I thought my husband was just being weird about our babysitter until the day she disappeared from the house and left me a note saying he had lied. The second I opened the locked drawer in his office, I understood why he had been so desperate to get rid of her.
It was raining that afternoon, the kind of soft, steady rain that made the backyard look dull and washed out. Five years into marriage with Harry, I had gotten used to these quiet little moments.
Harry was 15 years older than me, and he liked to remind me of it in small ways.
"You'll understand when you're my age, Andrea," he would say, usually right before deciding his opinion mattered more than mine.
I had finally decided they needed one steady person.
That morning, I watched him crouch in the hallway to tie June's shoelace, his thumb brushing her ankle so gently she barely noticed. On his way out, he kissed Lily's hair and whispered something that made her laugh into her cereal.
He loved our girls so much that I never questioned anything.
Upstairs, the twins were wrecking their room again.
"Mommy, June painted the dog pink!"
"No, Mommy, Lily started it!"
I stood there, closed my eyes for a second, and reminded myself that this was exactly why I needed help. With both Harry and me working, the girls had been bouncing between daycare and our neighbor's house for months, and I had finally decided they needed one steady person.
I'd been looking for a babysitter for two weeks when the reply came in. Eighteen years old. Name was Mara. She was supposed to be there any minute.
She showed up 12 minutes late.
When I opened the door, I nearly changed my mind on the spot. Mara's hair was half falling out of a bun, rain was clinging to her cheeks, and she was wearing one black flat on her left foot and a glittery pink sneaker on the right.
"I'm so sorry," she said, breathing hard. "The bus doors jammed, and then I stepped in gum, and I had to borrow my neighbor's shoe, and..."
Before she could finish, Lily and June came tearing past me.
They hit her at full speed and wrapped themselves around her legs so hard she actually stumbled back against the porch rail.
Mara went pale for half a second.
I stared at them. "You girls know her?"
Mara went pale for half a second. Then she smiled too fast.
"Kids get friendly fast."
I should've asked more. I should've stopped right there and asked why my daughters were greeting a stranger like she was a cousin who'd come home for Christmas.
"Mommy, can she stay forever?" June asked.
"Let's start with this afternoon," I said.
Mara apologized to me three more times for being late, then knelt down to listen to whatever serious little secret June was whispering in her ear. A few minutes later, I was standing in the kitchen doorway with a dish towel in my hands, watching her braid June's hair while Lily leaned against her knee.
It was the calmest I had seen my daughters in months.
Then the whole mood changed. Harry was standing in the hallway with his briefcase still in his hand. He was staring at Mara.
The color drained from his face so fast that it unsettled me. His mouth opened once, like he almost said her name, and then he just turned around and walked upstairs.
I told myself that he was tired. That work had gotten to him. But there had been something in his face that I couldn't shake.
And for a few days, I forgot about it.
That night, I found Harry out on the back porch, sitting in the dark.
He didn't look at me. "Long day. That's all."