Dirty Red (Love Me With Lies)(18)

I can see on their faces that they know about my mistake. It's embarrassing. The little blonde bitch, who I see in a new light now that I know she owns her own company, smiles, showing her teeth for the first time. She is evidently delighted by my blunder. Sam looks slightly more abashed. He looks away from me politely, and I clear my throat.

“Well, I suppose I got it all wrong,” I say generously, though I am inwardly fuming.

There is collective laughter — the loudest being from Cammie — and then Caleb turns to Sam.

“Tell me about your experience,” he says.

Sam rises to the challenge, listing his childcare experience. He has a Master’s Degree in child psychology from the University of Seattle. He practiced clinically for two years before deciding that he didn’t like the politics of being a counselor — how cold and impersonal it felt. He decided to move somewhere sunny — South Florida — and get a new degree in Music, which he intended to use when he opened a rehabilitation center for abused children.

“Music heals people,” he says. “I’ve seen what it can do for a broken child, and I want to heavily incorporate it into the center, but I need to have a degree in it first.”

“So,” I say more skeptically than I intend. “You spent seven years getting a master’s degree and now you want to be a nanny?”

Caleb clears his throat and takes his arms off the back of the sofa where they were resting. “What Leah means is, why not practice part-time while you finish up the degree? Why nanny when the financial benefits aren’t nearly as great?”

I lift my nose and wait for his answer.

Sam laughs nervously and rubs the hair on his face.

“Actually, being a counselor doesn’t exactly line your pockets, if you know what I mean. I did it for reasons other than money. And, I don’t come cheap as a child care provider,” he says honestly. “Notice I’m sitting in your living room, which is a significant step up from middle-class America.”

I sniff at his mention of our money. I was taught it was bad manners to point such things out verbally.

“I have a daughter,” he adds. “Her mother and I split up two years ago, but you can say I am well versed in taking care of babies.”

“Where is your daughter?” I ask.

Caleb shoots me a warning look, but I ignore him. I don’t want some wild kid running around my house on the days that he has her. And besides, she might get the baby sick. Something I can’t point out in lieu of my latest escapade.

“She’s in Puerto Rico with her mother,” he says.

I picture a beautifully exotic Latin woman that shared his home, but not his last name. Their daughter would probably have her mother’s hair and her father’s light eyes.

“Her mother moved back there after we split up. That’s part of the reason I chose to come to Florida — so on weekends I can fly over to see her.” I wonder what type of woman takes her child so many hundreds of miles away from her father, especially when she can use him as a babysitter on the weekends.

“Sam,” Cammie finally speaks up, “is my cousin. I promised him my best job, and when Caleb called I knew it would be a perfect fit.”

“And, how do you know Caleb?” I say, finally getting the opportunity to address the question that’s been on my mind.

For the first time, Cammie looks unsure of how to answer. She looks to Caleb, who smiles at me indulgently.

“We went to college together,” he provides simply. “And, frankly, Sam, if Cammie recommends you — family or not — I believe you’re the best.” He winks at Cammie, who raises her eyebrows and smiles.

An alarm goes off in my head. Caleb was a hotshot basketball player in college. He slept his way through the cheerleading squad, and then went on to meet that home-wrecking bitch Olivia. I narrow my eyes at Cammie. Did she know Olivia? Had they competed for my husband? My questions are left unanswered, as money becomes the topic of conversation.

I half listen as Caleb offers Sam a generous salary, which he accepts, and before I can protest that I would prefer a traditional female nanny — preferably one with both a large ass and a large facial wart — Caleb is standing up and shaking Sam’s hand.

It is decided. Sam will take care of Estella five days a week, with evenings off to attend class. He will start tomorrow, as Caleb leaves in two days on another business trip and he wants to make sure Sam is settled before he goes. Which is code for: My wife doesn’t know what she is doing, and I have to teach you how to coerce her to use the breast pump.

I sigh, defeated, and remain seated as Caleb walks them to the door.

Well, I got my way — kind of.





Chapter EightPast



I was not a commitment girl. Until Caleb rejected me — then I was. We’d had the talk, the one where I asked him where we were going, and he looked at me like I was a space alien.

“You knew,” he’d said. “You knew when you got involved with me that I wasn’t looking for commitment.”

I countered that I hadn’t been looking for anything, either. That things change when people click.

But, Caleb had remained firm. He wasn’t ready. He didn’t want me. He wanted her. He hadn’t exactly said that, but I knew it down to my marrow. I knew it by the way he always looked away when I brought her up. He wouldn’t even tell me her name. Whoever had ruined him had ruined everything for me.