“I can’t deal with my family’s issues right now. I just want to eat and do my work.”
“I was hoping that I wouldn’t have to eat alone. They’ll probably all be finished downstairs by the time I make a plate.” She knew it was a feeble excuse. He knew his family better than she did, and they would all stay with her at the table while she ate, she was sure of it. She also knew that by putting him in this position, it would be blatantly rude of him to leave a lady to eat alone in his own house, and he’d be forced to say yes.
He looked at her for a long time without saying anything. There was a grudging surrender in his eyes and he finally nodded. Barely. It was good enough for Carrie.
She smiled, trying to maintain the businesslike demeanor she knew she should have, but her insides were exploding with happiness. “Be right back.” As she left the room, her back to him, she finally let the big, silly grin emerge on her face, and went down to make them two plates.
When she got to the kitchen, the whole family was around the table. They all stopped when she entered like a jury waiting for a verdict. She felt the heat of more splotches and broke eye contact. “I’m just going to make Adam a plate,” she said with a little smile. Worry crept up in her as she wondered if they’d hoped she could get him to come downstairs. How could they expect her to work miracles? She felt the pressure, nonetheless.
“You eat first,” Joyce said.
“He doesn’t want to come down. I’m eating with him in the office.” Carrie looked over at the table for their reaction. She knew that she shouldn’t be eating with him; she was hired to watch his children. She worried that they would all think she was meddling in their business, taking sides. She gave Joyce a loaded look as if to say, I’m trying to help. Then, it hit her: What if she couldn’t help? What if the only reason he’d agreed was to talk to her about her involvement with the family? Would he tell her not to eat supper with them anymore? Or worse yet, not to meddle? She’d been so excited about his agreement that it hadn’t occurred to her that he may be upset with her. She felt her stomach turn to cement. Once again, she’d been naïve. Why would he want to have supper with the nanny anyway? What a ridiculous idea—how could she have thought that he’d want to spend time with her?
Joyce didn’t say anything. She just got up and pulled two plates from the cabinet. “I’ll help you make your suppers,” she said, moving quickly as if she couldn’t wait to get their plates made. She had a sort of electric energy—like excitement, which surprised Carrie. “If he won’t eat with his family, I’m glad he’ll eat with you.”
You’d better not get too excited, she wanted to tell her. Joyce seemed overjoyed at the idea that Carrie was eating with Adam, but there was a real possibility that he was going to tell her to butt out, and then he’d be eating by himself in the office for the foreseeable future if he wanted.
Once the plates were made, Carrie wedged two half-full cups of tea between her arms and her body, and Joyce offered her the plates—one in each hand. Carefully, she made her way to the office. As she entered, Adam rushed over and relieved her aching arms.
“Sorry,” he said, setting their glasses on the desk and stacking his papers. “I didn’t think about you having to carry it all here.”
“It’s fine,” she said, still worried the time alone would let him have the moment he needed to scold her for her actions. She hoped that if he were going to reprimand her, he would just come out with whatever it was he wanted to tell her. If he didn’t want her there, fine. But sitting across from him and trying to eat when she knew something could be coming would give her heartburn. Why had she pressed him to eat with her? She didn’t want to make trouble for him. That was the last thing she wanted to do. She just wanted to make it all better. She wanted to make him see how lovely his children were, and how they might be able to make him happier even than his dream job. She wanted him to delight in finding that perfect present for each of them instead of passing it off to her like an insignificant chore. And she wondered again if he was going to go to his kids’ Christmas play or if he’d miss it like he’d missed supper.
When Carrie was twelve, she’d tried out for a solo in her Christmas pageant and she got it. She could still remember the wood grains of the floor on the stage and the black barrel lights above her, with blue and green bulbs shining in her eyes. She remembered the thick velvet curtain separating her from the quiet hum of the crowd. She took her spot at the microphone. It was a little too high for her, so she tipped it down, making a hollow pop register on the speakers. The curtains opened. In the darkness created by the spotlight, she could hear shifting in seats and gentle coughs in the crowd. That one moment when there was silence and blinding light, she wished that she could see her mother and father because the nerves were starting to eat at her, and she needed friendly faces to calm herself. The music started and she opened her mouth to sing, the first few notes coming out jagged like a lamb’s bleat. She cleared her throat and started to sing again, and as she did, she saw her mother’s face come into focus at the edge of the darkness, tears in her eyes, and a smile on her face, and Carrie sang. She sang so well. She sang for her parents. Would Adam’s children be looking for him in the darkness? And what would they feel when they couldn’t find him?