Monday morning, I used the back door to the inn so I didn’t have to walk by the desk. By that afternoon, I was coming out of my skin, so I thought up an excuse to wander out to reception. Frannie’s mother was at the desk alone, and I asked her something inconsequential before ducking back down the hall to my office.
The day went on, and I never saw her. I started to get concerned. A few times I pulled out my phone and thought about texting or calling her, just to make sure she was okay, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
But she wasn’t there Tuesday, either, and I couldn’t take it anymore. Around ten, I wandered up to the desk and asked Daphne where she was.
“Oh, didn’t she tell you? She’s working in Traverse City this week at that coffee shop. She thought it would be a good idea to start there as soon as possible, learn the ropes before she started her own thing there.” Then she sighed. “I still think this is a crazy idea, and I can’t imagine what her father was thinking to encourage her, but …” She threw up her hands. “I’m just her mother, what do I know?”
“So she’s not working here at all anymore?”
Daphne shook her head. “No. On Sunday afternoon she came down and said that she really needed to start there as soon as possible, and could I please do without her starting Monday. I said I could, and I’m looking for a replacement. You don’t know anyone who’d be good at reception, do you?”
“Not offhand, but I’ll think about it.” I wished her luck and went back to my office, where I sank into my chair and stared blankly at my laptop. So I wouldn’t see her here anymore. I frowned. Had she quit early because of me? Was she going to quit watching the girls too? Would she even contact me to let me know?
I went home anxious and frustrated and angry with myself. Of course, I took it out on the kids, snapping at them about homework, barking about chores, and insisting that they eat what I put on the plate in front of them without complaint or I was going to lose my fucking mind. I made Winnie cry, I sent Millie to her room, and I ignored Felicity when she asked me why I was acting like a grumpy old man.
I also put a lot of money in the swear jar.
The next day, I apologized and tried to make it up to them by taking them out for tacos after therapy. When we got home, I went into my room and called Frannie. She didn’t answer, and I left her a message.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m just wondering if you’re still coming to watch the girls this week. Let me know.” Then I paused, battling the urge to say more, to say I missed her, to say I was sorry, to say I loved her too, but it was too fucking much to handle. “I hope you’re okay.”
I hung up and threw my phone down on the bed, fisting my hands in my hair. Of course she isn’t okay, you fuckwit. Are you okay?
I wasn’t. Especially not when her text came about an hour later, which said,
I will be there.
That’s it. Four words.
I typed a reply, deleted it, typed another, and deleted that too.
Just leave her alone, MacAllister. It’s what she wants. You can give her that much.
On Thursday, I drove home from work with white knuckles. I’d never been so nervous to walk into my own house.
Frannie was at the counter with Felicity, and they both looked up when I entered the kitchen. Neither of them looked particularly happy to see me.
“Hey,” I said, testing my voice.
“Hi, Daddy. We’re doing my spelling words.”
“Good.”
Frannie slid off her chair. “Millie is at ballet. I think Winnie’s in the bathroom upstairs.”
“Okay.” I stuck my hands in my pockets.
“Bye, Felicity. See you tomorrow.” Eyes averted, Frannie moved past me into the back hall, and I followed her.
“How’d everything go at the new job?” I asked.
“Fine.” She tugged on her boots and put on her coat.
“Are you liking it?”
“Mmhm.” She freed her hair from the back of her coat and zipped it up. “See you tomorrow.”
“Frannie, wait.”
She froze with her back to me, one hand on the door.
“I hate this,” I said quietly.
“Me too. If you want to hire someone else to watch the girls, I’ll understand.”
I swallowed hard. “They’d miss you.”
“I’ll miss them too.”
“To be honest, I wasn’t even sure you’d show up today.”
“It was hard, but …” She glanced back at me. “I came for them.”
I nodded slowly. “Can you come one more time? Tomorrow? I’ll start looking for a replacement for next week.”
“Of course.” She paused. “I can tell them it’s because of my new job at the coffee shop. That way they aren’t confused or … hurt.”
She was still putting them first. It gutted me. “I’ll handle it. You don’t have to tell them anything.”
She left without saying goodbye.
That evening was a repeat performance of Tuesday, except I made Millie cry, I sent Felicity to her room, and Winnie didn’t even want me to kiss Ned the Hammerhead from Shedd goodnight.
“He doesn’t like it when you yell,” she told me, hugging the animal protectively.
“Tell him I’m sorry.” I brushed her damp hair back from her head. “I had a bad day.”
“Do you need a hug?” she asked. “Frannie says a hug makes a bad day better.”
I nodded, my throat aching. “Yeah. I think I do.”
She sat up and wrapped her arms around my neck. I held her little body close to mine, breathing in her baby shampoo scent and choking back tears. I just wanted to do right by her, by all of them.
But how were you supposed to know for sure what the right thing was? What felt right to me wasn’t necessarily what was best for them.
Why did everything have to be so complicated?
Friday afternoon, I was sitting at my desk, my laptop open in front of me, but my eyes weren’t on the screen. I was staring at the photo on my desk that Frannie had taken last summer at the Cloverleigh picnic. Winifred was on my shoulders, her tiny hands in mine, and the other two monkeys were hanging off my upper arms, their feet dangling. I remembered that day so vividly because it was the first day since Carla had left that all three kids seemed entirely happy—no tears, no asking for her, no whining of any kind. For the first time, I saw the possibility that we could be okay. There were still good times to be had.
That day, most of the good times were because of Frannie. She’d thought ahead and had plenty of activities she knew the kids would get excited about—games and crafts and time with the animals. She’d occupied them almost the entire picnic, which had afforded me the opportunity to relax with co-workers and friends. Actually, Cloverleigh had always felt more like a family to me, and Frannie had been a part of that.
Now she was gone, and I missed her terribly. It would get even worse when I hired a new nanny to replace her. I wouldn’t see her at work, I wouldn’t see her at home. The void in my life gnawed at me, a huge, gaping hole—and I’d dug it.
I dropped my forehead onto my fingertips.
“Everything okay?” a deep voice asked.
I looked up and saw John Sawyer in my office doorway. “Oh, hey, John. Come on in.”
He ambled into my office, hitching up his jeans. “It’s nearly five. Why don’t you knock off for the night?”
“I could ask you the same thing.” I shut my laptop and gestured to the chairs across from me. “Have a seat.”
He lowered himself into one of them and exhaled. “I’m on my way out. My wife made me promise I wouldn’t work past five anymore, at least not in the winter.”
“Not a bad idea.”
“She’s got all these ideas about how to spend our winter evenings broadening our horizons and getting healthy. And she’s on me about retirement all the time. Wants to travel more.” He shook his head, ran a hand through his silvery hair. “She’s got Chloe and April on her side now too. They’re all teaming up against me. Trying to boot me out.”
I laughed. “I don’t know about that.”
“It’s true. You’ll see,” he grumbled. “Your daughters grow up and turn against you, Mack. They seem so sweet and innocent one day, holding your hand while they cross the street, and then you blink, and they’re grown, with their own ideas about how to run things and their opinions on everything you’re doing or not doing…” He snapped his fingers. “It happens just like that.”
I could already see it happening with my kids, so I knew he was right. “Yeah. Time moves too quickly.”
Sawyer sighed again. “It sure as hell does. And I suppose you have to make the most of what time you get here. It’s not like you get any kind of guarantee when your number’s gonna be up.”
I looked at him with concern. “Everything okay with your health?”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Eh, I’ve got some issues with my blood pressure, and the old ticker is getting a little worn, but it’s nothing I can’t handle.”
“That’s good.”
He looked around my office, and the silence grew slightly uncomfortable. Did he know about Frannie and me? Did he know it was over? I felt like I owed him an apology, like I’d taken advantage of his trust and generosity. I was trying to think of a way to get it off my chest when he spoke again.
“You know, Mack, you’re family to us.” He picked up the photo of me and the girls I’d been looking at earlier and took it in his lap.
I felt his kind words like a kick in the gut. “Thank you, sir.”
“And I hope you know that you’ll always be welcome here.”
“Thank you. I’m …” I cleared my throat. “I’m very glad to be a part of this team.”
He looked up at me. “It’s more than a team.”
I nodded. My throat was too dry to speak.
Setting the photo back on the desk, he said, “I never had any sons, and my son-in-law isn’t around here very often, so if you’d ever like to go fishing or hunting or anything, you let me know. If I am going to slow down some, I’m gonna have some time on my hands. I’d like to fill it doing things I enjoy, spending time with people I care about.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I attempted to smile, but I felt like shit. I didn’t deserve his kindness after what I’d done to Frannie. I didn’t deserve to have him refer to me as family or offer to go fishing with me or think of me as a surrogate son. Had that been his way of telling me he was okay with a relationship between me and his daughter? Dammit, I didn’t deserve that either! I almost wished he’d come at me red-faced and angry, railing about how I couldn’t treat her like that and get away with it. I wished he’d thrown a punch.
I arrived home on edge, and Frannie barely looked at me before hugging the kids goodbye and disappearing into the back hall to put on her boots and coat. Again, I followed her.
“Did you say anything to them about not coming back?” I asked.
“No.” She pulled on her boots. “You told me not to.”
“I know. I’ll do it tonight. I spoke with an agency today. They said it wouldn’t be a problem to find a replacement sitter by next week.”
“Good.” She zipped up her coat and put her hat on. She wore braids in her hair again today, and for some reason the sight of them made me even sadder. I’d never smell her hair again. Or brush it. Or see it spilling across my pillow, dangling above my chest, cascading down her naked back.
I stuck my hands in my pockets, my heart aching. “I guess I’ll see you around then.”
She barely looked at me before walking out, closing the door behind her. For a few frantic seconds, I tried to think of some reason—any reason—to run after her, keep her here a little longer. But I couldn’t.
Instead I went to the living room, moved the curtain aside, and peeked out the front window, watching as she got into her car. She started the engine, but didn’t go anywhere right away. I thought maybe she was on the phone or texting someone, but then she dropped her face into her hands and I realized she was crying.
My chest felt like it was being split in two.
“Daddy, what are you doing?” asked Felicity, coming up behind me.
“Nothing,” I said, letting the curtain fall into place again.
“Yes, you are, you’re looking at Frannie,” she said, jumping onto the couch and pushing the curtain aside again. Then she gasped. “Oh, she’s crying!”
“She’s crying?” Immediately the other two girls jumped onto the couch and craned their necks for a better view.
I yanked the curtain in front of them. “I don’t know.”
“She is, I can tell,” Millie said. “We should go get her. What if she needs help?”
“No!” I yelled. “Leave her alone!”
All three girls looked at me in surprise.
I ran a hand through my hair and lowered my voice. “Sometimes grownups get sad about things. Frannie is fine.”
“How do you know?” Millie persisted. “She didn’t say anything to us about being sad.”
“Because I know,” I snapped. I thought about her gentle, trusting father and his kind words to me this afternoon and felt even worse.
“Did you make her sad?” Winnie asked, her tone accusatory. “Did you yell at her? You make me sad when you yell at me.”
“Me too,” added Felicity. “And you’ve been yelling a lot this week.”
“Why did you yell at Frannie?” Millie crossed her arms over her chest. “We love Frannie. You should apologize. You probably scared her!”
“For fuck’s sake, Millie, I didn’t yell at Frannie!”
“Now you’re yelling at me.”
“No, I’m not!” I yelled.
Winnie started to cry and ran up the stairs. Felicity and Millie exchanged a look that said OMG Dad Is Losing It.
“Look,” I said, trying to stay calm. “Sometimes dads yell. It doesn’t mean they don’t love their kids. It just means they’re having a bad day.”
“Frannie says a hug makes a bad day better,” said Felicity, pushing her glasses up her nose. “But I’m sorry, I don’t really feel like hugging you right now.”
“Me neither.” Millie shook her head.
Sighing, I flopped onto the other end of the couch and lay my head back. Closed my eyes. “I’m sorry, girls. It’s been a tough week.”
They didn’t say anything for a few minutes. I thought they might have even gone upstairs, but when I opened my eyes, they were still there looking at me. Then I had an idea.
“Frannie is sad because she can’t be your babysitter anymore,” I said.
They looked at each other and then back at me, their expressions a mixture of shock and panic. “What?” Felicity cried. “Why?”
“Because she’s got a new job at a coffee shop and it’s going to be longer hours.”
“She doesn’t work with you at Cloverleigh anymore?” Millie asked.
I shook my head. “No.”
“But we’ll never see her again,” Felicity said, tears filling her eyes.
“She promised to come to my fashion show,” protested Millie, her voice cracking. “It’s tomorrow. Is she still coming?”
I exhaled, tipping my head back again. I’d forgotten about that damn show. “I don’t know. Probably not.”
Both of them started to cry, which made my temper flare again. I’d lost her too, but you didn’t see me crying—although I felt like it. “Stop it, you two,” I snapped. “There’s nothing to cry about. She’s just too busy to come here anymore.”
That made them sob harder, and Felicity wiped her nose on her sleeve. “It’s not fair,” she wept.
“If you’re going to cry like that, go up to your rooms,” I ordered like the ogre I was. “I don’t want to hear it.”
They jumped off the couch and ran upstairs, and I heard two doors slam a moment later. From above came the sounds of wailing and despair.
“Great,” I muttered. “Fucking Father of the Year.”
I sat there for a moment and listened to my children sob, wishing I could cry it out myself. This week had been nothing but misery and stress. A little release would feel pretty damn good right now.
But I couldn’t. I owed my children an apology, an ice cream cone, and a hug—if they’d let me give them one.
After sitting there for a while, stewing in my own self-imposed agony, I got to my feet and headed slowly up the stairs, my head pounding, my nerves shot, and my heart in a million little pieces.
