style="font-size:15px;"> At the celebrity’s office, a bored receptionist picked up. “Hi,” Ellie said, “this is Ellie Miller, returning Julie Weston’s call. Is she in?” The receptionist muttered something that could have been assent, then classical hold music filled the line. Ellie glanced back at Connie. “What did Mrs. Winterberry do now? Let me guess. Take Sabrina to the mall and spoil her mercilessly? I swear, that woman is a saint. She’s bought more clothes for my daughter than I have.”
“Yeah, well, read your message,” Connie said, wagging a pen in the direction of Ellie’s desk. “Babysitter-of-the-Month had to dump your kid and run. Her sister was sick or something. I couldn’t really hear her. Lincoln was in the middle of a rant.”
Just as Julie said hello, Ellie hung up on her and started rifling through the stack of messages again. Connie had organized them chronologically, and as Ellie flipped wildly, she saw the story take shape. “Mrs. Winterberry called. Needs you to call back. May need to leave early.” “Mrs. Winterberry again. Sister is sick. Needs you to come home.” “Mrs. Winterberry can’t reach you. Leaving Sabrina with a neighbor.”
A rising tide of worry flooded Ellie’s chest. She ripped her cell phone out of her purse—still off from earlier, from the meeting, a Lincoln rule— never, ever interrupt a meeting with a phone call. Damn. At the same time she pressed the power button, Ellie pointed at the name below the word “neighbor” and glanced at Connie. “Neighbor? What neighbor?”
Ellie barely knew anyone in her neighborhood. She’d lived there just over a year and a half, and hadn’t been outside to do much more than mow the lawn—and even that was sporadic. Her entire life was wrapped up in work, and Sabrina.
“Some guy named…uh, Dave or Dalton or something, I think. Again, Lincoln, screaming. Sorry. Lives uh…” Connie leaned forward, peering at her illegible words. “Across the street? At…529? Maybe 527? Sorry, El. The phone was ringing off the hook and that new voice mail is so spotty, people kept getting bounced back to me. Between that and Lincoln, I was having a heck of a time keeping up.”
Ellie wanted to scream at Connie, to tell her that was no excuse for missing the details, but she had pitched in a time or two herself to work the front desk and knew how insane it could get. Plus, she didn’t have time. Sabrina was with a stranger— and that had Ellie’s heart racing. Her little girl was probably completely upset by the change in her environment, schedule, caretaker. Ellie could swear she heard Sabrina’s cries from here. She shouldn’t have gone to work today. She should have stayed home, stayed with Bri.
But that was an impossible dream. The job situation that Ellie had always wanted—but couldn’t have.
She swung her purse over her shoulder and shoved away from her desk, clasping the last message in her hand. “I’ve got to go. Will you tell—”
“Lincoln,” Connie finished, with a nod and a comforting touch on Ellie’s arm. “I’ll face the firing squad for you.” She grinned. “Now, go.”
“Thanks.” Ellie was already out of her chair and out the door, hurrying past Connie and down the stairs, bypassing the elevator to hustle down the three flights of stairs to the parking garage. Within minutes, she was in her car and on her way to her house, trying hard to concentrate on the road, not the fact that she didn’t know this Dave/Dalton/whoever he was from a hole in the wall, and an hour had already passed since Mrs. Winterberry left the message. A thousand things could have gone wrong in that period of time.
But Mrs. Winterberry was responsible. Surely, she had left the neighbor babysitter with the list of numbers to reach Ellie. Mrs. Winterberry wouldn’t have dumped her baby with just anyone.
Would she?
For the hundredth time since the death of her husband, Ellie wished she had a spouse to share this burden with, another parent to take on the emergencies. The late nights. The fretting over every detail.
At a stoplight, she dialed Mrs. Winterberry’s cell phone number. “Mrs. Winterberry, thank God I reached you.”
“Ellie! I’m so sorry I had to run out today. Don’t you worry, Dalton Scott is a great babysitter. He comes from a family of twelve, you know. He’s got lots of baby experience.”
A whoosh of relief escaped Ellie. “Good.”
“You didn’t think I’d leave your baby with just anyone, did you?”
“Of course not.”
Mrs. Winterberry laughed. “He’s a very nice man, you know. A very nice man.”
“I’m sure he is.”
“He’d be nice for you. It’s time you moved on, dear. Dealt with…well, dealt with losing your husband. I know, because I lost my Walter and it was the hardest thing I ever went through. You have a little one to think of. You need a man in your life, not just for you, but for that precious baby.”
It was a familiar discussion. One Ellie had had a hundred times with her neighbor. But what Viola didn’t understand was that moving on after Cameron’s death involved a lot more than just dating a new guy. “Mrs. Winterberry, I don’t have time—”
“No better time than now,” she interrupted. “Well, dear. I have to get back to my sister. She’s in rough shape but she’ll be okay.”
“Oh, Mrs. Winterberry. I’m so sorry.”
“I probably have to stay a couple days. Maybe longer. I hate to leave you in a lurch, but—”
“Don’t worry. Stay as long as you need. Take care of your sister. I’ll be fine.”
“Thank you, dear. I’ll call you tomorrow. Give that little girl a kiss for me.”
Ellie promised to do so, then hung up. She gripped the steering wheel and prayed for strength for the days ahead. Without Mrs. Winterberry’s kindness, wisdom—and most importantly, her second set of hands—Ellie would be lost.
Stress doubled in Ellie’s gut. She could tick the worries off, worries that had multiplied minute-by-minute in the months since she’d been widowed. Being a single mom. Paying the bills, the mortgage, a mortgage she’d taken on when there’d been two incomes, and been left to pay with one. Raising her child alone, juggling late-night feedings and diaper changes, while still managing to get to work, and be a star performer eight to ten hours a day. At the same time, the even-more-powerful desire to be a star mom. To give her all to her daughter, who needed her, and depended on her for everything. Every morning, Ellie woke up to trusting blue eyes that believed in Ellie to be a supermom, who could do it all.
And here, Ellie felt like she was barely balancing any of it.
Finally, she pulled onto her street. She parked haphazardly against the sidewalk opposite to her house, then paused outside the two houses. 527 or 529?
She should have asked Mrs. Winterberry. Damn.
The crying answered the question for her. She could hear her daughter’s cries through the open windows of 529, a massive two-story contemporary with a brick front she had noticed from time to time. A beautiful house, one of the nicest in the neighborhood. Ellie pressed the doorbell, then rapped on the oak door, resisting the urge to just barge in.
No answer. Sabrina kept crying.
