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win that battle. When does anyone ever win with six-year-

olds?

Tildy used to go to daycare during the day in the

summer, but since her parents are getting divorced and they’ve

had to seriously hash out the finances in some really unhappy

sorts of ways, they can’t afford the place anymore. Which

means that family has to help out. It’s just me and Mandy.

Dad’s still working, but Mom is retired. She’s going to watch

Tildy after this for the rest of the summer on and off between

John’s parents taking turns and maybe his brother, although I

doubt that very much, but she and Dad are on vacation in

Europe until next Tuesday. So that left me.

Normally, I wouldn’t mind. Tildy is a great kid and I

love her to death. I don’t mind today. I keep telling myself

that. I should be thankful. At least I still have a job and Tildy

is healthy and here for me to love. Mandy and John are going

to be much better off apart. When they’re apart, they seem

much more decent to each other. Everything is going to be

fine.

I’m not going to lose this job.

I burn those words into my brain as I reach the coffee

shop door. I get a load of my reflection before I rush in. Red

face. Dark hair pulled from my bun and stuck damply all over

my forehead and temples. Wild dark eyes. Blouse untucked.

“I want a latte!” Tildy announces loudly enough for the

entire coffee shop to hear. “With caramel and whipped

cream!”

I groan inwardly as about six heads lift up and six

faces, both male and female, young and old, judge me on my

parenting skills. Or lack thereof. I can’t very well inform the