“Violet, I’m serious.”
“So am I! You have to relax. Mrs. McNally never would’ve suggested I work for crazy people.”
“Well. Maybe Mrs. McNally didn’t tell you the full story,” Mom says in a decidedly un-neighborly tone.
My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline.
“Don’t give me that look, Violet. She could have an ulterior motive, you don’t know!”
“The woman runs the church bake sale every year. She’s not a criminal mastermind.”
“…or so she wants you to believe.”
“Moooooom.” I groan. “Come on. The Flints are a normal family.”
“Normal families don’t spend their summers island-hopping around the South Pacific, or hire an au pair for their five-year-old.”
“Did you swallow a bitter pill with your coffee this morning?”
“I’m just saying.” She tosses her chestnut hair, one shade lighter than mine and twice as glossy. “What’s the point of having children at all if you’re just going to hire full-time help to raise them for you?”
“Mom, don’t you think you’re being a bit judg—”
“And, anyway, I can’t fathom why they have to go all that way for a little sunshine. Florida has perfectly lovely beaches.”
“As we’ve discussed several times already,” I say slowly, summoning composure. “Mr. Flint is a resort developer. His company is scouting potential building locations on a few different islands. There’s a whole team going — a handful of execs from The Flint Group, plus a photographer, the architect, a few marketing people…” I shrug. “Rather than leave his wife and daughter home for three months, Seth decided to bring them along. In my book, that makes him a pretty decent dad.”
Mom’s mouth presses into a firm line as she tries to formulate a counter-argument to change my mind. Even now, standing on the curb outside Boston Logan International Airport with my bags packed and my ticket in hand, she’s still half-sure she might somehow convince me to stay. I pull a deep breath in through my nose and remind myself that this overbearing, overprotective show she’s putting on comes from a place of love. She’s not deliberately trying to annoy me.
I don’t think so, anyway.
“Listen, I’m going to miss my flight.” I sling my duffle strap a little higher over my shoulder. “I have to get going.”
“Call me during your layover.”
“I will if I have time.”
Her worried look returns. “You’re sure they’re sending someone to meet you at LAX?”
“Yes, outside the baggage claim area. Mrs. Flint’s personal assistant emailed this morning to confirm.”
“I still don’t like the idea of you on one of those tiny chartered jets across the Pacific. Why can’t this family fly commercial like the rest of America?”
“It’s the Flint company jet, mother. I think, once you invest in one of those, you’re pretty much obligated to use it.” A wicked grin spreads across my face. “Plus, think of all the free inflight champagne they’ll be serving!”
She glares at me. “Violet, so help me—”
“Joking!” I interject hurriedly. “Just joking. I’m going to be babysitting, not joining the mile high club.” I pause. “You know I’ve never been one for organized group activities.”
“How did I ever raise such a smartass?”
“In your exact image,” I point out.
Even as Mom nods in agreement, her bottom lip begins to tremble. I think she’s going to dissolve into a puddle of tears but instead, she reaches out and hauls me into a crushing embrace. For such a petite woman, her hug is impressively rib-cracking.
“Can’t… breathe….” I joke-wheeze, hugging her back equally hard.
“You be safe, you hear me?” she whispers forcefully.
I nod, wishing my eyes weren’t pricking. “I will.”
“You email twice a week.”
“I promise.”
“You take lots of pictures to show me when you get back.”
“Of course.”
She grabs my face in her hands and plants a kiss on my forehead like she did when I was barely more than a baby, heading off to kindergarten for the first time.
“I love you, Violet.”
“I love you too, Mom. See you in September.”
I brush tears from my cheeks as I turn and walk away from her, scolding myself for being silly as I pass through the sliding glass doors and hike my bags a little higher on my shoulder.
Maybe if I knew I’d never see her again, I’d have taken a second glance back, in those final moments on the sidewalk. Maybe I’d have memorized her a little better, so conjuring up the slope of her nose or sound of her laughter wasn’t so hard later, when it really counted.
But how could I possibly know what would come to pass? How could I know that the summer job I’d foreseen as a free adventure in paradise would blow up my life more effectively than a block of C4 thrown into my path? How could I know that, in seeking change, I’d courted my own demise more doggedly than a suicidal bridge-jumper?
I couldn’t have.
So… I didn’t look back. Not even once.
I guess it’s true what they say about hindsight.
That bitch is twenty-twenty.
Chapter Two
B A G G A G E
Six hours and three thousand miles later, I walk into LAX deflated like a pi?ata at a children’s party. After the cross-country voyage, my once chic, travel-savvy outfit is rumpled beyond recognition, my carefully-curled mahogany waves have flattened into a hopeless tangle of frizz, and my neck is aching fiercely from a seemingly endless flight crammed into the middle seat between a bickering couple who refused to relinquish either window or aisle, instead preferring to argue across me for the duration of our trip.
I’m due to meet the Flints in an hour, but I can’t show up looking like this. I can almost hear Mom’s voice in my head.
You never get a second chance to make a first impression, honey. How you’re dressed determines how you’ll be addressed.
I heave a sigh, adjust the grip on my backpack, and head to the baggage claim to retrieve the duffle I checked before leaving Boston. Seth, his wife Samantha, and their daughter Sophie are at the swanky private terminal across the concourse, where all privately chartered flights depart Los Angeles. It caters specifically to celebrities, VIPs… and, evidently, my new employers. A flutter of nerves zips through my veins as I realize I’ll be face to face with them in mere minutes.
We conversed by email and video-chat after I accepted the position two weeks ago. They seemed nice enough from the relative obscurity of a laptop screen, but… I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t nervous. I’ve been so eager to get out of my hometown, I barely considered the fact that this family isn’t like mine. Not in the slightest. Anderson mother-daughter trips involve pitching a tent on the Saco River every summer, or hiking to the summit of Mt. Washington to see the view of the famed White Mountains that belt our state.
We’re campfire songs and roasted marshmallows…