Stevi pointed out impatiently.
“And I’m saying it again,” he told her. “I’ve rearranged my schedule so that I can pick you up from school and then we will meet this new housekeeper together.”
Stevi raised her small chin, a bantam rooster just itching for a fight. “What if I don’t like this one? What if she’s like Mrs. Applegate? Or Mrs. Kelly?”
“Please like this one,” he implored. He was torn between begging and telling his daughter that she was going to like the new housekeeper or else. He resigned himself to trying to reason with Stevi—again. “And for your information, there was nothing wrong with Mrs. Applegate or Mrs. Kelly.”
Stevi sniffed. “They were both jumpy and nervous.”
Caught at another red light, he spared his daughter a penetrating glance. “And who made them that way?”
The expression on his daughter’s face was nothing short of angelic as she replied, “I don’t know.”
Right. “I’ve got a feeling that you do. And never mind them, anyway,” he said dismissively. “We’ve got a chance for a fresh start here, so let’s both try to make a go of it.” When his daughter made no response, he added, “Please, Stevi? For me?”
“It’s Stephanie,” she stressed pointedly.
“Please, whoever you are,” he said through almost clenched teeth, as he pulled up at the school where Stevi was taking summer school classes, “do it for me.”
Stevi released a sigh that seemed twice as large as she was. Getting out of the car, she nodded. “Okay, Dad, if it means that much to you, I’ll try.”
“Do more than try,” Steve called after her. “Do.”
It was half an order, half a plea, both parts addressed to his daughter’s back as she walked away, heading toward the building.
He hoped that this new housekeeper Mrs. Parnell had found came with an infinite supply of patience. Otherwise, he thought glumly as he pulled away, he was going to have to start looking into boarding schools in earnest.
* * *
Moving his lunch hour so that he was able to pick Stevi up from summer school, Steve arrived at the school yard to find that most of the cars that had been there earlier were now gone. It was a sure sign that everyone had already picked up their child and gone home. Steve really hated being late, hated the message it sent his daughter: that she was an afterthought, even though that was in no way true.
She was the center of his universe, but he seemed to have lost the ability to get that across to her.
Scanning the immediate area, he saw Stevi standing at the curb, a resigned, somewhat forlorn look on her face.
“I could have walked home,” she told him by way of a greeting when he pulled up beside her. “You didn’t have to come running back for me.”
Leaning over, he opened the door for her, then waited for her to get in. “I didn’t run. I drove.”
Stevi glared at him in a way that told him he knew what she meant.
There were times when it was really difficult to remember that she was only ten years old. It seemed more like she was ten going on thirty—and he didn’t know how to handle either one of those stages.
Not for the first time, he wondered why kids didn’t come with instruction manuals.
“Anyway, you forget,” he told her, pulling away from the curb, “I had to bring you home so that we could meet the new housekeeper.”
“Housekeeper,” she repeated in a mocking tone. “You know that you’re really getting her so you have someone to watch over me,” she accused.
“In part,” Steve allowed, unwilling to lie to his daughter. He had always been honest with Stevi, and until a little while ago, that had been enough. It was the reason they had a bond. But these days, it seemed as if nothing was working, and he felt, rightly or wrongly, that it was his fault.
“I don’t need to be watched,” Stevi informed him indignantly, continuing her thought. “I’m too old to have a babysitter.”
“She’s a housekeeper,” Steve stressed. “And her job is to run the household. You just happen to be part of it.”
Stevi’s face hardened. “She can’t tell me what to do,” the young girl insisted.
“Stephanie,” he began, taking great pains to call her by the name she professed to prefer, “I expect you to be polite to the woman.”
“You mean you expect me to do what she says,” Stevi corrected.
“What I expect, Stephanie, is for you not to give me a headache,” he told her, the last of his patience slipping away.
Reaching the house, he left his car parked in the driveway and went inside with his daughter.
When had parenting become so difficult? he wondered. He and Stevi had always gotten along, even right after her mother died. Stevi had been only four and they’d helped one another, supporting each other whenever the other was down and really needed it. Where had all that gone?
He was about to say something else to Stevi when he heard the doorbell ring. It pushed his train of thought into the background. For now, he tabled the rest of what he wanted to say.
“Remember,” he warned his daughter in a lowered tone, “be polite.”
“Only if she is,” Stevi said, just as he opened the door.
He gave his daughter a warning glance before turning to look at Mrs. Parnell and the housekeeper she had brought with her.
Steve found himself tongue-tied, staring at the woman beside Mrs. Parnell. Although no actual description had been given, for some reason he had expected this latest candidate for housekeeper to be like the others: another middle-aged woman in sensible shoes, with a somewhat expanding waistline and a pasted-on smile that ended before ever reaching her eyes.
Instead, the woman beside Mrs. Parnell was a blue-eyed blonde who might have been twenty-five or so. She was slender and there was nothing sensible about her shoes—or the rest of her, for that matter. She was wearing high heels and looked as if she was about to go out on a date, not a job interview. And since nothing had actually been settled between himself and Mrs. Parnell, that was what this actually was. A job interview.
“Mr. Holder,” Celia said, addressing him formally for the sake of the interview, “I’d like you to meet Rebecca Reynolds.” Celia smiled broadly at the young woman. There was a great deal of pride in her manner. “Rebecca is one of my best employees.”
Steve was still at a loss for words. He knew that Mrs. Parnell had brought the woman here to be a housekeeper, but the more he looked at her, the more she just didn’t seem like the type.
When his tongue finally came back to life and reengaged with his brain, he heard himself asking, “You’re a cleaning lady?”
Rather
