Lois Richer - The Holiday Nanny

The question was why was he avoiding her?

“You’re joking, Connie. I can tell.”

“How can you tell?” Connie sank down on the floor across from the little girl and waited.

“When you’re joking you get a wiggly kind of a thing at the corner of your mouth. Like you want to giggle but can’t.” Silver grinned. “You’ve got it now.”

“I guess I’ll have to watch myself then.” Connie assumed a very stern look then leaned forward and began to tickle the child. “Crow feet juice for you for supper.”

“With red-painted toenails,” Silver laughed, doubling over and hooting with laughter.

“Is it necessary to make so much noise?” Amanda stood in the doorway, her frown fierce. “I have a terrible headache.”

“I’m so sorry. Can I get you anything for it?” Connie offered, springing to her feet.

“How about some peace and quiet?” the older woman snapped as she yanked the bedroom door closed. The slam reverberated to the bells on Silver’s shoes. “Now my head hurts.” Silver sighed. “How much longer is it until Daddy comes home, Connie?”

“I don’t know, sweetie. Your daddy is very busy.”

“I’m tired of busy.” Silver pressed her nose against the window, her voice drooping as much as her body. “I thought that when Daddy was home I would see him a lot, but he’s never home.”

“I know it seems like that,” Connie murmured, drawing the child into her arms. “But I’m sure it’s only while he gets things organized. You have to be patient and keep praying that God will help.” She hated saying those words. Why should a child have to beg for her father’s attention?

“I have been praying. But I think God is busy, too.” Silver sighed heavily.

“God is never too busy to hear our prayers, sweetheart. Never ever. Okay?” She chucked the girl under the chin.

“I’m hungry. Let’s go see if our crows are cooked.”

“Okay.” Silver accepted her outstretched hand and swung it as they walked downstairs. “Tonight’s the night Cora tucks me in, isn’t it?”

“Because it’s my night off, yes.” Surely she wouldn’t have to give up her plans? After many hours of chasing disappointing leads, Connie had finally tracked her father to a soup kitchen. She hoped this evening might render a clue to his current whereabouts.

Please don’t let Silver make a fuss tonight.

The prayer had no sooner left her lips than guilt descended. The last thing Connie wanted was for Silver to feel like her nanny was too busy for her, too.

“I was going out after dinner, but if you want me to stay—”

“No. I’m a big girl. And I love Cora.” Silver paused on the landing. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “But she doesn’t read stories as good as you.”

“Tomorrow we’ll do a little extra reading, okay?” Connie promised.

“Okay.” Silver smiled, but it was obvious by her quick scan of the hallway and front rooms that she was still thinking about her father’s frequent absences.

Silver’s appetite lacked its usual exuberance, and when Cora finally appeared for storytime, the child docilely handed her the book and leaned back against her pillows after kissing Connie good-night.

She was so polite, Connie mused as she made her way across Tucson to the soup kitchen, hoping to talk some more with the man who claimed to have spoken to her father. Too polite. Totally unlike the usually bouncy, boisterous little girl who reached out and grabbed at life.

Connie stepped into the old church and scanned the fellowship room. She would have to talk to Wade tonight. For Silver’s sake. She’d have to tell him that his daughter needed him to pay her some attention. How hard could that be?

No harder than questioning total strangers about a father who’d abandoned her eleven years ago, a man she barely remembered. A man from whom she desperately needed answers.

Compared to that, facing Wade would be a cakewalk.

It was late and he was dead tired, but Wade plowed through the water anyway, forcing his arms to reach and pull, praying swimming would ease the tension of his body long enough for him to sleep.

Amanda had been at her finest today, pushing all his buttons with her references to the past, to the accident that had killed her husband and her son, both deaths she blamed on him.

“You killed my family.”

“My family, too,” he’d reminded her. “Someone ran into us, Amanda. I didn’t do anything wrong.”

But the words had rung hollow the first time Wade said them six years ago, and time hadn’t made them sound any better. He should have avoided the accident—somehow.

Winded and too tired to continue, Wade dragged himself out of the water. It took only minutes for the dry Arizona air to suck away the moisture. Then he pulled on his shirt and jeans over his swimsuit and stretched out on a lounger, staring at the stars above.

Where was God in all of this recrimination, he wondered. Did God blame him for killing his own father? Is that why Wade seldom felt comfortable in the home he’d loved as he grew up? Was that why he kept himself constantly on the go, to escape the guilt?

“Have I done something wrong?”

Wade’s eyes popped open. He jerked his head to the side, not needing to see her to know that Connie Ladden stood nearby. She wore jeans and a T-shirt, but not the slick form-fitting jeans most women favored. Instead Connie’s jeans looked elegantly tailored. He wondered if she’d sewn them herself, and then he told himself to focus.

“Is it so bad that you can’t even speak to me?”

“Excuse me?” Wade blinked, trying to reorient his thoughts. “Is what so bad?”

“Whatever it is that prohibits you from extending the common decency of answering my phone calls.” She was angry, evidenced by the rigid way she lowered herself onto the chaise next to his, and the glittering silver sheen of her gray eyes. Also, her mouth was pursed in a thin tight line.

“What calls?” He frowned, rubbed his forehead. “What was it you wanted?”

“Unbelievable.” She glared at him. “Absolutely un believable.”

It was not the time to speak, so Wade shut up and waited for enlightenment.

“I’ve been trying to get your consent for Silver’s enrollment in ballet. We talked about it that day at lunch two weeks ago, remember?”

A flicker of a memory returned.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were waiting for my approval,” he said finally. “I assumed you would proceed as usual and decide the matter for yourself.”

“But—” Connie frowned, peering at him through the dim light “—you’re her father, and you’re home now. The decisions about her should be yours.”

“And I am authorizing you to make them.” He swung his legs off the chaise, preparing to leave.

“Don’t you care about Silver at all?” The almost-whisper hit him like a baseball bat.

“Of course I care about her!” He rose, glared down at her. “How dare you—”

“I dare because I love that child. Her heart is breaking, because she never sees you. It’s as if you’re still in Argentina, only she doesn’t get the gifts anymore.” Connie rose too, eyes blazing. “She loves you so much, but you seem to have abandoned her.”

“Like your father abandoned you?” He regretted that the moment the words left his lips, but it was too late to take them back. “Connie—”

“Exactly like that.” She straightened and thrust her chin forward as if to repel his next attack. “At least I was eleven. Silver isn’t even five.”

“I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Why not? It’s true.” Connie’s gaze dropped. “I was abandoned, left on a street corner outside a church in Grand Forks on Christmas morning.” That wound had never quite healed. “I couldn’t bear it if Silver had to go through what I did.”