Maybe This Time

Two

“You’re late,” a voice snapped from behind Andie, and she turned and saw a plump, overly powdered, elderly woman, her pale, watery, protruding eyes hostile under her improbably red-orange updo, her large white arms folded.

“Yes,” Andie said, putting her suitcase down on the floor. “You must be Mrs. Crumb. I’m-”

“Andromeda Miller. Mr. Archer told me.” Mrs. Crumb nodded, her arms folded over the aggressively flowered apron that covered her equally aggressive bosom. “He tells me everything. He trusts me like I was his own mother.”

The enormity of the lies in that short speech left Andie stunned, not just at the thought of North telling the old lady everything-North didn’t tell anybody everything-but also at him somehow collating Lydia and Mrs. Crumb.

“I know what’s best, so you do as I say, and we’ll all get along fine.” She smiled at Andie, but her eyes were cold. “That’s Carter,” she went on, jerking her head toward the boy without looking at him, “and that’s Alice, and they’re your students. Everything else, I take care of.” She transferred her reptile smile to the little girl. “I’m the one who stays with the little lambs. They know I’m the one they can count on.”

The girl ignored her, but the boy looked back at her, his eyes like stone.

If that kid is a lamb, the wolves are toast, Andie thought.

“So now that you understand how things work,” Mrs. Crumb went on, “I’ll take you to your room.” She took a step closer and Andie caught a whiff of peppermint and booze. “But don’t you get any ideas about me working for you.”

Andie looked at her, exasperated. She might just be feeling threatened-

Mrs. Crumb made a short nod toward Andie’s suitcase. “You’ll have to carry that. I’m not your servant. And I’ll be needing some help around the house, so don’t think you’re too good to pick up a broom.” She sniffed. “I know your kind.”

“I’m afraid there’s been a mistake,” Andie said, stepping on her temper. “I’m not a nanny. And for the next month, I’m the one in charge.”

“Oh?” Mrs. Crumb smiled again, false pity in the tilt of her head. “Mr. Archer put somebody he doesn’t even know over me?” She chuckled without humor. “I don’t think so. You’ll do as I say or I’ll tell Mr. Archer. And then we’ll just see what happens.”

The little girl continued scooping orange whatever, but the boy was watching now.

“Miller is my professional name,” Andie said. “My married name is Archer.”

Mrs. Crumb’s smile froze in place.

Andie shoved her ringless left hand in her coat pocket. “Mrs. North Archer. My husband sent me here for a month to fix whatever’s wrong.” She walked over to the table and looked into the bowls, since meeting Mrs. Crumb’s eyes after that lie was not easy. “After we make our assessment, we’ll decide on the children’s future.”

“Your husband?” Mrs. Crumb said, sounding torn between outrage and fear.

Andie pointed to the kids’ bowls. “Mrs. Crumb, what are the lambs having for dinner?”

“Macaroni and cheese.” Mrs. Crumb put her chin up. “That’s good for them.”

“And…?”

“And what?”

“Where are the vegetables? Fruit? Protein? Grains? Dairy? You have fat, starch, and yellow dye number two covered, now let’s try fiber and vitamins.”

“I don’t need to listen to this,” Mrs. Crumb said, her smile gone now.

“Actually, you do.” Andie went over to the cupboard and opened it to see boxes of mac and cheese and jars of pasta in some kind of toxic orange sauce. “Oh, my God.”

“You fancy city people,” Mrs. Crumb said as Andie opened the refrigerator.

There was a jar of jam, a loaf of white bread, a gallon jug of milk that was almost empty, and two squares of American cheese.

She turned back to the table. “You’re going to have to do better than this.”

“That’s what they eat,” Mrs. Crumb said. “That’s kid food.”

The children were both watching her now, the little girl scooping more mac and cheese, the boy with his head ducked low, two pairs of Archer blue eyes boring into her over Archer cheekbones. They were thin, pale, and hostile, but nothing about either one of them said “victim.”

Andie smiled at the little girl. “So you’re Alice.”

The little girl put on the headphones to her Walkman and turned up the volume.

Andie transferred her smile to the boy. “And you must be Carter.”

He ignored her.

“Yeah, I’m thrilled to be here, too,” Andie said. “But since we’re stuck with each other-”

“Now you listen here,” Mrs. Crumb blustered. “You can’t come in here and change things all around. I don’t believe you’re married to Mr. Archer.” She lifted her chin again. “You are not a lady.”

“And you are not a cook.” Andie turned her attention back to Carter. “Things will get better,” she told him.

He ignored her and ate more mac and cheese.

Andie took a deep breath. “Okay, look, it’s my job to make you safe and healthy and I’m going to do that. For the next month, you’ll have decent meals…”

“Well, I never,” Mrs. Crumb said.

“… and I’ll see to your education and maybe we can get you both back to school in your regular grade levels, and when I leave, there’ll be good people taking care of you, I promise.”

Carter stared at her with his flat eyes, unimpressed.

“Not military school. We’ll put you in public school. In Columbus. There are very good schools there.” She looked at Alice.

Alice kept eating, her headphones blocking all other sound.

“She won’t go,” Mrs. Crumb said, her voice fat with satisfaction. “You don’t understand-”

“Mrs. Crumb, do you want to remain employed?” Andie said. “Because right now, it’s not looking good for you.”

The housekeeper glared at her, and Andie stared back, unimpressed.

After a moment, Mrs. Crumb pursed her painted lips and sat down across the table from where Andie stood, forcing a smile. “We got off to a bad start.”

“Yes,” Andie said, waiting to see what her next move was.

“There are things about this house you don’t know,” Mrs. Crumb said, leaning forward, and Carter stopped eating to watch her. “It’s a big house, there’s history in this house. I’ve been here all my life, since I was sixteen, I know this house. You need me.”

Carter went back to his mac and cheese and Andie thought, That’s not what he was expecting. “The history of the house isn’t important to me. The kids are.”

“It ain’t just the history,” Mrs. Crumb said, her eyes dark. “There’s things here you can’t understand.”

“Ghosts?” How dumb do you think I am? “I don’t believe in ghosts. I do believe in nutrition and basic curriculum skills, so that’s what I’ll be concentrating on.”

Mrs. Crumb dropped her voice. “Some things you can’t believe are real.”

“Like this stuff you’re feeding the children.” Andie looked at the orange smears left in Alice’s bowl as she polished off the last of her pasta. “I’ve never seen macaroni and cheese that color before. Does it glow in the dark?”

Mrs. Crumb got up and took the children’s bowls. “We should get along, you and me. You’re going to need me.”

Andie looked at the old woman’s cold little eyes. Jesus, I hope not. “I’d like to see my bedroom, please.”

“I’ll show you everything,” Mrs. Crumb said, her defiance back. “I’ll just show you.”

“Just my bedroom,” Andie said, but Mrs. Crumb had already headed for a door in the far wall, so she smiled one last time at the kids, picked up her suitcase, and followed the housekeeper.

It was going to be a long month.

Andie followed Mrs. Crumb into a short dismal hallway with faded wallpaper and a worn wood floor. The housekeeper turned to go up a narrow flight of equally worn wooden stairs that were probably the servant stairs, and then she stopped on the first step, her watery, protruding eyes even with Andie’s now.

“I hope you didn’t get the wrong idea,” she began. “I’m sure Mr. Archer just forgot to tell me-” She looked past Andie and scowled. “Now what are you doing out here?” she snapped, and Andie turned and saw Alice standing behind her, looking even smaller and thinner than she had in the kitchen, her neck festooned with all that jewelry, the headphones from her Walkman still over her ears.

“Hello, Alice,” Andie said.

The deep shadows under Alice’s eyes and cheekbones made her little face almost skull-like. She stared at Andie for a minute and then pushed past her and Mrs. Crumb and began to climb the stairs, something stuffed under her arm.

Andie reached out and touched her sleeve and Alice jerked away and kept going.

“Is that a doll?” Andie asked, and Alice stopped a couple of steps above her and took her headphones off.

She held up a stuffed doll with a bluish-white head, its three-tiered sepia-toned skirt flaring out from a faded gold ribbon belt around its lumpy waist. The thing looked like it had been left to mold before Alice had found it, the face and dress mottled with age. “It’s Jessica,” Alice said and went on up the stairs.

It’s dead, Andie thought.

“She won’t give that up,” Mrs. Crumb said, in her idea of a whisper. “I’ve tried giving her other dolls but she just wants that one. It’s not right. We should do something about that, you and me.”

Andie watched Alice’s straight little back climb the stairs without wavering even though she must have heard the housekeeper’s voice. “If that’s the doll Alice wants, that’s the doll she gets.”

Mrs. Crumb sucked in her breath and shook her head and then continued up the stairs.

They reached another short hall on the second floor, and Mrs. Crumb walked around the stairwell and started up another flight. “Nursery’s on the third floor. Keeps the noise down.”

“Noise?” Andie said, following an entirely silent Alice, but Mrs. Crumb didn’t speak again until they were on the third-floor landing in another cramped little hall.

“This is the bathroom,” she said proudly, opening a door opposite the stairs that led to a large vintage washroom with a freestanding brass-and-frosted-glass shower in the middle of the hardwood floor. “You’re sharing this with me. My room’s on the other side”-she nodded toward the front of the house-“but I know you won’t mind since we’re going to be such good friends.” Then she moved toward the back of the house to a door that was ajar because Alice had walked through it moments before.

“This is your bedroom,” Mrs. Crumb said, pushing the door open wider.

Andie followed her into a large, high-ceilinged paneled room, dominated by a four-poster bed and a stone mantel surrounding a gas fireplace. The long stone-lined windows looked out over the old woods behind the house, and Andie could hear the last calls of the crows in the flushed sky.

“And that’s the nursery through there.” Mrs. Crumb jerked her thumb at a door to the right that was also ajar, probably from Alice walking through it, too. “I’m going to go make you a nice hot toddy now. Just the thing to help you drop off to sleep.” She smiled again, and again it didn’t reach her eyes, and then she went back out through the hall door.

“Hot toddy,” Andie said, not even sure what that was, and walked over to the open door and looked through it.

The nursery was huge, maybe thirty feet across, with a bank of barred windows across the back including a little bay-windowed alcove with a window seat full of books spilling onto the floor. There were two narrow twin beds, their mattresses naked, an ancient rocker with chipped white paint, a rump-sprung old sofa, a battered table with paper and pencils on it and several mismatched chairs scattered around it, and an old TV in the middle of the room with an ancient boom box on top of it. At the far end was a cold gas fireplace with a small, modern fire extinguisher on the mantel. It was about as cozy as an abandoned mental hospital.

Andie crossed the room and opened a door on the other side and found herself in another short hall. In front of her the door was open to a small bathroom, to the right was a stone archway to another hall, and to the left was a closed door.

Jesus, she thought. This place is Little Gormenghast. I’m going to get lost here and never be found.

She opened the door to the left and found Alice sitting on a twin bed, leaning toward an old white rocker at the foot of the bed. The walls were pink, her bedside table had a pink lamp, and her bedspread was pink and covered with daisies.

“This is my room!” Alice said, straightening as she clutched her blue Jessica doll to all the jewelry on her thin little chest. “You have to knock before you come in!”

Andie surveyed the little room, puzzled. “Do you like pink?”

“No!”

“I didn’t think so. Sorry about not knocking.”

Andie closed the door and then crossed the small hall into the larger one and found another staircase on her left, this one stone and much grander, and to her right a massive stone archway. On the wall in front of her was another door, so she opened it.

Carter jerked back against his headboard, his eyes wide, almost dropping the comic book he’d been reading. Then he saw her and scowled. “You ever hear of knocking?”

“Sorry,” Andie said. “I can’t tell which doors are rooms and which ones are halls.”

“This one’s a room,” Carter said, and went back to his comic.

Andie looked around the room and saw ancient heavy furniture and a bed covered with old blankets in various shades of drab. The only interesting things in the whole room were the stacks of comic books, papers, and pencils on the bedside tables that said Carter did something besides glare and eat, and the carpet at the end of the bed that was riddled with scorch marks. Pyro, she thought, and was grateful the house was mostly stone. She looked up to see Carter watching her, his face stolid, so she nodded and began to close the door only to stop when she took a second look at his bedside table.

There was a lighter on it, a cheap plastic job. She opened the door wider and saw two more on the other table.

He was still staring at her, and she thought about saying, “What in the name of God do you need three lighters for?” But it was her first night and Carter already didn’t like her and she was too damn tired.

“Don’t set anything on fire,” she told him, and closed the door.

Then she walked through the stone arch on her right and almost ran into an ancient wood railing that ran around three sides of an open space. The railing rocked a little as she put her hands on it, so she looked over the edge carefully.

The opening dropped two stories down to a stone floor, empty in the growing darkness.

Okay, then, Andie thought, and made a circuit of the gallery, discovering doors that led into the nursery and into the servants’ stairwell. Then she went back to the little hall and to Alice’s room, where she knocked.

“Go away,” Alice said.

Andie went in and saw that Alice had changed into a too-large jersey T-shirt that hung down past her knees, clearly a hand-me-down from some adult. She looked both pathetic-poor little Alice had to get ready for bed on her own-and eerie-poor little Alice’s shirt said BAD WITCH on it in glowing green letters. She looked oddly defenseless without her armor of necklaces-they were hanging over her lampshade now-but with her white-blond hair standing out every which way, she also looked demented. We’ll comb that tomorrow, Andie thought.

“Sorry,” she told Alice. “I just wanted to say that if you need me, I’m on the other side of the nursery.”

“I won’t need you.” Alice got into bed and pulled her covers over her head.

“Right.” Andie noticed that Jessica had fallen to the floor. “You dropped something.” She bent and picked up the old doll and poked Alice under the covers.

“Hey!” Alice said, and then Andie pulled back the covers and handed her the doll.

“Good night,” Andie said, and Alice pulled her covers up over her head again.

“Yes, we’re going to be great pals,” Andie said, and headed back across the nursery to her own room, thinking that it was no surprise the nannies had cracked. They’d probably expected to be put living in the tomb at any moment, probably by Carter and Alice.

She heard something from the hallway by Alice’s room and went back to check. Alice’s door had come partly open, and inside Alice was talking.

“She’s not staying,” Alice was saying. “She’s just going to be here a month. She’s not even a nanny. It’s okay. We’re staying right here.”

Andie pushed open the door a little more, expecting to see Carter, and Alice looked around, alone in her room.

“I told you,” she began.

“Who were you talking to?”

“Nobody,” Alice said, turning her head toward the wall.

Imaginary friend, Andie thought, and said, “Okay.”

Then she turned to go and saw the white rocker at the end of the bed.

It was rocking.

She looked back at Alice, who met her eyes defiantly.

“What?” Alice said.

She did that, Andie thought, and said, “Nothing. Good night,” and closed the door, now in complete sympathy with the nannies who’d bolted.

Anybody with sense would.

Andie put the weirdness that was Alice and Carter out of her mind and spent the next hour unpacking and settling into her new room. It was surprisingly charming: white paneled walls and high, sculpted ceilings and long stone-lined windows covered with full, patterned draperies that clashed with the incongruously cheap silver-patterned black comforter that somebody with a lot of romance in her soul and no money in her checking account had bought to cover the large walnut four-poster bed. The rest of the furniture in the room was a mixture of styles probably inherited from different parts of the house as hand-me-downs, and the crowning touch was a cheap metal plaque over the bed that said ALWAYS KISS ME GOOD NIGHT. There was something a little obsessive about that which, given Andie’s surroundings, leaked over into creepiness. She put her pajamas on, brushed her teeth in the bathroom, put Kristin’s folder about the kids on the bed, and then, looking at the “Archer Legal Group” label on the folder, went to find her jewelry box. Buried at the bottom in a small manila envelope was her wedding ring, pretty and cheap, now painted and varnished to keep it from tarnishing again, the last thing she had left from her marriage. She should have thrown it out since it was worthless, but…

She slid the ring on her left hand and smiled in spite of herself, remembering North going crazy trying to replace it with a real gold ring that wouldn’t turn her finger green. Then she put the jewelry box away and was pulling back the covers when she heard a knock at the hall door and opened it to see Mrs. Crumb with a small tray. “A little cuppa before bed,” the housekeeper trilled, her red cupid’s-bow mouth smiling tightly, as she put the tray on the table next to the bed. “I got no problem bringing you up a cuppa every night since it’s only going to be a month?” She let her voice rise at the end, part question, part hope.

“Uh, thank you.” Andie eyed the tray doubtfully, but the yellow-striped teapot smelled richly of peppermint and there were violets painted on the big striped cup.

Mrs. Crumb nodded. “I put in a little liquor, too. You sleep good now.” She glanced down at the foot of the bed. “Sweet dreams.”

She retreated back through Andie’s door, and Andie closed it behind her and sniffed the pot. Minty. Very minty. She sat down on the bed and poured tea into the cup and then took a sip and got a full blast of at least two shots of peppermint schnapps. Whoa, she thought. The tea was good and peppermint was always nice, but unless Mrs. Crumb was trying to put her into a schnapps-induced stupor, the housekeeper had an exaggerated idea of “a little liquor.”

Maybe she should make her own tea.

She began to read Kristin’s notes, sipping cautiously. The kids’ mother had died giving birth to Alice, she read, their father had died in a car accident two years ago, and their aunt had died in a fall four months ago in June. And now, Andie thought, they’re alone with Crumb. And me. That thought was so harrowing that she forgave them the weirdness of their first meeting. Things would get better.

Poor kids.

She sipped more tea and read more notes. The three nannies had all said the same thing: the kids were smart, the kids were undisciplined, the kids were strange, there was something wrong, and they were leaving. Only the last one had tried to take the kids with her, and Alice had gone into such a screaming fit that she’d lost consciousness and the nanny had had to detour to a hospital. After that, the nanny took the kids back to Archer House and left them there. “These children need professional psychological help,” she’d written, and Andie thought, So North sent me.

That was so unlike him, not to send a professional, not to get a team of experts down there, and she thought, He’s not taking it seriously. Either that or he wanted her buried in southern Ohio for some reason.

She tilted her head back to think about that and saw the curtain of the window nearest the bed move, a flutter, as if from a draft. She watched, and when it didn’t move again, she shook her head and went through the rest of the folder, sipping the liqueur-spiked tea until the combination of that and the dry curriculum reports from the nannies made her so sleepy, she gave up. She turned off the bedside lamp, and the moonlight seeped into the room-full moon, she thought-and it was lovely to be so deeply drowsy on such a soft bed in such soft blue light that she let herself doze, thinking, I should have called Flo to tell her I arrived, I should have called Will, I should have…

Something moved in her peripheral vision, maybe the curtain again, she was pretty sure nothing had moved. Exhaustion or maybe the liqueur in the tea. She looked sleepily around the room, but it was just gloomy and jumbled, a gothic kind of normal, although it seemed colder than it had been, so she let her head fall back and snuggled down into the covers and drifted off to sleep, and then into dreams where there was shadowy laughter and whispering, and someone dancing in the moonlight, and as she fell deeper into sleep, the whispering in her ear grew hot and low-Who do you love? Who do you want? Who kisses you good night?-and she saw Will, smiling at her, genial and easygoing with his blond frat-boy good looks, and then she fell deeper and darker, and North was there, his eyes hot, reaching for her the way he used to, demanding and possessive and out of control in love with her, and she sighed in relief from wanting him, and somebody whispered, Who is HE?, and she went to him the way she always had-impossible to ever say no to North-and lost herself in him and her dreams.

Andie woke at dawn with a headache, which she blamed on Mrs. Crumb’s hot tea along with the hot dreams about North, probably evoked because she’d taken his name again. Guilt will always get you, she thought and resolved to stop lying, even if it was the only way to defeat Crumb. She took an aspirin and went down and moved the rest of her things from her car to her room, and then drove fifteen miles into the little town at the end of the road and hit the IGA there for decent breakfast food. Then she headed back to the house, determined to Make a Difference in the kid’s lives, but once there, she hit the wall. Alice was in the kitchen demanding breakfast, but she didn’t want eggs or toast or orange juice. Alice wanted cereal. She’d had cereal the day before and the day before that and the day before that and today wasn’t going to be any damn different. Andie looked into Alice’s gray-blue eyes and saw the same stubbornness that had defeated her in her short marriage.

“You’re an Archer, all right,” she said and gave Alice her cereal.

Then she made ham and eggs for Carter on the stubborn old stove, thinking of the kitchen North had remodeled for her when she’d moved into his old Victorian in Columbus, of the shining blue quartz counters and soft yellow cabinets and the open shelves filled with her Fiesta ware. It’d been her favorite place in the world, next to their bedroom in the attic. This kitchen was like a meat locker. Very sanitary but…

“That is not good,” Alice said, looking into the pan, but when Andie dished it up for Carter, he ate everything. He kept his eyes on his comic book the whole time and then shoved the plate away and left, still reading, but he ate it all. Progress.

“You’re welcome,” Andie called to his retreating back, and turned around to see Mrs. Crumb smiling at her, her powdery, jowly face triumphant over Alice’s empty cereal bowl as Alice deserted them, too.

Andie ignored her and tried to call Flo using the kitchen phone, staring at the battered white bulletin board that held only a list of faded phone numbers and an even more faded church collection envelope, which probably summed up Mrs. Crumb’s life. When she couldn’t get a dial tone, she said, “No phone?” and Mrs. Crumb said, “It goes out sometimes.” Terrific, Andie thought and went to scope out Archer House before she made a trip to the shopping center she’d passed on the two-lane highway the day before.

The layout of the house was, for all its size, fairly simple. The center of the house, as Mrs. Crumb told her, was the Great Hall, more than twenty feet square with a stone fireplace large enough to party in. The hall rose three stories to a raftered ceiling that dated back to the original house, sometime in the sixteen hundreds, each level ringed by a gallery with that ancient wood railing that Andie had almost fallen through the night before. Impossible to heat, Andie thought. And those railings are not safe. There were six rooms on each floor: one room on each side of the hall at the front of the house, and four rooms across the back. The first floor had empty rooms in front, and the kitchen, dining room, sitting room, and library across the back; the second floor had two bedrooms in front and four in back, all with four-posters and naked mattresses; and the third floor had Mrs. Crumb’s bedroom on the front left and Carter’s on the front right, and then Andie’s room, the doublewide nursery, and Alice’s room across the back. In between the front rooms and the back were staircases-the narrow servant’s flight behind a discreet door on the left and the massive formal stone staircase through an equally massive stone arch on the right. A long, white-paneled, red-carpeted entrance hall separated the rooms on the right from the Great Hall, but otherwise it was pretty much two rooms in front and four in back all the way up. Every room in the place was covered in dust, the paintings on the walls looking muddy and faded in the gloom and the bedrooms on the second floor doing a nice business in cobwebs and the occasional dead mouse. Jessica the ancient blue-faced doll would have fit right in there. Still, Andie was cheered by her ability to navigate the stone barn she was living in, so when she had the scope of the place, she went back to the library where Carter had folded his gangling body into a deep, red-cushioned window seat.

Tauruses like things, Flo had said, and even though astrology was a crock, Andie thought, Books.

“I’m going out to shop,” she told him. “Want to come along? There’s a bookstore.”

“There’s no bookstore in New Essex,” he said without looking up.

“Is that the little town at the end of this road? There was a shopping center I passed on the highway about half an hour before I got to New Essex. It had a bookstore.”

He stopped reading. “Grandville?”

“Yes.”

He nodded and went back to his book, and Andie took that for assent and went upstairs to find Alice, wondering what sequined promise would lure a little Scorpio out of the house.

Alice was in the nursery with her Walkman, dancing and singing “Gloria” at the top of her voice. She caught Andie watching and stopped, her colorless skin and straight white-blond hair making her look like a little ghost herself, almost translucent in the morning sun.

“I’m going to town to shop,” Andie said. “If you come along, I’ll get you a new bedspread. With sequins.”

“No,” Alice said automatically.

“Carter’s coming.”

“No he’s not. We don’t leave here.”

Andie came into the nursery and sat down on the ancient rocker near the TV. “Why?”

“We belong here.”

“Alice, it’s just for the day. We’ll be back for dinner.”

“That’s what she said,” Alice snapped, her stolid little face growing grimmer.

“She who?”

“Nanny Joy. She said we’d just go for the day and then she kept driving and driving and driving, and when Carter said where are we going, she said we were going to a new home.” Alice’s hands were curled into fists now, her face even whiter than before. “I’m not going. I’m not going! I’m NOT GOING! NO NO NO NO NO NO-”

Andie said calmly, “Alice, all my stuff is here. I wouldn’t leave my stuff.”

“NO NO NO NO NO NO-”

“All my clothes are in my room,” Andie went on. “Boxes of your school supplies. My sewing stuff. I didn’t bring all of that here yesterday to leave it today.”

Alice closed her mouth and regarded Andie darkly.

“Do you want to see the boxes?”

Alice thought about it and nodded.

“Okay then.” Andie stood up and held out her hand to the little girl who ignored it to march toward the door to Andie’s room. She wrenched open the door and stalked in, and Andie followed her in and opened the closet door. Alice came closer to stare inside, suspicion in every cell of her body. “I’m unpacked,” Andie told her. “Why would I do that if I was going to take you away?”

Alice ignored her to kick the sewing box.

“So do you want to come with Carter and me to go shopping?”

Alice set her lower teeth in her upper lip, thinking hard. Then she turned and marched back into the nursery.

Andie grabbed her purse and keys and followed her into the nursery in time to see Alice go out of the nursery and slam the door. “Wonderful,” she said, and was trying to think of something else to bribe the girl with when Alice came out with her blue Jessica doll under her arm.

“I want a blue bedspread with sparkles,” she said, “and it should flutter. Like butterflies. Or dancing.” She headed for the door out of the nursery and onto the gallery and beyond that, presumably, the stairs and Carter.

“Hold it,” Andie said, and Alice turned around, a dark look on her face. “We have to comb your hair.”

If possible, untangling Alice’s hair was worse than Andie had anticipated since Alice screamed through the whole thing, loud enough that Carter came up to see what Andie was doing to her. “You’re next,” Andie told him over a shrieking Alice, and he left and came back five minutes later with his hair combed, in time to see Andie pull Alice’s hair up into a topknot and tie it with one of her scrunchies.

Andie sat back to survey her work. Except for the fact that Alice was still screaming, tears streaking down her contorted, red face, she looked pretty good. “Alice, I’m not doing anything to you. Stop screaming and go look at yourself. You look cute.”

Alice screamed louder, directing the volume directly at Andie, so Andie went into her room and got a hand mirror and brought it out to her. “Look.”

Alice stopped in mid-scream, possibly because she realized she looked god-awful with her mouth open like that, possibly because it had been so long since she’d seen her face without hair sticking out all around it. “I hate it,” she said, but she said it instead of screaming it, so Andie counted it as progress.

“That’s my girl,” she said, standing up.

“I’m not your girl,” Alice said, and stalked out the door past Carter, clearly fed up with Andie and life in general, although she gave grudging approval to Andie’s yellow Mustang when she saw it.

The ride to Grandville was uneventful except for the one bad moment when Andie drove through New Essex and turned onto the highway, and Alice thought she was being kidnapped again. She screamed until Carter, sitting beside her in the back seat, said, “Chill, it’s the next town,” without taking his eyes off his comic book. Alice stopped. Evidently if Carter said it, it was fact.

“Thank you,” Andie said to him, looking in the rearview mirror to see his face.

He ignored her.

When they got to the mall in Grandville, he got out of the car and headed for the bookstore. Andie and a silent, glowering Alice went to a bedding store for a blue comforter for Alice and a red-striped one for Carter. When Alice objected to hers, saying, “It doesn’t have sparkles,” they went to a fabric store for some blue sequined chiffon and thread, and after that an office supply store where Alice picked out a sketchbook for Carter, and a set of markers, a big pad of quarter-inch grid paper, some pencils with skulls on them, and a pencil sharpener, all without interacting with Andie in any way until Andie offered her a set of Hello Kitty pencils. The scorn on Alice’s face was searing.

They moved on and bought T-shirts and black-and-white-striped leggings and a stretchy black jersey flounced skirt for Alice who made gagging sounds, but once they began on Carter’s clothes, the little girl got serious, meticulously choosing what he needed. Shopping therapy, Andie thought, and dragged her to a home store where she bought white paint to take the pink out of Alice’s room. “I want black,” Alice said, the first thing she’d said since they’d left the car, and Andie said, “You can draw on the white with your markers,” and watched Alice almost smile. It was a little ghoulish. Then they went to the bookstore.

“Is that your kid?” the store clerk said, when she walked in. He was pointing at Carter, so she said, “Yes.” “And you’re going to buy all these books?” the clerk said, pointing to the stacks on the counter. Andie sorted through them and saw comics and books on drawing and books on drawing comics. “Yes, I’m going to buy all these books,” Andie said, flashing North’s plastic, and a few minutes later Alice came up with two books on butterflies, and Andie added them to the pile.

When they were done and had everything loaded into the car, Andie said, “Groceries,” and Alice started to scream, “No, no, no, NO, NO, NO,” until Carter said, “Chill. We have to eat.” Any illusion Andie had of them picking out meals together was dashed when Carter got in the car, and Alice followed him. Andie moved up and down the grocery aisles with speed and precision and was back in the car in half an hour.

“Now,” she said when she got in the car. “Home.”

She turned on the car and the tape player kicked in, startling her. She recognized the song and turned to the back seat as “Somebody’s Baby” bounced out of the speakers. “Did you put this tape in?”

Carter shrugged.

“There’s a whole thing of them,” Alice said, scowling. “Right here. Nobody was using them. I didn’t hurt anything. It’s your tape.”

Andie craned her neck and saw an old box under Alice’s feet, the tape case she’d shoved under the driver’s seat on a road trip a couple of years before and then forgotten about in favor of her CD player. Alice kicked it and then stared at her defiantly, and Andie hit eject and caught the tape as it slid into her hand. It had “Andie’s Music” written on it in North’s strong block caps.

Mix tapes. They really had been young. Then it came back to her, he hadn’t given it to her, just slid it into his car player one night. “You made me a mix tape?” she’d said, and he said, “No, this is just songs you like.” She shook her head but Alice said, “Put that back in,” so she did, and Jackson Browne sang about the guys on the corner as Andie pulled out of the parking lot. He’d been singing about the guys on the corner when she’d first met North. Our song, she thought, and almost ejected it again. Avoiding old memories warred with avoiding Alice’s screams, and Alice won.

“Why does he try to shut his eyes?” Alice asked.

“Who?” Andie said.

“Because she’s so pretty,” Carter said, deep in a book again, and Andie realized they were talking about Jackson Browne, singing his troubles on the tape.

“Why wouldn’t he want to look at her if she’s pretty?” Alice said.

“Because she’s going to make him feel like a dork and then dump him,” Carter said, still in his book.

Whoa, Andie thought. That was pretty cynical for twelve.

“She’s not nice,” Alice said.

“He doesn’t know that,” Andie said. “He hasn’t asked her yet. If he asks her, maybe she’ll dance with him.” And maybe go home with him and marry him the next day. It happens.

“He should ask her,” Alice said, and moved on to another topic.

Andie listened to them, Alice asking questions and Carter answering them even though he was trying to read, talking to each other as they ignored her completely. They were a family of two, screwed up maybe, but not screwed up in their relationship with each other. Maybe that’s why they were still moderately sane in that creepy house with that wack-job housekeeper. They must have been miserable when Carter was sent away to school. A school that immediately turfed him…

She looked at Carter in the rearview mirror. Carter was quiet but not quiescent. If the only way he could get back to Alice was to set fires… “Carter,” she said, and waited until he looked up, his brown hair flopping in his eyes. “I’ll make sure you’re not sent away from Alice again.”

His blue eyes stayed as flat as ever, and then he went back to his book.

Maybe she didn’t need them to like her. Maybe she just needed them to trust her for the next month. If she got them books and clothing and whatever else they needed, maybe they’d trust her enough to let her take them away from the hellhole they were living in. One step at a time.

When they got to New Essex, she pulled into the Dairy Queen. “Hamburgers and ice cream for lunch,” she said, and when they were surrounded by food, she went to the pay phone and dialed.

If she got Carter cable, he might even speak to her.

North looked up as Kristin came into the office. “I’ll see Mrs. Nash now.”

Kristin closed the door. “Miss Miller is on the phone. I know she’s supposed to talk to me, but she insists on speaking with you.”

Andie. Well, if he was going to act on stupid impulses, he was going to pay the price. “I’ll take the call. You stall Mrs. Nash.”

Kristin nodded and faded out the door, and North thought, Make it quick and hang up fast, and picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“You weren’t kidding about rural,” Andie said, her voice low, the laugh that was always there underneath making it richer. “I had to leave the house to make a phone call.”

“Where are you?” North said, trying not to be seduced into prolonging things just to listen to her.

“The Dairy Queen in New Essex. The kids are inhaling food at a picnic table over by the car, so I can talk. Have you been to that house? It’s like something out of Dickens.”

“Because you had to leave to make this call?”

“Because it’s bleak as hell. We need cable TV, North. I can’t believe Carter is surviving without it.”

“Fine. Call the cable company.” Get off the phone, he told himself.

“I just called them and they were unhelpful. The house is too far out. I need somebody with clout.”

“I don’t know anybody at a cable company.” Get off the phone.

“Well, you undoubtedly know somebody who does know somebody at a cable company. Put Kristin on it. She looks like she’d enjoy a challenge.”

“I will do that,” North said. For Christ’s sake, get off the phone.

“Also, have you been here lately?”

“No. Is there a problem?”

“The place is falling apart. The stone’s crumbling, there are weeds everywhere, anything that’s metal has rusted and run down the outside of the house, and the drive is a real hazard.”

“Damn it,” North said. “I sent funds to fix all of that two years ago.”

“To Mrs. Crumb?”

North pictured the housekeeper. Elderly. Dyed red hair. Smelled like peppermint and rubbing alcohol. “Yes, I sent a check to Mrs. Crumb.”

“Well, the funds stayed with Mrs. Crumb. I suggest you hire people directly this time.”

“I’ll have a contractor come out and look at the place.”

“Tell him to talk to me, not Mrs. Crumb. And to look at the inside, too. The kitchen is awful. I can’t even bake here.”

He closed his eyes and remembered late afternoons, Andie home from teaching and doing the Four O’Clock Bake, the smell of banana bread or chocolate chip cookies or cinnamon rolls, dozens of different smells telling him the day was almost done-

“North?”

“Right,” North said. “Contractor. I’ll put Kristin on it.”

“Also, if anybody calls from this end of the world, we’re still married.”

North stopped looking at his watch. “What?”

“It’s the only thing that gives me clout. They’re very impressed with you here. I figured, what could it hurt? You’re never coming down here. Will’s never coming down here. Nobody in Columbus will ever know. So I took back my married name.”

“You didn’t take my name when we were married,” North said, trying to find his footing again.

“I was going through an independent phase. Now I’m going through a practical phase. It’s a good thing to be an Archer down here. Come to think of it, it was probably a good thing to be an Archer up there. I should have taken your name just for the power. As your mother so often told me, I was an idiot.”

So was I, North thought, and then shook his head before regret could set in. The past was gone and the present had Mrs. Nash in the waiting room. “I’ll get Kristin on the cable-”

“That’ll be a help,” Andie said over him. “Because frankly I could use a bargaining chip with the kids, too. I made a hot breakfast this morning and Alice refused to eat it and went for the damn cereal anyway. Mrs. Crumb thinks she’s winning. According to her, the two of you are very close. You think of her as a mother.”

“Is she delusional?”

“Everybody here is delusional, including your nannies. Carter didn’t set fires because he’s crazy, he set them so he’d get kicked out of school and could come home to take care of Alice. He needs to be in a good public school where he can make friends and then see Alice every night. They’re really close, North. If you don’t separate them, I think he’d go to school without a fight.”

“Damn.” North leaned back. “I knew boarding school was a bad idea. My mother tried to send me away when Southie was six, and I wouldn’t go. Kids need each other. But the last nanny kept telling me he needed discipline, so-”

“He has discipline. He’s so self-disciplined he’s barely breathing. Alice, on the other hand, has no discipline at all. If something’s going on that she doesn’t like, she screams. But it’s not like a normal temper tantrum, there’s something else going on there. Carter I can eventually reach, I think. Alice… I don’t know.”

She sounded worried, and North tried to think of a way to make her feel better and then realized that was ridiculous. She was doing a job for him, she hadn’t called for comfort, they weren’t married anymore no matter what lies she was telling down there, he had Mrs. Nash waiting, and there was nothing he could do anyway… “Do you need me to come down there?”

“No, I can handle this,” she said, her voice as confident as ever. “It’s the kids I’m worried about. I don’t know if I can make things normal for them. I think I can make things better.”

“You always make things better.”

The silence stretched out at the other end of the phone as he thought, Dumb thing to say, and then she said, “Thank you.” Her voice was softer than it had been, and it brought the past rushing back again.

“You’re welcome,” he said, thinking, Get off the damn phone. “I’ll get you your cable and your contractor and somebody to fix the phones.”

“I know you will. You always come through.”

Jesus. “Call me if there’s anything else,” he said briskly, trying to find his way back to normal.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to talk to each other.”

“I was going through an independent phase,” North said, and then closed his eyes as her laugh bubbled through the phone.

“That was a helluva long phase. I’ll call if there’s anything else. You have a good day.”

She hung up, and he sat there with the phone in his hand for a minute, trying to find his way back to normal, until Kristin came in.

“She needs cable down there,” he told her, hanging up the phone. “Get it for her, please.”

“That’s going to cost you,” Kristin said.

It’s the only thing she’s asked for in the entire time I’ve known her. “Get it for her. Also find a good contractor down there and have him go out to talk to her, not to Mrs. Crumb. And call the phone company and find out why they lose service and if there’s anything we can do about it. Bills to come here.”

Kristin nodded. “And Mrs. Nash in the waiting room?”

“Give me a couple of minutes,” North said, and Kristin nodded again and went out.

Andie had never asked for anything. He’d kept waiting for her to, it was crazy of her not to, to ask for a house instead of his apartment in the attic of the family’s Victorian-he’d heard her bitching at the stove once and sent in people to redo the kitchen for her-for a car instead of public transportation-he’d surprised her with a bright yellow Mustang and she’d loved it-hell, for an engagement ring and a decent wedding ring-he’d tried to give her a good ring once and she’d insisted on keeping that damn green band-but she’d just gone on with her life, tromping around in those crazy skirts and tight tank tops, her hair wild no matter how much she fought it, arguing with him, laughing with him, falling into bed with him…

He closed his eyes and thought, I really was an idiot.

He just wasn’t sure if he’d been an idiot for marrying her or for letting her go.

Not that it mattered anymore. She was gone, and he had a client to interview. He punched a button on the intercom and said, “I’ll see Mrs. Nash now,” and went back to work.