swimming pool, bored, anxious for me to come back and play. I mouth the words “five minutes” and he climbs aboard the raft and starts kicking with his tiny feet, propelling himself around the water.
“Hey, Mallory, it’s Curtis. Are you really living in Granny Annie’s cottage?”
“I—I think so?”
“Spring Brook, New Jersey. In back of Hayden’s Glen, right? Your friend Adrian showed me some pictures. But you don’t have to worry, my granny’s not haunting you.”