“Cookie dough!” she shouts as I read off the flavors to her. “No, cookies and cream!” She’s overwhelmed with excitement, her little eyes shifting back and forth as I see her try to make up her mind. It’s adorable.
“How about a little of both?” I grab the pints and look through the cabinets till we find some small sundae dishes.
“You know what would really make this great?” Eleanor shrugs. “Whipped cream,” I whisper and her eyes light up.
“And sprinkles!” She claps.
“And sprinkles.”
I scoop us both up a small portion and top them with the whipped cream and sprinkles. We sit back down at the table and enjoy our ice cream as Eleanor tells me all about her dream pet kitten.
“And she’s white and fluffy and has a cute little pink bow.” She licks the whipped cream off her spoon that has run down her fingers. “And she says EEYOW!” She mimics the meowing of a cat.
“She sounds absolutely perfect. What would you name her?”
She scrunches up her face like she’s thinking through a math problem, taking the question very seriously.
“Um, maybe muffin or cupcake.”
“Have you ever had a pet before?” She shakes her head and it makes me sad for her. I grew up with a few different pets over the years, a dog named Rascal that we had for twelve years and two cats. Guppy and Walter both lived well into their mid-to-late teen years.
We finish up our sundaes and place our dishes in the sink before washing our hands and making our way to the sitting room where the grand piano is situated.
I still haven’t walked around this entire house yet. It’ll probably take me a week or two just to explore all the rooms. The sitting room, as Mr. Hayes called it, is to the right of the grand atrium of the house. It doubles as a library, with large built-in shelves filled with books that I have every intention of exploring at a later date.
There’s a fireplace so large I could walk into it in the front, center of the room along with several couches and chairs.
I pull out the bench on the piano and take a seat, Eleanor climbing up to sit next to me.
I start with some general lessons. “This is called a piano key, and this is middle C.” I point to the key and tap it a few times.
“Now you do it,” I say. She touches it softly. “You can press down harder,” I say and she does. A smile spreads across her face at the sound it makes.
“Miss Bridgette wouldn’t let me play the piano. She said Miss Perry said it’s not for kids.”
Miss Bridgette must be the nanny that worked here previously. I’m confused at her comment. Why would Miss Perry insist on not touching the piano when the ad clearly stated they wanted someone with musical experience? Miss Perry is starting to sound and seem a bit like an uptight woman who doesn’t care for children at all.
“Well, that’s just nonsense. Pianos are for everyone.”
Eleanor and I spend a few moments tapping around on the piano before she tells me to play her a song. We start with “Mary had a Little Lamb,” both of us singing along to it a few times before I start in with “Baby Shark.”
Eleanor laughs and belts the song at the top of her lungs, pretending to play along with me as she hits a few keys.
“Miss Silver, if you could please keep it down!”
Miss Perry’s shrill voice startles us both as we remove our hands from the piano keys.
“Mr. Hayes is working in his office just down this hall and that racket is absolutely distracting.”
She stands with her hand on her hip, the other pin-straight at her side.
“Apologies, Miss Perry.” I smile sweetly at her. “Eleanor and I will be heading upstairs momentarily to get her bath and play in her room for a bit before bed. Give Mr. Hayes my apologies?”
She nods and walks away without another word, leaving Eleanor and me in a fit of giggles.
After her bath, I help Eleanor dress for bed and brush her teeth. She shows me her favorite stuffed animals and explains how she got each one, what their name is, and on what days of the week she sleeps with each one. I can remember doing this same thing, insisting that no stuffed animal be left behind because I didn’t want to hurt their feelings if I didn’t sleep with one of them.
I tuck her into bed and read her the book she picked out.
“Is Daddy mad at you?” she asks as I place the book back onto the shelf.
“I don’t think so.” I furrow my brows, confused as to what she’s referring to.
“Cuz we were loud on the piano,” she says and I walk back over to her bed.
“Oh no, sweetheart. I’m sure he wasn’t mad at all. Miss Perry just didn’t like the noise is all.” I brush her hair out of her eyes.
“When Daddy is mad at me, he kisses me on the forehead to tell me sorry.”
“That’s very sweet of him. That’s what mommies and daddies do.”
“Do they kiss each other when they’re mad?”
I nod, a little worried with the territory these questions are heading into. “Mm-hmm, mommies and daddies kiss each other to say sorry too. Does your daddy come tell you good night?” I ask quickly, hoping to change the subject.
“No.” She shakes her head and squeezes her stuffed doll, her eyes getting heavy.
“Good night, Eleanor.” I lean down and kiss her forehead. “I’m just down the hall if you need anything, okay?”
She nods her head and closes her eyes. I stand and exit the room, closing the door softly behind me.
The fact that Mr. Hayes doesn’t say good night to his daughter bothers me. I can tell there’s distance there, like he’s avoiding her for some reason.
It’s not my business but maybe if I pop into his office and tell him that Eleanor is down for the night, it will prompt him to go upstairs and tell her good night. At least I can plant the seed and hope that eventually he’ll take the hint.
I make my way back downstairs and turn the corner to walk down the long hallway to where Miss Perry mentioned his office was located.
I take a few steps and then stop, looking into a giant mirror hanging on the wall. I pat down a few flyaway hairs and give my cheeks a little pinch to bring some life into my otherwise pale face. My makeup is simple, as usual. Just some tinted moisturizer, bronzer on my cheekbones and eyelids that never seems to actually bronze my face, mascara, and well-worn-off gloss.
I pull the loose ponytail out of my hair and bend over to fluff my hair a little. When I lift my head back up, my strawberry-blond curls are fluffed up, giving me a bit more of a mature look rather than the freckle-faced teenager most people assume I am.
My stomach fizzles a little at the thought that I’m suddenly very aware of my appearance when I know I’m going to be in Mr. Hayes’ presence.
We all care what we look like. It’s totally normal, I think, trying to convince myself that’s all it is and not the beginnings of a crush. Because that would be a big mistake.
I continue walking down the hallway. Suddenly I can hear muffled voices and I realize that this must be his office. I’m about to raise my hand to knock when I hear my name hissed by who I know is Miss Perry.
I know I shouldn’t, but I lean my head a little closer to the door, my ear almost pressed against it.