Page 3

K ENDALL

Paisley’s grandmother is winded when she steps into my classroom. “Ms. Wentworth, I’m so sorry to inconvenience you, but I don’t know who else to ask.” Usually her husband is with her, but she’s alone today.

“Is everything okay with your husband?” I glance over my shoulder at Paisley who is playing with two other girls at the kitchen station.

“Oh, yes. He’ll be okay, but he’s not feeling well and is the absolute worst when he’s sick. I don’t want to risk spreading his germs to Paisley or her father, and Joe seems to think he needs me by his side.”

“Ah. The infamous man cold.” I chuckle.

“At first, but it progressed to bronchitis. He really does sound awful.”

Bronchitis can be miserable. I had it when I was in high school and it took weeks for me to fully recover.

Guilt washes over me for belittling her husband. “What can I do to help you?”

Beth wrings her hands together and steps out into the hall, beckoning me to join her. “My son is quite protective of Paisley. He doesn’t trust anyone to watch her other than us. He’s away tonight and I don’t want to worry him.”

Away. How nice of him to take off and leave his daughter with his ill parents. School has been in session for five weeks and I have yet to meet her father. He didn’t even show up for Open House. Supposedly, he was away for work. What he does for work, I have no idea. Nor do I care.

“Would you be able to watch Paisley tonight? Her father will be home in the early hours of the morning so you’ll be able to leave for work and not worry about getting her ready.”

“Um. I, uh, well, I’m not legally allowed to take my students home.”

“Oh, there’s no worry about that.” She waves her hand in the air. “I took care of the appropriate paperwork in the office already. I called a few hours ago and spoke with the administration and explained the situation.”

Well, hell. How do I say no when she’s truly in a bind? It’s not her fault or Paisley’s. I could bring her to my house, but we don’t have a spare bedroom. And the last thing the little spitfire needs is to be uprooted from her home, even if she has a negligent father.

“Are you sure it’s okay for me to be at her house? Would it be more comfortable for everyone if I take Paisley to my place?” I could sleep on the couch for one night.

“I don’t want to inconvenience you any more than I’m already asking. That would mean bringing her to work early with you, and I don’t know how my son will feel about her sleeping somewhere else. Or how Paisley would do. She’s only slept over at our house and her aunt and uncle’s in Seattle.”

“Oh.” Great. What happens if she freaks out in the middle of the night? The poor girl doesn’t have any other family or friends who can help her?

“We’ll compensate you for your time.”

“Oh. No. I don’t need any kind of compensation. I just want to make sure her father won’t mind.”

“He’ll be upset with us, but he can get over it. Chances are you won’t even see him. He’ll get home close to three in the morning, and I’m sure he’ll still be sound asleep when you leave.”

“Is it okay for me to bring her to my house first to pick up a change of clothes for tomorrow?”

“Absolutely. I’ll leave her booster seat in the front lobby. Here’s the address and some money for dinner. Feel free to order delivery.”

“I don’t—”

She pushes the envelope on me and takes her phone out of her pocket, showing me the screen. “It’s Joe,” she says with a sigh. “I need to run. I’ll leave my son a message letting him know the plan. I appreciate it, Miss Wentworth. I’d give you a hug but I don’t want to chance giving you our germs.”

She slips away before Paisley notices she was here. When the other students have left and it’s just Paisley and me, I break the news to her. She takes it really well and is excited for our impromptu sleepover.

My mom and sister aren’t home when we stop by the house, and I quickly pack a few things.

“Is this your room?” Paisley asks, hopping up on my bed.

“It is.”

“Do you live with your mommy?”

“I do. And my sister.”

“What’s your sister’s name?”

“Danielle.”

“Is she a teacher too?”

I give Paisley a sad smile. “No.”

“Is she a librarian?”

“No.” I chuckle. We talked about professions today in class and students drew pictures of what they want to be when they’re older.

“When I grow up I want to be a princess.”

I’m thankful for the change of topic. “I saw that. You drew a beautiful picture.”

“I still don’t know if I want to be Sleeping Beauty or Elsa.”

“It’s a tough decision.” I toss my toiletries in my backpack and hold out my hand for Paisley. “Ready?”

She fills the car ride with a million questions, bouncing from one topic to the next without waiting for me to completely respond before asking a new question. My GPS directs me to turn left, and the homes get larger as I make my way through the upscale neighborhood on the outskirts of Boston.

“Is this your house?” I ask as I slow in front of a gargantuan home.

“Yes. Daddy and I live here. Sometimes my cousins come and visit but I haven’t seen them in a long time because Aunt Anna is going to have another baby. Libby is five like me but I’ll be six first and Joey is a baby but he can walk and stuff.”

“You must miss them.”

“Yeah. Come see my room.” She unbuckles as soon as I park the car in front of the three-car garage.

I enter the code that Beth wrote on the note and the door clicks. Paisley shoves past me and runs up the stairs.

“Come on, Miss Wentworth.”

I set my bag down and follow her up the stairs, barely catching a glimpse of the open foyer as I scurry up the curved staircase. There are three doors to the left and four doors to the right where Paisley turns.

“This is my dollhouse,” she says as I step into her bedroom that’s bigger than our living room and kitchen put together. “And these are my Barbies.”

In typical Paisley fashion, she hands me one and takes four for herself. For the next hour, we play with her dolls until she hops up off the floor and asks for a snack.

I follow her, tempted to peek in the other doors, and head down the stairs to the kitchen.

We pass through a living room that takes up the entire left side of the house.

It’s massive and separated into two different living spaces with a sectional, two chairs, and a television screen that looks more like a movie screen in the back half of the space, closer to the kitchen.

A more formal leather furniture set occupies the front area.

The kitchen is what dreams are made of. I’m a minimalist when it comes to food preparation. I can make a mean pot of spaghetti and heat up jarred sauce to perfection, but salads are where I excel. I’m a pro at finding anything and everything and adding it to a bed of lettuce.

“What would you like?”

“A snack.” Paisley opens the door to what I think is another room, but it’s a walk-in pantry stocked with more food than the corner market by my house.

“Wow. Okay.” She reaches for a bag of popcorn and a juice box. “What would you like for dinner tonight?”

“Can we have chicken fingers?”

“Sure.” I close the pantry door behind us and help her up to the barstool at the kitchen counter. Although, calling it a counter doesn’t do it justice. The center island is bigger than the king-size bed in Paisley’s room. “Where do you like to order them from?”

“We don’t order them, silly. We make them.” She bites her lower lip while she pokes the straw at the little hole on her juice box, but it keeps bending.

“Need some help?”

“Daddy usually helps me but lets me do it myself.”

“How does he do that?”

“He pokes the hole with a toothpick.”

“I can do that.” I hop off my stool and start opening drawers. There are dozens of them, and cabinets. It’ll take me all day to find them. “Do you know where your Daddy keeps them?”

As tempted as I am to snoop, I remind myself to wait until she goes to bed tonight. Paisley points to the one to the right of the sink, and I’m surprised at how clean and orderly the cabinet is. Granted, if you can afford a house like this, you can afford a full-time housekeeper.

I return with a toothpick, poke the hole, and watch Paisley slide her straw in with ease.

“I did it,” she says, her voice pitched high with genuine excitement.

“Nice job.”

“Can I watch a show while you make dinner?”

Beth didn’t leave me with a list of rules or anything about screen time. I’d rather not use the television as a babysitter.

“It’s not time for dinner yet, especially since you’re filling up on a snack. How about we play outside for a little bit?”

The backyard is expansive. The inground pool is covered and fenced, as is what looks to be a hot tub. To the right is a swingset, sandbox, and gorgeous outdoor furniture on a patio that features a firepit and an outdoor kitchen.

After she finishes her snack, we play outside until the sun sets. We head back inside and she immediately asks to watch a show. Either that’s what she’s accustomed to, being entertained by the television, or she rarely watches it and is using my inexperience as a reason to break the rules.

“How about you keep me company and tell me where you keep the chicken fingers?”

I assume the freezer, but I want to include her in the dinner preparations.

“Daddy lets me dip them in the flour.”

“Dip them in flour?” I open the freezer drawer and fish around for a familiar bag. We may be three grown women at the Wentworth house, but we always have frozen chicken tenders on hand.

“Can you cut the chicken into long snakes?”

“Snakes?” I pop up and quirk my head.

“Sometimes Daddy makes nuggets. Sometimes chunkies. But I like the skinny snakes the best.”

“Um, how exactly does your father make the chicken snakes?”

“With chicken, silly.” Paisley shakes her head like I’m asking the most ridiculous question ever. “The chicken is in the meat drawer in the refif-erator.”