The Good Liar(12)

I’d tried to find out everything I could about Teo before agreeing to the documentary. His take, his intentions, the research he was doing. Teo was polite but evasive. “Trust me,” he’d said, and I decided to do so, which meant there were important things about Teo I didn’t know.

Was he a storyteller or a man looking for a story?

I was betting on the first, but I was preparing myself for the second.





Chapter 6


Runaround


Kate

Kate forced herself awake at six thirty as her alarm switched on to Mix 96. Today was the day. One more day, and she’d be past the worst of it. She had a plan for how to do that, even. Written down on a scrap of paper and then burned in the backyard in the outdoor fireplace. Get up. Act like everything’s normal. Avoid screens. How hard could that be?

Her morning routine was quick. She had no one to dress up for. The twins would mar anything nice she wore in minutes. She preferred these new, easy clothes, anyway. The casualness she had toward her appearance. Before, she’d looked at the stay-at-home mothers in their perpetual yoga outfits and thought uncharitable thoughts. Now she understood the practicality of it. Spending the day with children required flexibility. Fabric that would stretch with you.

Upstairs in the kitchen, Kate made sure the espresso maker was brewing Andrea’s and Rick’s separate coffee orders. If—when—she left this job, Kate could easily get a job as a barista. She pulled ingredients from the freezer for the breakfast smoothies they all drank so she’d be ready to pop them into the blender the moment the first of the Millers appeared. Then she set about making sandwiches for the boys. Part of her plan for the day was to take them to Westmount Park. Out of the house and away from the temptation of the TV on the wall.

The sun shone through the wide windows that looked out over the backyard. It was a bit barren now that the leaves had tumbled from the trees. The wind tossed a forgotten balloon around. The large rubber swing on the play set was swaying back and forth as if a child’s legs were propelling it.

She glanced at the clock on the microwave, wondering if she had time to divert Rick’s latte order for one of her own. It wasn’t even seven yet, and Kate was already tired.

Back in Chicago, being a mother had been part of Kate’s identity. There wasn’t a day that went by that wasn’t shaped by her children. Their needs and wants elevated above her own. But now she wasn’t a mother; she was a mother’s helper. A nanny. The babysitter, as Andrea called her because she thought it sounded less pretentious. Less like she was dependent on Kate for attending to the basic needs of her children. A babysitter was someone more temporary. Someone you called in when you had somewhere else to be. Not the help. Only, Kate wasn’t someone who was called on in an emergency. She was always there. She was upstairs every day by seven—earlier if she heard the twins clattering around the kitchen. She crawled under her expensive sheets some twelve to fourteen hours later—later still if Andrea and Rick, a lawyer who wasn’t home much, had an evening event.

Kate wasn’t complaining. This was what she’d signed up for. She’d seen enough from some of the more affluent mothers in her old neighborhood to know what it would be like. She had no illusions that the two hours she was supposed to have off every day would be respected. And she was fine with that. Scrambling after the twins kept her from having time to think. When she fell into bed at night, she was so exhausted she usually went right to sleep.

It was ideal in a lot of ways. The job came with a comfortable bed and food. She never had time to spend the money she was making. It was accumulating nicely in the box she kept tucked away behind one of the ceiling tiles. But the thing she hadn’t counted on, the thing she’d known on some level but had never accounted for, was how being with the twins would enhance her memory of her children rather than help it fade.

“Aunt Kwait,” Willie said, skipping into the kitchen in his cow-covered footy pajamas. This was what he called her, a vestige of the babysitter thing or perhaps the white thing. She didn’t look like the other nannies, so she’d been passed off as an aunt of sorts. “I am so happy to see you.”

“I am so happy to see you, too, Willie. Did you have a good sleep?”

“Good, I think.”

They had the same conversation every morning.

Willie climbed up onto one of the bar stools, being careful to reach up and place his favorite stuffed bear on the counter first. Kate watched him closely, ready to spring into action if needed. A few weeks ago, when Willie had added this independent move to his morning routine, he’d lost his grip and hit the hardwood floor with a sickening thunk. “I okay,” he’d said before Kate could get the words out. “I not mean to do that.”

Willie made it up safely this morning. Kate tucked his chair in as he recovered his bear and held it to his chest.

“What would you like for breakfast?”

“Pancakes?” he asked hopefully.

“Sorry, muffin. It’s not the weekend.”

He looked momentarily defeated, then said with more resignation than Kate thought a three-year-old should, “Green smoothie.”

“Correct!”

Willie giggled. He knew Kate would put as little of the “nasty” green parts into the smoothie as she could get away with and add an extra splash or two of organic apple juice.