The Forgotten Child, Lorhainne Eckhart [bearly read books txt] 📗
- Author: Lorhainne Eckhart
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“Hello,” was all she could say this morning, before darting back into the house. She didn’t make eye contact because she didn’t want to explain more. Mr. Hanson could talk her ear off, and, by now, he’d most likely have a few choice words of advice to share with her.
Emily leaned against the closed door. In her chest, a nightmarish pressure began building and pressing, stronger and harder—until the simple art of breathing became a gigantic struggle. It was her head, her mind, creating the problems. She’d fall flat on her face. She couldn’t make it alone. How would she look after Katy? What if she couldn’t get a job? Instead of focusing on the present, her thoughts jumped from the past to the future with what ifs, could haves, and should haves. “Stop it!” She kicked a pink, fluffy stuffed animal across the room, and stubbed her little toe on the corner of the table. “Ah, crap.” She hopped on one foot, exhaling sharply. After a minute she hobbled to the kitchen counter.
She should have started looking for a job yesterday, right after she’d asked Bob to leave. But she didn’t because of a whole pile of excuses. Katy had been cranky all day after waking up so early after Bob’s tantrum. Then she had to feed, bathe and put Katy to bed, all before Bob, still moody, dragged his sorry ass through the door; telling her he’d found a furnished apartment in Olympia during his lunch hour. He’d move out over the weekend. She'd almost shouted, “Hallelujah!”
But now, this morning, Emily felt the after-effects of an adrenaline rush; maybe that’s why she was in such a crappy mood. She muttered a curse as she opened the damp newspaper to the classified section. The Help Wanted ads were sparse today: the feed store, the market. The one that stood out was the one in bold at the bottom of the page:
Wanted: Caregiver and Cook
Duties include day-to-day care of a young child.
“I can do that.” She slapped the paper and glanced up at Katy, who was watching Dora on TV as she snuggled with her blanket on the sofa. Emily reached behind her and snatched up the cordless telephone. She paused, pressing the top of the telephone to her forehead, as a sinking fear that she’d fail tried to insinuate its way into her; draining away all her newfound courage. “Knock it off, just call.” Emily ran her finger over the ad and dialed the number. Her heart was pounding so hard that it hurt her chest. Her hand shook as adrenaline soared through her veins. To release the rapidly building tension, she paced through the kitchen and living room.
“Hello.” An older woman’s voice chimed on the other end.
“Hi, I’m calling about the ad in the paper—for a caregiver and cook.”
“Oh, yes, that would be Brad you’d want to talk to. Just hang on a second and let me get him.” Unfortunately, the wait for Brad to come on the line allowed the irritable voice in Emily’s head to creep in and fill her with doubts. What do you think you’re doing? You’re not qualified. Sweating, she was tempted to hang up when she heard the man’s deep baritone voice.
“Hello.”
Along with being tongue-tied, Emily’s dry throat threatened to close up. She swallowed the hard lump and licked her lips. “Hi, my name’s Emily Nelson; I’m calling about your ad in the paper for a caregiver and cook for a child.” She winced when her voice squeaked.
“It’s for my son Trevor, he’s three. I run a ranch and need someone to look after him and to also do the cooking.”
“Are you still interviewing for the position?”
“I am, but I need someone right away. I have a ranch to run. If you’re interested, could you come out to the Ranch?”
He was abrupt. Straight to the point, and that made it easier for Emily.
“I’m interested, but I should tell you that I have a two-year-old who’ll be with me at work.” He said nothing. In that nanosecond, Emily felt the impending rejection. And that awful voice in Emily’s head chimed in: No, I don’t think it’ll work. I need someone without kids.
But instead, Brad said: “Could you be here at nine tomorrow morning?” This she didn’t expect.
“Nine, no problem I’ll be there.” Emily had committed to a time she knew darn well wouldn’t work; Katy had a checkup scheduled with her pediatrician tomorrow at nine. How was she going to do both? How stupid and desperate was that? Say something. But she didn’t. She swallowed, and continued scribbling down the address, along with rough directions to the ranch, on the back of her overdue electric bill. It was not far from town, maybe a twenty-minute drive.
Emily held the disconnected phone, and then tapped her head with it again. “Stupid, you forgot to ask what he’s paying, and about the hours, come on, Emily.” She dropped the phone back in its charger, realizing he, too, hadn’t asked many questions. What about her qualifications, experience and references?
Emily dug out a pen and paper and started a list. She needed to be prepared for tomorrow, so she scribbled down a list of questions. More importantly, she needed someone to take Katy to the doctor.
Early the next morning, Emily opened the front door to her bubbly friend Gina, a vivacious, trim woman with short dark hair. Under her wool cape, she wore a turtleneck and blue jeans. She burst through the door and hugged Emily hard. “Morning, darling. I hope you have some coffee. I only had time for a quick cup before bolting over here.”
“What about Fred and your boys? Aren’t they going to miss you this morning?”
Gina waved her hand as she wiped her shoes and wandered into the small box-style kitchen. “You should have seen the lost look on their faces this morning. It was priceless; my husband and two teenage boys, horrified that I actually expected them to fend for themselves this morning. Hey, there, cutie pie.”
Katy practically leapt into Gina’s arms. Gina knew how to get down on the floor and play hard with kids on their level. “Thank you, Gina, for coming. I’m nervous enough as it is, about this interview, without dragging a two-year-old with me, and I forgot about her appointment with the pediatrician. It took me months to get it, and I didn’t want to reschedule with this guy...” Emily was rambling and she knew it, so she shut her mouth.
“Don’t be nervous, Em, you’ll do just fine. And you need to give yourself some credit. You’ve got a lot of courage. I’ve watched you from the sidelines, these past few years, as you’ve spiraled into a downward slide. I’m amazed, and a little awed, at what you’ve done. It’s as if you’ve taken a leap off the dock without a life jacket. You have this pure faith now—everything will work out. Now hold onto that, and move forward. Don’t look back.” Gina glanced down at her small gold Rolex, a gift from her husband for their anniversary last month. “You better go. You have enough time to get your head together, and enjoy the drive. Remember, don’t rush … that’s when you get flustered.”
Emily hugged and kissed both her daughter and friend, pulled on her brown wool coat, and grabbed her purse and handwritten resume. Gina was right; having extra time to find where she needed to go relieved a lot of her anxiety, as did being alone. She took a deep breath, and pulled out of her driveway.
Thick trees lined both sides of the road on the way out of town. This was a peaceful drive. Emily realized she’d never driven west of town in the ten years she’d lived in Hoquiam. She’d grown up in Seattle and that was where she’d met Bob. Hoquiam had seemed like a nice place for them to settle, after Bob had been offered a government job in Olympia, ten years earlier. The commute was not too long, and Emily’s dream of living in a small community had never left her. Now, as she drove these narrow winding roads, passing only a few cars through this private, rural and heavily forested part of the peninsula; she was reminded of that childhood dream.
Emily balanced the hastily scribbled directions on the steering wheel. She passed the faded red barn at the second marker on the highway. Making a right turn onto a gravel road, she continued until she saw the split-rail fencing with 665, in bright green numbers, embedded in the wood. A huge fir archway, on two solid beams, surrounded the entrance to the dirt driveway, with the name, Echo Springs, carved into the weathered wood. What was it about the name that stirred some nostalgic memory of longing in her tummy? History; established families, of Mom, Dad, and grandparents, passing down their heritage and land. She’d heard the powerful family names whispered in the community: the Ricksons, the Folleys. Who were the others? She was caught now by a nervous flutter starting to pound her solar plexus as she drove down the long dirt driveway. Old growth spruce, cedar and fir trees, on both sides, created a dense canopy overhead, and a mixture of other bushes and trees gave the appearance of walls. At the end, the driveway opened up into a large clearing, exposing a two-story white frame house with a wraparound veranda and large post beams. It resembled an old rambling Victorian. Emily parked in front of the house beside an old Ford Escort, a dirty blue pickup truck that had seen better days, a chipped yellow digger, a fairly new black GMC one ton pickup and a flatbed trailer loaded with some mysterious goods covered with a tarp. How many people live here, she wondered?
The wind created a chilly breeze as thick clouds cluttered the baby blue sky. Emily was far from cold when she climbed out of her van. Her underarms were damp and she prayed her deodorant was strong enough to keep her
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