could easily understand how precious the child was to both Chrissy and George. She loved the baby herself, as well as both of the Ballantines—and loved babysitting for them. They had a great old historic house that was one of the few listed on the National Historic Register and still a private residence in the midst of the explosion of Boston as a city. When she babysat in the afternoon, she would walk part of the Freedom Trail and, despite the fact she was a city native, still marvel at the Old South Meeting House, the Granary Burial Ground and other local wonders.
Her own house was old, but not nearly so old—or distinguished—as the Ballantine house. It had been built in 1790, combining the Georgian and Federal styles, and the architecture itself was amazing. The house was on most walking tours of the city. It had hosted Samuel Adams at one time, along with John Hancock and a number of other Revolutionary notables. Her home was nice—mid-1800s—but it had been built as apartments and was an apartment building to this day. Nothing like this.
“Oh, but his clothes!” Chrissy said. “I need to show Vickie where everything he might need can be found.”
“Vickie knows where everything Noah has can be found. Details—you’re going to drive the poor girl crazy!” George said.
“Darling, I don’t get crazy on details,” Chrissy protested. “Okay, I do,” she admitted, looking at Vickie. “But—”
“I’m fine. I don’t mind details,” Vickie assured her.
From his play area in the living room, Noah suddenly let out a demanding cry. Chrissy Ballantine immediately jumped and turned to go to him.
Her husband caught her arm. “Vickie is here now. She’ll get Noah. And we’ll head out to our dinner with my boss, huh?”
“Yes, of course, of course.” Chrissy smiled at Vickie, hugged her impetuously and allowed her husband to steer her to the kitchen door.
A blast of cold air swept in; the house didn’t have a garage, but rather a porte cochere, or covered drive, once a carriage entry. It was small and tight to the house, allowing for one car. But then they didn’t need more than one car where they were in Boston. Public transportation on the T was great.
George Ballantine looked back at Vickie and winked. She smiled and waved and headed to the door to close and lock it behind them.
But Chrissy was suddenly back, rapping on the window. “The alarm!” she said.
“I’ve got it!” Vickie assured her. And she keyed in the alarm.
As she did so, she remembered that she had forgotten to ask George Ballantine why the side door had been open. She rekeyed the alarm to Off and threw open the door.
But their silver Mercedes had already driven into the night.
She heard Noah let out another wail and she quickly locked the door and keyed in the alarm again before hurrying back to the grand parlor.
She wasn’t really sure why any kid would be crying or wanting to leave this play space. His “playpen” was constructed to cover an area that was a good fifteen-by-fifteen feet long and wide. He could crawl onto his scooter, play with his toddler walker—or any number of the amazing toys in the carefully constructed play box in the play area.
Despite being spoiled rotten, Noah Ballantine was a sweet and affectionate baby. He had taken to Vickie right away, which had helped her earn the position. She adored him in turn.
He wasn’t screaming or crying out with his few words when she reached the parlor; he was staring into what appeared to be blank space. And then he began to laugh—the way he did when they watched Little Baby Bum videos and clapped and played.
His interaction with blank space made Vickie curious—and uncomfortable. She told herself that she was just spooked. She silently cursed herself for not asking George Ballantine about the open door—he would have said something to reassure her.
“What ya doing, my little love?” Vickie said, stepping over the playpen gate and hunkering down by the baby. He truly was a sweetheart. He looked at her and gave her a brilliant smile and clapped his hands.
He was blessed with huge hazel eyes and a thatch of rich sandy hair and couldn’t possibly have been a cuter boy.
He clapped his hands again.
“Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker man! Bake me a cake as fast as you can!” she said. “Roll it, and poke it, and mark it with a B, and then put it in the oven for my baby and me!”
He responded with more laughter and smiles, and then looked aside again—as if someone else was there.
“Okay, okay, creeping me out there, kid!” Vickie said. “And, by the way—P.U.! You stink-um, dink-um!” she told him. “You need a diaper change.”
She swept him up, climbed over the playpen gate and headed for the stairs.
She stopped halfway there, hearing a tapping at the window. It seemed that her heart caught in her throat.
Just branches in the wind, branches in the wind...
But if she didn’t check it out, she’d scare herself all night. Cuddling Noah to her, she headed to the window and held her breath as she drew back the drapery.
“As I expected!” she said, keeping her voice filled with fun—she wasn’t about to scare the baby. “Branches! Rude! How rude of them to tap at the window like that.”
Noah thought it was all great.
“Up the stairs we go!”
Noah’s room was a fantasy playland. His crib and dressing table, changing table, floor mat and toy chest were all done up in a jungle motif in pastel blues with an elephant theme. She grabbed a diaper and the wipes and made quick work of the change.
She felt her cell phone buzzing and answered it quickly, balancing Noah in the crook of her left arm. Her mom always called to make sure she was okay. Vickie was always afraid if she didn’t answer quickly, her mom would have cops at the door. But it wasn’t her mom, it was Roxanne Greeley, one of her best friends.
“So, the cats are gone, eh? Party, party?” Roxanne asked her.
“No parties. I’m earning my money for college.”
Roxanne giggled. “I know you—just teasing. If I were to head over for a wild and wicked party, that would be the two of us doing our toenails once the little guy fell asleep. But...”
“But what?” Vickie asked.
“Hank Fremont does think you should spend more time with him. I overheard him talking about his brother getting him some beer and then him heading over to surprise you,” Roxanne said. “Some of the guys he hangs with were egging him on. Telling him he’s the coolest dude in the school and if he’s dating you, well, you should be cool, too.”
“Not to worry. I informed Hank this is serious work for me. College is serious for me.”
“Ah, well, one day maybe you’ll be president of the country! And then I’ll have wild, wicked parties doing my toenails with the president! Anyway, I warned
