“You’re quitting.”
Isabeau smiled wide, made a pfft noise, and a get--out--of--here motion with her hand. “No! You’re stuck with me, boss. Actually, it’s kind of the opposite. Here’s what I’m thinking. It’s really kind of a hassle to have to sleep two different places, you know what I mean? Since you’re all alone, I wonder if I should just move in with you for the summer until fall semester starts. That way I’m already here for your radio overnights and I don’t have to drive back and forth. You have a lot on your mind, and you could use the help with Daltrey. As a bonus, my roommate and her creepy boyfriend could bone all they want without me cramping their style.”
Nessa laughed. “I see what you’re doing here. But I really value my privacy. Having a roommate is . . . difficult for me.”
“I know it. But we’d be helping each other out. What do you say?”
The relief she felt overrode her trepidation. Isabeau was right. With Nessa here alone on sixty acres, departing and arriving at odd hours, it didn’t hurt to have an extra set of eyes on Daltrey.
She needed to put the needs of her son above her own selfish needs of privacy.
She took a sip of coffee. “All right,” she said. “But that means I’ll have to pay you more.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—-”
“You’re not a very good negotiator. The proper response is ‘Yes, you will.’ ”
“Yes, ma’am,” Isabeau said, and smiled.
THAT AFTERNOON, WHILE Isabeau sat on the floor with her laptop cataloging Nessa’s music collection, Nessa sat at her desk and browsed her blog’s comments section. The latest one represented the kind of lazy trivia questions she hated.
What do these diverse artists have in common: Norah Jones, Tom Waits, Jackson Browne, AC/DC, and Neil Diamond?
Posted by Anonymous | June 3 8:37 AM
Anyone with a quarter of a brain could get online and look that sort of thing up. But she always indulged her readers by answering anyway. Usually, this sort of question meant the musicians in question each had a song with a common word in it, almost without fail. She searched for, copied, and pasted each artist’s song list into wordcounter.com, which found repeated words. She’d then look through the part of the resulting list where one word was found five times.
The list came up with fourteen words that had been used five times. As she started to scroll down, a pounding on the back door sounded, and Nessa’s heart shot up into her throat.
John?
Isabeau started to rise but Nessa said, “I’ve got it.”
She ran to the door and peered out the window.
It was her nearest neighbor, Lauren, and her two boys.
Nessa unlocked the dead bolt, her heart still fluttering in her chest like a trapped bat, and opened the door to the sound of children’s voices and the jingle of Declan MacManus’s dog collar. He crowded inside with them, dancing and happy for the visitors. Isabeau waved as she threaded her way through the crowd and walked out the door past the horses Lauren had tied up outside. Lauren and the boys always rode over inside of driving, sometimes giving Daltrey a ride around the property, one of his favorite things.
“I brought you something from the garden,” Lauren said, blowing in through the door with her long muslin skirt sweeping in behind. She pulled the hemp pack off her back and emptied it on the kitchen table—-two large mason jars full of berries and a basket of fresh ones—-while her sons patted the dog before turning their attention to Nessa.
They had no concept of personal space, and the oldest, Ziggy, leaned into Nessa’s shoulder, his hot, sweaty skin pressed against her back, while Tosh hung on her shoulder. She’d stopped trying to keep them out of her bubble.
“You okay?” Ziggy said.
It was a weird thing about kids—-how they somehow intuited your mental and emotional state in a way that adults would never be able to do, sort of like that high sound that only -people under eighteen can hear. It seemed like Lauren hadn’t really noticed any problem with Nessa.
“Sure, honey,” Nessa said.
“Where’s Daltrey?” Tosh said.
“In his room. Go on up.”
They scampered up the stairs.
“Where’s a bowl?” Lauren said.
She acted as though she and Nessa were close friends, as if they’d shared secrets and confidences. The arrangement suited Nessa perfectly. The appearance of friendship allowed her to keep her secrets and distance without a fight.
Nessa reached into one of the upper cabinets and pulled out a colander and her largest bowl, a brilliant green one Lauren had made at her pottery studio. Nessa sat at the table.