“Why?” Dr. Cone tilted his head and looked at me. His brow was furrowed. His bushy eyebrows almost met his sideburns.
“That was the only way she’d let me cook dinner.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand.”
“She thinks a mother should always cook dinner. And so the only way to explain why Mrs. Cone wasn’t cooking dinner was to say that she was sick. And I actually never said she had cancer. I just said she was sick. And then my mother thought she had cancer and I never told her she didn’t.” I squeezed my eyes shut hard. When I opened them, Dr. Cone was staring at me.
“So your mother wouldn’t let you stay and prepare dinner unless Bonnie was incapacitated?”
“Yes.”
“So when I talk to her about the week at the beach she might mention Bonnie’s cancer?”
“She probably won’t,” I said. “Because she thinks cancer is very private. But I don’t know. If you said something about Mrs. Cone swimming in the ocean, she might . . .” I swallowed hard and squeezed back tears. “I’m sorry I lied. I bet you didn’t think you had a liar as a summer nanny.”
Dr. Cone laughed. “No, I understand why you lied.” He reached out and rubbed my shoulder. “It’s okay. This isn’t a crime. You were trying to manage two different households with two different value systems. And, yes, it’s not good to lie. But I can see that was the only way you could find to make the situation work. I appreciate it, Mary Jane. I think you can let yourself off the hook here.”
Mrs. Cone and Sheba came into the dining room. They were in the matching black pixie wigs.
“What happened?” Sheba pushed a chair next to me, sat, and then pulled me against her chest. I started crying again.
“Richard, what is it?” Mrs. Cone hovered over us. Dr. Cone stood and then Mrs. Cone took his seat and leaned in close so she, too, was hugging me.
“Richard! Why is she crying?” Sheba said.
“Her mother wouldn’t let her cook dinner for us unless Bonnie was incapacitated. So Mary Jane told her mother that Bonnie has cancer and that’s why she has to stay and make dinner each night.”
“I’m so sorry I lied!” I cried, and Sheba hugged me deeper. Mrs. Cone was at my back, hugging me too. I’d never been so close to two human bodies before, and I was surprised that it didn’t feel closed in and claustrophobic. It felt nice. And warm. And safe.
“Oh, honey! You don’t have to feel bad! I would have had to tell my own mother the same thing,” Mrs. Cone said.
“Mary Jane, no one cares that you lied about that!” Sheba said, and kissed my head the way everyone kissed Izzy.
Mrs. Cone started laughing. “Cancer! Because only something as horrible and deadly as cancer would relieve a woman from the tedium of having to make dinner for her family every night!”
Everyone gathered in the kitchen near the phone as I dialed the number for my house. Sheba put her finger to her lips and made big eyes at everyone after I’d dialed the last number.
My mother answered the phone on the second ring. “Dillard residence.”
“Mom, Dr. Cone can talk to you now.”
“Thank you, Mary Jane. Put him on.” I could see her so clearly. Standing in the kitchen near the beige wall phone. Holding a pen and a pad of paper so she could write down any important details, like the address of the home where we’d be staying.
“Mrs. Dillard, what a pleasure to finally speak to you!” Dr. Cone sounded more formal, more upbeat than he did in the house. Jimmy put an arm around me and pulled me into him. I could feel the fuzz of his chest hairs through his shirt and wondered if that was a sex addict thought or just a thought.
Mrs. Cone picked up Izzy. Izzy put her finger to her lips like Sheba. Sheba smiled and put one arm around Jimmy.
“Mary Jane has been a lifesaver this summer. I don’t know what we would have done without her.” Dr. Cone nodded as my mother spoke on the other end. “I’m not the least bit worried about her ability to mind Izzy at the beach. Also, Izzy loves cooking with her, so a large portion of their afternoon is spent in the kitchen.” Dr. Cone looked over and winked at the group. “Yes. Yes. Of course . . . we’ll be leaving first thing tomorrow morning and we’ll return the following Tuesday morning. I could have her call each evening if you’d like. We’ll pay the phone charges. . . . Yes, yes, I understand. Thank you and please give my regards to Mr. Dillard.”
When Dr. Cone hung up the phone, we all looked at him.