At ten-thirty, I had nothing left to do but prop my feet on my desk and stare at my suitcase and backpack and visualize using their contents during my time with Greg. Just as I was picturing Greg lifting me onto the swing hanging from the oak tree next to the cabin, the phone rang.
For a moment, some kind of background whirring sound kept me from making out the caller.
“Sorry about the traffic noise,” Greg shouted. “I left my cell phone in my car, so I’m calling from a pay phone. I’m having a bad car day. My car died right after I dropped Melissa for the morning at day care. I rode with the tow-truck driver to the dealer’s and the news isn’t good.”
“What’s the matter?”
“Some kind of complicated under-the-hood problem and the mechanic needs a part from another shop. It looks like we won’t be able to leave today.”
After my stomach dropped from the penthouse to the basement, I brightened. “No problem. We can take my car.”
“I don’t think so. I left Melissa’s booster seat and CDs in the car. I can’t ask the dealer’s driver to go back to get them. He’s taking me and three other people home. He just stopped to get gas. Besides, it’s being towed to another location and this driver doesn’t know where. So leaving today’s off. Melissa is going to be devastated.”
“Not if I leave now and go to Kiddie Korner and buy another one and some CDs for the trip,” I quickly offered.
Pause. “I don’t like to trouble you.”
“No trouble, a pleasure.”
“You’re wonderful. I’ll reimburse you. And I’ll try to get to the cabin tonight. This will work out.”
And it did work out, at least the logistics part of the plan on my end. I went to Kiddie Korner, bought the booster seat and several children’s CDs. I set the booster seat into the backseat of my car and strapped it in. At twelve-ten, I arrived at the library and waited outside as Greg had asked until he arrived via bicycle with Melissa on the child’s seat.
“This is fun,” Melissa called. “I hope Daddy always picks me up on a bike.”
“Not likely,” he grinned, mopping his forehead. “I’ll take Melissa into the children’s room to get Emma and the Playful Platypus.” And to me he said, “Wait for me in the adult section, okay? I need to go over a few grown-up things with you.”
After settling Melissa with her book, he rushed into the room and with no preliminaries, launched the knockout punch.
“I called the dealer before I left home. The car won’t be ready until tomorrow.”
“That’s no problem. We’re taking my car anyway.”
He ruffled my hair. “It’s not that simple. I’m going to have to wait till tomorrow. I can’t go away and leave it at the dealer’s after I hassled him to do a rush job. Stan’s a friend as well as a constituent and he promised to drive it to my place himself. I’ll come up tomorrow.”
Taking a backseat to Stan the dealer hurt, but I refrained from losing my cool. A well-trained political operative, I knew better than to come between a candidate and a constituent.
Ironically, we stood by a paperback section labeled Romance Novels as he matter-of-factly assigned me the Nanny role with instructions about Melissa. She didn’t need to stop for bathroom breaks — a veritable camel, that child; she should eat her peanut butter and jelly sandwich and carrot sticks in the car — they were in her backpack along with juice; and she should sing along with the CDs I bought — because listening to the car radio with its news about fires and floods upsets her.
I was about to say, Yes, Mr. Rochester, but bit my tongue as I remembered that Jane Eyre did marry her boss.
“One more thing,” he said as we headed back to Melissa. “I looked up directions to your cabin on a map. Then I checked highway conditions. You should take the alternate route. There’s major construction on the main highway to the Poconos.”
At the entrance to the children’s room he hugged me.
“I’ll really miss you tonight, but I’ll make it up to you tomorrow night,” he whispered, then squared his shoulders and slipped to the side of the entrance, out of Melissa’s sight.
“Listen, Melissa’s been terrible about goodbyes ever since her mother died. I don’t want her to make a scene. She’ll be all right if she doesn’t see me. I explained everything to her and she’s okay with you taking her and she’ll be asleep before she realizes I won’t be there till tomorrow. I’m going to slip out the back.”
He kissed me and murmured, “I’m a worrier, so please call me after Melissa’s asleep, usually by eight, and let me know you arrived safely. My phone number is on a card in Melissa’s backpack.”
Warm from the kiss, I watched him leave, then went into the children’s room and hugged Melissa. “Let’s go,” I said.
She looked around then started to cry, “Where’s Daddy? I didn’t give him hugs and kisses.”
So much for Daddy’s slipping away to avoid a scene. I tried to soothe her, but she howled. Several mothers and children looked our way. The librarian frowned.
I picked her up and hugged her. She dropped the book. I retrieved it and hurried out the door, hoping Greg hadn’t gotten far so he could perform the goodbye ritual. I couldn’t see him. When we got to my car, I pointed to a stack of children’s CDs.
“You pick out which one you want to play first.”
Her cries reduced to hiccups, she browsed through them and selected Mother Goose Rhymes. “Can we play them all?” she asked.
“Each and every one,” I answered as she went unresisting into the booster seat. After a silent thank-you to Mother Goose, I drove off. After singing along with her, and quite enjoying it, I was given permission to pick out the next CD, a medley of children’s songs.
“ ‘Old MacDonald,’ ” I said and slid it in.
After e-i-e-i-o-ing it through all the animals in the barnyard, I begged for a break.
“Oh, all right,” she answered, “as long as you play the ‘Are You Sleeping, Brother John?’ song next.”
I agreed, but first she sipped some juice.
“Okay,” she announced, “my whistle is wet. Now we can sing again.”
“Whistles are wet,” I said, “who taught you that? Daddy?”
“No. Jeff did.”
Jeff again. To keep from probing the child about Jeff, I quickly slid in the tape and my unconscious beamed up a disturbing wordplay. Instead of the song’s “morning bells are ringing,” I sang, “warning bells are ringing.”
Was I warning myself that Greg might have more than a friendship with this Jeff? The sight of the cabin surrounded by spruce trees and set near a cliff with a spectacular view of mountains haloed by an October haze swept anxieties away. This cabin held warm memories and would log many more, I hoped.
As soon as I unstrapped Melissa, she ran to the porch to hug Max, the smiling wooden bear my father had carved for my fifth birthday.
When we went into the retro living room — knotty pine panels and Early American furniture — Melissa ran to the glorious stone fireplace.
“Can we have a fire? Can we? And can we invite the bear in?”
“We can have a fire, but I think we’ll have to wait for Daddy to bring the bear in.”
Next Melissa and I climbed the stairs to the loft. When she opened the door to the smaller room, she squealed with delight. It was decorated in a Heidi theme: mountains, wildflowers, and a Swiss-type bed. She jumped on it and hugged the pillow.
Being in the bedroom reminded me of sleeping gear. Being new at nanny-hood, I had forgotten to get a suitcase from Greg.
“Sweetheart,” I confessed, “I forgot to ask Daddy for your night things. And he might not get here until after your bedtime.”
“That’s okay,” she said, fluffing up a pillow, “we keep pajamas and my extra Emma doll and extra toothbrush in my backpack in case I get tired in Daddy’s office if he’s working late. So if I fall asleep, Daddy carries me to the car and puts me to bed.”