The Comfort of Lies (10 page)

Okay, time to stop fooling myself.

Ballet classes, swim classes, music classes—all the enrichment provided through Nanny Rose’s research and driving—didn’t make up for not having sent her to preschool. Caroline knew that, but she pretended that seeing other children once or twice a week was enough, except on the days when she forced herself to read the list in her mind:
things I should be doing for Savannah.

Caroline didn’t mind that Peter left for work early most days, leaving her to ready Savannah for the day. These were their best mother-daughter moments. Time-limited tasks allowed her to stay patient.
Specificity calmed Caroline, and focus was her best friend. She went to work eagerly each day. She was puzzled at how coworkers longed for the weekend, as desperate as if they were escaping indentured servitude.

Ten minutes past the time when Nanny Rose should have arrived, Caroline strained to pretend she was fine, just fine. Calm, in fact. See, Savannah, Mommy’s fine. Smile. Hug. Turn on television—just this once.

Truly, Caroline knew, she had no reason to be concerned. She always allowed at least an hour of grace when scheduling around her knowledge of Nanny Rose. After five years, Caroline knew Nanny Rose’s foibles. When estimating Nanny’s arrival time, Caroline took into account Nanny’s traffic backups, Nanny’s hour of primping, and Nanny’s tendency to get caught up watching the
Today
show and then rush in babbling about what Matt had said that morning, as though he and Nanny Rose were pals. Despite being five years younger than Caroline, Nanny Rose seemed to be from an older generation.

Caroline accepted all of Nanny Rose’s shortcomings: her lateness, her constant crushes on Caroline’s other service providers (the pediatrician, the pediatric dentist, the guy who repaved the driveway, the landscaper); she even swallowed her rage at Nanny Rose’s dismissal of Caroline’s nutritional standards, feeding Savannah Fritos and Oreos. She accepted it all because Nanny Rose often told Caroline how much she loved her job. Nanny even added, in her usual guileless fashion, how she’d never earn as much money anywhere else.

She opened the heavy living room drapes by pulling a satin cord. Nothing disturbed the perfect picture of a rolling lawn, Japanese maples lining the insanely expensive wood sliced walkway, Adirondack chairs dotting the grass. They had too much house, and it shamed Caroline. The money they spent on Nanny Rose, the housekeeper, the lawn man, and the handyman would probably support three families—perhaps four thrifty ones.

Oh, she’d forgotten the carpet cleaner who serviced the antique rugs thrown over the wooden floors that gleamed in every room.
Everything had been built plumb, linear, modern, and of the finest materials. Granite and rosewood surrounded a stove far more professional than Caroline’s cooking skills.

Peter grew up wearing secondhand and thirdhand clothes handed down from cousins and then passed on to his brothers. Now he was eager to buy himself the shiny new things he constantly desired, and Caroline feared the next would be a sibling for Savannah. In contrast, Caroline had grown up with everything she needed—except a role model for how to be a decent absentee mother.

“Mommy, can we play Bitty Twins?” Savannah pushed a miniature stroller holding two dolls tucked under a blanket. American Girl products littered the house. For every secret worry Caroline experienced about feeling too little for her child, she spent more money.

“Who do you want to be, Mommy?” Savannah asked. She stood poised to take on whichever playing-house role her mother rejected.

Caroline forced a smile. “Who do you want me to be?”

“You be the nanny, and I’ll be the mommy.” Savannah looked self-important and busy as she bent over the carriage. “Now, girls, Mommy has to leave. Be big girls. Mommy does important work fixing sick babies. That’s why we have Nanny.”

Savannah nodded at Caroline as though feeding her a cue.

“Yes, here I am. Ready to give hugs and kisses,” Caroline said. “Nanny Caroline at your service.”

“No,” Savannah said. “Say ‘Nanny loves you, girls.’ ”

“Nanny loves you, girls,” Caroline repeated.

Savannah pulled the carriage deeper into the great room, settling herself on the cushioned window seat. “But
Mommy
loves you better.” Savannah wagged a pudgy finger at the Bitty Twins. She pulled at the patchwork blanket fussily, drawing it up so high that only their noses showed.

Tires screeched. Caroline looked out the window and exhaled with gratitude at the sight of Nanny Rose pulling into the driveway. As instructed, Nanny cut a hard right and parked close to the edge of the blacktop, allowing Caroline a quick escape.

 • • • 

Caroline devoted the morning to finishing a pile of reports. She forced herself to put down her pen and remember to thank her secretary when Ana handed her a container of spinach and orange salad. After giving the lunch to Caroline, Ana held up her own grease-laden McDonald’s bag and said, “Maybe you’d smile more if you had some of this.”

Caroline offered Ana a weak grin and reminded herself that the young woman was efficient, responsible, and always on time, thus Caroline overlooked Ana’s annoying habit of trying to get her to “smile!” Caroline had been exhorted to look happier all her life and was well sick of it.

Her small office resembled a cage. Simplicity in this small space was important to Caroline, especially considering the amount of paper her job produced. She could easily be working amidst teetering heaps of forms in triplicate, like so many of her colleagues, but Caroline had been strict about organization since her first day at Cabot, four years ago.

At a right angle to her desk stood her microscope table, the surface around the instrument kept clear for current slides. She’d placed her computer monitor in the far left corner of her desk, leaving the main section clear for three neat stacks of files, sitting under three wooden paperweights burned with the words
Immediate, This Week,
and
Long-Term.

Peter had teamed up with his father, whose hobby was woodworking, to make the paperweights for Caroline, and she loved them beyond all reason.

Caroline riffled through reports while waiting for a sample from a rectal biopsy so she could perform an evaluation of what they suspected would be an abnormal colon. She was afraid it was Hirschsprung disease, which untreated could lead to the infant having an intestinal blockage.

There wasn’t much about her work that didn’t interest her. Being part of a long-term study—analyzing the effects of proton beam
therapy on retinoblastoma—never failed to be absorbing. Most important, of course, was the pot-of-gold possibility of finding a way to erase the horror of that particular childhood eye cancer, but along with that hope was the constant draw of the chase.

One of the reasons that Caroline preferred pediatric pathology to pediatric surgery, which she’d once considered, was that she didn’t have to deliver heartbreaking news to parents. If the biopsy revealed Hirschsprung—and the baby’s symptoms were pointing in that direction—then the surgeon would be the one to break the news that their tiny daughter might need ostomy surgery.

She glanced at the wall clock. At four, she’d give a lecture to medical students; before that she’d work on biopsied tissue from a patient with suspected neuroblastoma. Due dates loomed for grant reports. Caroline took the last bite of her salad while reading an email from someone at the National Institutes of Health.

Details consumed her with a worried anticipation that actually felt pleasurable. If only she could transfer a portion of that delight to caring for her daughter.

“Caroline?” Ana stuck her head in the door. “Your nanny left two messages while you were at the meeting. She wants you to call.”

Please don’t let there be anything wrong.
Caroline had turned off her cell when the meeting started and never turned it back on. Some days even the time it took to swallow felt like an unaffordable luxury. She nodded at Ana. “Thanks,” she said as she picked up the office phone and began dialing.

“Peter,” she said when he picked up the phone. “Please, please, call home, okay? Rose called twice, and I don’t have a minute.”

“What is it?” he asked.

“I just know she wants to be called.”

“And you can’t even make a phone call?” Peter asked.

“I just did.” Caroline swallowed the cold dregs of her morning coffee. “I have to get to the lab in less than a minute. Please, call.”

“Baby, I have five people in my office. Just call Rose back and then call me if you need me. Okay?”

She didn’t want to take the time to argue. Instead she called Nanny
Rose’s cell and the house phone. No one picked up, so obviously the problem had been resolved and they’d gone out. Nanny Rose never picked up the phone while driving—Caroline and Peter forbade it.

“Hi, Rose,” Caroline said to voice mail. “I’m off to the lab. Hope everything is okay. I’ll talk to you later, or you can call Peter if you need anything.”

 • • • 

The house looked too dark when Caroline returned home. Nanny Rose’s car wasn’t in the driveway. Caroline glanced at the dashboard: 8:05.

Damn.

Rose had never called back, so she assumed all was well and didn’t think about it again.

Damn. Damn. Damn.

Blue television light flickered from the family room. Caroline pressed the button to lift the garage door, tapping her fingers on the wheel with impatient concern. A pool of yellow light illuminated Peter’s empty parking spot. She turned off the ignition and rushed through the connecting door to the house.

An unknown teenage girl sat with Savannah in the dim family room, lit only by the television and a reading lamp on the lowest setting. A bowl spotted with soggy bits of cereal sat in front of Savannah, who beat her spoon in what sounded like “Row, Row, Row Your Boat” rhythm on the bottom of the melamine dish. Pictures of a French-labeled ballerina, puppy, bicycle, and cup decorated the dish, as though Savannah, who’d barely begun reading English, might learn a second language as she spooned up Rice Krispies.

Jeopardy!
played on the giant screen hanging over the sleek, low bookcase stuffed with Savannah’s fairy tales and princess books. No matter how many girls-can-do-anything stories Caroline bought, Savannah chose
Fancy Nancy
.

Savannah rocked the Bitty Twins and hummed to them softly.

The unfamiliar teenager looked up. “Hi.” Her T-shirt was cut lower than Caroline’s cocktail dresses.

Savannah drummed faster. Caroline covered the child’s hand with hers, tightening her grip until Savannah dropped the spoon.

“Nanny had to go home,” Savannah said. “Maybe she was mad?”

“No. She wasn’t mad at you, pumpkin.” Caroline loosened her hold on her daughter’s hand and stroked her soft cheek. Her heart flopped. She swallowed, full of sorrow for this little girl she should treasure far more. She turned to the stranger/babysitter. “And you are . . . ”

“Janine.” For a moment, it seemed she would offer no more. She lifted a graham cracker from a pile and bit off half. Crumbs sprayed from her mouth as she added, “Rose is my aunt.”

“Nanny had to go home,” Savannah repeated. She turned to one of the Bitty Twins at her side and laid her hand on the doll’s belly. The competence of Savannah’s large hand belied her age. “Cause of her head. Can we wash the Bitties?”

“Soon, Savannah.”

What had happened to Peter? Apparently, Nanny Rose had one of her excruciating migraines. Peter was usually the parent who came home when needed. His office was closer to the house, and his days were filled with interoffice memos and ticked-off clients, not critical medical decisions. His work was not unimportant, just less important than Caroline believed her own work to be, though he never let her forget that his work paid massively more than hers did. Peter’s money bought all their luxuries. Organic cherries! Salmon so wild it might leap from their grill! Bitty Twins! Peter underwrote her work, as he reminded her too often lately. Nevertheless, when emergencies arose, he could get home far more quickly than Caroline.

“Daddy got stuck,” Savannah said. “Can I sit in your lap?”

Caroline put down her briefcase and lowered herself onto the couch. After pulling Savannah onto her lap, she looked to Janine for further illumination. Savannah leaned into Caroline’s chest. Without Nanny, Savannah had been given no postdinner bath, or a proper dinner, for that matter. The scent of sour child drifted up from Savannah.

“I took the train and then a cab. A long cab ride.” Janine held out
her hand as though the amount matching her transportation outlay must certainly be waiting in Caroline’s pocket. “Mr. Fitzgerald said he’d pay from the time I left my house until you got here. So, that’s four hours. So, that’s eighty dollars. Plus, you need to get me home and then pay me for that time. So, that will be, like, a hundred dollars or maybe more.”

Caroline’s head pounded.

“Mommy, can I have something real to eat?”

“Will you drive me or are you going to call a cab? What time does the train leave?”

“Can the Bitty Twins come in the bath now?”

“Mr. Fitzgerald said someone would drive if it got dark. My mother doesn’t like me out after dark alone.”

“Did you fix anyone today?”

“Could you drive me all the way home? That would be easier.”

Caroline’s mouth remained closed as though someone had glued it shut. She wanted to be lying in a warm bath, still as a corpse, with a warm washcloth draped over her eyes.

The front door opened. Savannah leapt off her lap and ran into Peter’s arms. He knelt and wrapped his arms around her, his face lit with affection. Peter didn’t mind if Savannah smelled sour or asked him a million questions.

“I’ll drive you,” she told Janine.

CHAPTER 9

Caroline

Caroline knew she took too long getting home from dropping off Janine, and she certainly shouldn’t have stopped for coffee, but it was that or fall asleep on the ride home from Boston. Now she’d have to take an Ambien to counteract the caffeine.