I laughed incredulously and picked up the electric clippers. "What makes you think you can depend on me?"
"You're not a quitter," he said. "You stick with things. You meet life head-on. That counts a hell of a lot more than typing skills."
"You say that now. But you haven't seen my typing."
"You'll pick it up."
I shook my head slowly. "So you're too old to learn your way around a keyboard, but I'm not?"
"That's right."
I gave him an exasperated smile and turned on the clippers. Their insistent buzz forestalled further conversation.
It was obvious Churchill needed someone a lot more qualified than me. Minor errands I could do. But making calls on his behalf, helping with his book, interacting even in small ways with the people in his sphere.. .1 would be out of my depth.
At the same time I was surprised to discover a stirring of ambition. How many college graduates with their tasseled caps and crisp new diplomas would kill for a chance like this? It was an opportunity that wouldn't come again.
I worked on Churchill's hair, tilting his head down, shaping carefully. Eventually I turned the clippers off and began to brush the shorn hair from his neck. "What if it didn't work out?" I heard myself ask. "Would I get a couple weeks' notice?"
"Plenty of advance notice." he said, "and a good severance package. But it's going to work out."
"What about health insurance?"
"I'll put you and Carrington on the same policy as my own family."
Well, hell.
Except for the WIC vaccinations, I'd had to pay for every medical and health expense Carrington and I had ever had. We'd been lucky, healthwise. But every cough, cold, or ear infection, every minor problem that could turn into a major problem had nearly killed me with worry. I wanted a white plastic card with a group number in my wallet. I wanted it so badly my fists knotted.
"You write out a list of what you want," Churchill said. "I'm not going to peck over the details. You know me. You know I'll be fair. There's only one nonnegotiable."
"What's that?" I still found it difficult to believe we were even having this conversation.
"I want you and Carrington to live here."
There was not one thing I could say. I just stared at him.
"Gretchen and I both need someone at the house," he explained. "I'm in a wheelchair, and even after I'm out of it, I'll have a hitch in my get-along. And Gretchen's been having some problems lately, including memory loss. She claims she's going back to her own house someday, but the truth is she's here for good. I want someone to keep track of her appointments as well as mine. I don't want it to be some stranger." His eyes were shrewd, his voice easy. "You can come and go as you please. Have the run of the place. Treat it like your own home. Send Carrington to River Oaks Elementary. There's eight free guest rooms upstairs—you can each take your pick."
"But I can't just uproot Carrington like that.. .change her home, her school.. .not when I have no idea if this would work out or not."
"If you're asking for a guarantee. I can't give you one. All I can promise is we'll do our best."
"She's not even ten yet. Do you understand what it would be like, having her in the house? Little girls are noisy. Messy. They get into—"
"I've had four children," he said, "including a daughter. I know what eight-year-olds are like." A calculated pause. "Tell you what, we'll hire a language tutor to come here twice a week. And maybe Carrington will want piano lessons. There's a Steinway downstairs no one ever touches. Does she like to swim?...I'll have a slide put in at the pool. We'll throw her a big swim party on her birthday."
"Churchill." I muttered, "what the hell are you doing?"
"I'm trying to make you an offer you can't refuse."
I was afraid he had done exactly that.
"Say yes," he said, "and everybody wins."
"What if I say no?"
"We're still friends. And the offer stands." He shrugged slightly and indicated his wheelchair with a sweep of his hands. "Pretty obvious I'm not going nowhere."
"I..." I raked my fingers through my hair. "I need to give this some thought."
"Take as long as you need." He gave me an amiable smile. "Before you decide anything, why don't you bring Carrington here to get a look at the place?"
"When?" I asked dazedly.
"Tonight for supper. Go pick her up from her after-school program and bring her here. Gage and Jack are coming. You'll want to meet them."
It had never occurred to me to want to meet Churchill's children. His life and mine had always been strictly separate, and the mingling of their elements made me uneasy. Somewhere along the way I had absorbed the notion that some people belonged in trailer parks and some people belonged in mansions. My concept of upward mobility had its limits.