A Million Little Things (Mischief Bay, #3)

Jen carried Jack inside.

What had been the living room had been turned into a play area. The big, open space had large windows and a thick mat on the floor. There were shelves filled with toys, a large television against one wall and lots of seating. Small chairs and low sofas, beanbag chairs and a few kid-sized rocking chairs.

“This is one of our play areas,” Rose explained. “We have movie afternoons on Monday and Thursday. Otherwise, there’s no TV allowed. Our philosophy is that of gentle scheduling.” She laughed. “Our goal is to stick to a schedule, but we’re dealing with children under the age of five, so we have to be flexible.”

Just then a midsize, blue heeler trotted into the room. He had an expressive face, with two brown “eyebrows” and a happy, doggy grin. Despite his wagging tail, Jen instinctively took a step back. Rose motioned for the dog to move closer to her.

“This is Buddy.” Rose turned to the dog. “Buddy, can you say hello?”

Buddy raised a paw and gave a low woof. Jen held on to Jack.

“Is it safe having a dog in the house with so many children? What if he bites someone?”

“I certainly understand your concern,” said Rose, laying a protective hand on Buddy’s head. “He was a service dog for three years. The little girl he was helping passed away and he was devastated. The family and I are friends, so I offered to take Buddy. He’s great with the kids here.”

Which all sounded fine and well, Jen thought suspiciously, but didn’t answer her question.

Rose showed her the dining room that had been converted into a lunch area for the children with smaller-scale tables and chairs. The kitchen looked clean enough. What would have been the family room was also a play area. Jen saw about six toddlers with two caregivers. There were several puzzles on the floor. Outside was a big backyard with plenty of play equipment, large trees, grass and a shady area. Another five or six children played outside and there were two more caregivers with them.

“You’re using a lot of your house for day care,” she murmured, putting Jack down so he could join the puzzle group.

“My own children are long grown and my husband passed away,” Rose told her. “I built an apartment upstairs. I live there and the downstairs is for my business.”

Jack walked over and sat down. He reached for a puzzle piece. One of the helpers, a woman in her early twenties, Jen would guess, smiled at him.

“Hi. I’m Holly. Who are you?”

“He doesn’t talk,” Jen said quickly. “Not yet.”

Holly nodded. “That’s okay. You’ll talk when you’re ready. Do you like puzzles? I do. This piece is red.”

“Everyone who works for me has a background in either education or early childhood development.” Rose pointed to an older woman outside with the other kids. “Mary’s been with me nearly ten years. She raised eight children herself, then worked a couple of other places before coming here. Holly is getting her master’s in early childhood development. She works here part-time.”

Rose talked about how their days were structured and the various programs they offered. A lady came in three mornings a week and taught Mandarin. An older gentleman came and played various musical instruments every Monday and Thursday. But Jen wasn’t really listening. Instead she saw that the walls were scuffed and the windows could use a good washing.

She wanted to head back to the kitchen and look at the counters. Were they really clean? Had she seen a jar of peanut butter? Because everyone knew that young children should avoid peanuts. And that dog. She didn’t care what Buddy had done before—he was an animal. If a child pulled his tail, he would react.

The little boy next to Jack sneezed. Jen moved toward her son and scooped him up.

She was sure there were sensible questions she was supposed to be asking. On the surface the place was great—if she ignored the dog, the peeling paint and the sick kid.

She felt the familiar tightness in her chest. The one that made it hard to breathe.

Not here, she told herself. She couldn’t have a panic attack. Not right now. Later, when she was home. Later, when she was safe. She couldn’t do this, she thought desperately. She couldn’t leave her child alone in a place like this.

“I have to go,” she said, fighting to keep her breath as her chest got tighter and tighter.

Rose looked confused. “Don’t you want to fill out an application?” she asked. “I’m going to have an opening in a few weeks. Usually I have a waiting list, but right now I don’t.”

Jen clutched Jack to her chest. “I, ah, need to talk to my husband. And think about it. I’m just not sure.”

She bolted for the door. Rose followed.

“Are you all right?” the other woman asked with concern.

Jen nodded and ran to her car. She got Jack into his car seat, then started the engine. She punched the buttons on the radio until she found the happy children’s music Jack liked and turned up the volume. Only then did she start gasping for air.

Her throat was so tight. Her whole body hurt. Tears burned her eyes as she sucked in air.

She told herself she was fine. That she could breathe. That nothing was wrong. Only she knew she was lying. Everything was wrong—and no one would believe her.

*

What are you doing?

Pam stared at her phone. There was nothing untoward about the message, yet she still felt a strange combination of guilty and naughty as she answered.

Reading.

Would you like some company?

She dropped the phone on the sofa, picked it up again, put it back down, then pressed a pillow against her face and screamed into the soft fabric. Lulu jumped to her feet and stared at her.

“I’m fine,” she assured her dog. “It’s just... Never mind.”

Still looking wary, Lulu curled back up on the sofa.

Pam and Miguel had been texting every day or so since their dinner together. She refused to call it by the other D word, despite what Shannon had said. It had been dinner and talking with, ah, the father of a friend. Nothing more.