“Speak of the devil!” Ted says, laughing.
* * *
Once we’ve finished dessert and it’s time to go in the pool, I’m forced to admit that I don’t actually own a swimsuit—that I haven’t been swimming since high school. So the very next day, Ted gives me an advance of $500 against future wages, and Caroline drives me to the mall to shop for a one-piece. And later that afternoon she stops by my cottage with a dozen outfits on hangers, really nice dresses and tops from Burberry and Dior and DKNY, all new or barely worn. She says she’s already grown out of them, that she’s ballooned to a size eight, and I’m welcome to the clothes before she turns them over to Goodwill.
“Also, you’re going to think I’m paranoid, but I bought you one of these.” She hands me a tiny pink flashlight with two metal prongs sticking out the top. “In case you go running at night.”
I switch it on and there’s a loud crackle of electricity; I’m so startled I immediately drop it, and the device clatters to the floor.
“I’m sorry! I thought it was—”
“No, no, I should have warned you. It’s a Vipertek Mini. You clip it on your key chain.” She retrieves the stun gun from the floor and then demonstrates its features. There are buttons labeled LIGHT and STUN, plus a safety switch that toggles on and off. “It fires ten thousand volts. I tested mine on Ted? Just to see if it worked? He said it felt like he’d been struck by lightning.”
I’m not surprised to learn that Caroline carries a weapon for self-defense. She’s mentioned that many of her patients at the VA hospital have mental health issues. But I can’t imagine why I’d need a stun gun for jogging around Spring Brook.
“Is there a lot of crime here?”
“Hardly ever. But two weeks ago? A girl your age was carjacked. Right in the Wegmans parking lot. Some guy made her drive to an ATM and take out three hundred dollars. So I figure better safe than sorry, you know?”
She’s waiting expectantly, and I realize she won’t be satisfied until I get out my keyring and attach the device, and it feels like my mother’s looking after me again.
“I love it,” I tell Caroline. “Thank you.”
* * *
The job itself is pretty easy and I adjust to my new routine quickly. A typical workday goes something like this:
* * *
6:30—I wake up early, no alarm needed, because the forest is alive with birdsongs. I pull on a robe and make myself hot tea and oatmeal, and then I’ll sit on my porch and watch the sun rise over the swimming pool. I’ll see all kinds of wildlife grazing on the edge of the yard: squirrels and foxes, rabbits and raccoons, an occasional deer. I feel like Snow White in the old animated cartoon. I start leaving out platters of blueberries and sunflower seeds, encouraging the animals to join me for breakfast.
* * *
7:30—I walk across the yard and enter the big house through the sliding patio doors. Ted leaves early for work, so he’s already gone. But Caroline insists on serving a hot breakfast to her son. Teddy is partial to homemade waffles, and she cooks them in a special gadget that’s shaped like Mickey Mouse. I’ll clean up the kitchen while Caroline gets ready for work, and when it’s finally time for Mommy to leave, Teddy and I follow her outside to the driveway and wave goodbye.
* * *
8:00—Before Teddy and I can start the day in earnest, we have to complete a couple minor chores. First I need to lay out Teddy’s clothes, but this is easy because he always wears the same thing. The kid has a vast wardrobe of adorable outfits from Gap Kids but he always insists on wearing the same striped purple shirt. Caroline has grown tired of washing it so she went back to The Gap and bought five more of the same top. She’s willing to indulge him, but she’s asked me to “gently encourage” other choices. When I lay out his clothes, I’m supposed to offer a couple different options, but he always lands on the same purple stripes. Afterward, I’ll help him brush his teeth and I’ll wait outside the bathroom while he uses the potty, and then we’re ready to start our day.
* * *
8:30—I try to structure every morning around a big activity or outing. We’ll walk to the library to attend a Storytime Hour, or we’ll go to the supermarket and buy ingredients to make cookies. Teddy is easy to please and never balks at my suggestions. When I tell him I have to go into town to buy toothpaste, he reacts like we’re going to Six Flags. He’s a joy to be around—smart, affectionate, and full of mind-boggling questions: What is the opposite of square? Why do girls have such long hair? Is everything in the world “real”？ I never get tired of listening to him. He is like the little brother I never had.