Hidden Pictures(11)
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8:00—Before Teddy and I can start the day in earnest, we have to complete a couple minor chores. First I need to lay out Teddy’s clothes, but this is easy because he always wears the same thing. The kid has a vast wardrobe of adorable outfits from Gap Kids but he always insists on wearing the same striped purple shirt. Caroline has grown tired of washing it so she went back to The Gap and bought five more of the same top. She’s willing to indulge him, but she’s asked me to “gently encourage” other choices. When I lay out his clothes, I’m supposed to offer a couple different options, but he always lands on the same purple stripes. Afterward, I’ll help him brush his teeth and I’ll wait outside the bathroom while he uses the potty, and then we’re ready to start our day.
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8:30—I try to structure every morning around a big activity or outing. We’ll walk to the library to attend a Storytime Hour, or we’ll go to the supermarket and buy ingredients to make cookies. Teddy is easy to please and never balks at my suggestions. When I tell him I have to go into town to buy toothpaste, he reacts like we’re going to Six Flags. He’s a joy to be around—smart, affectionate, and full of mind-boggling questions: What is the opposite of square? Why do girls have such long hair? Is everything in the world “real”? I never get tired of listening to him. He is like the little brother I never had.
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12:00—After our morning activity, I’ll prepare a simple lunch—mac and cheese or pizza bagels or chicken nuggets. Teddy will go into his bedroom for Quiet Time, and I’ll take an hour for myself. I’ll read a book, or I’ll listen to a podcast on my headphones. Or sometimes I’ll just lie on the couch and catch a twenty-minute catnap. Eventually Teddy will come downstairs and shake me awake and he’ll have one or two new drawings to share. Often he illustrates our favorite activities—he’ll show us walking through the forest or playing in the backyard or hanging around my cottage. I keep these drawings on the door of my refrigerator—a gallery of his artistic progress.
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2:00—This is usually the hottest part of the day, so we’ll stay inside playing Chutes and Ladders or Mouse Trap, and then we’ll slather on sunscreen and go out to the pool. Teddy doesn’t know how to swim (and I’m not very good myself), so I make sure he puts on floaties before we get in the water. Then we’ll play tag or have a swordfight with the pool noodles. Or we’ll climb atop the large inflatable raft and play make-believe games like Castaway or Titanic.
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5:00—Caroline gets home and I’ll recap my day with Teddy while she starts preparing dinner. Then I’ll go out for a run, anywhere from three to eight miles, depending on what Russell recommends. I’ll pass all kinds of people out on their sidewalks or watering their lawns, and everyone assumes I’m a resident of Spring Brook. Some of the neighbors will even wave and call out hello, like I’ve been living here all my life, like I must be someone’s daughter home from college on summer break. And I love the way it makes me feel—the sense of community—like I’ve finally arrived in the place where I belong.
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7:00—After running I’ll take a quick shower in the world’s smallest bathroom, and I’ll fix myself a simple meal in the cottage’s tiny kitchen. Once or twice a week, I’ll walk downtown to browse the local shops and restaurants. Or I’ll attend an open meeting in the church basement of Our Lady the Redeemer. The discussion leaders are very good and the participants are friendly but I’m always the youngest person in the circle by at least ten years, so I’m not expecting to make a ton of new friends. I certainly don’t stick around for “the meeting after the meeting,” when everyone walks down the block to Panera Bread to complain about their kids, their mortgages, their jobs, etc. After just two weeks of living with the Maxwells, safely cocooned from all temptations, I’m not even sure I need meetings anymore. I think I can handle things on my own.
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9:00—By this time I’m usually in bed, reading a library book or watching a movie on my phone. As a gift to myself, I open a subscription to the Hallmark Channel so I can stream unlimited romances for $5.99 a month, and they’re the perfect way to unwind at the end of the night. As I turn out the light and rest my head on my pillow, I revel in the comfort of happily ever after—of families reunited and scoundrels sent packing, of treasures recovered and honor restored.
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Maybe this all sounds boring. I know it’s not rocket science. I realize I’m not changing the world or curing cancer. But after all my troubles, I feel like I’ve taken a huge step forward, and I’m proud of myself. I have my own place to live and a steady paycheck. I’m cooking nutritious meals and setting aside two hundred a week for savings. I feel like my work with Teddy is important. And I feel validated by Ted and Caroline’s absolute faith in me.
Especially Ted’s. I don’t see much of him during the day, because he leaves for his office at six thirty every morning. But sometimes I’ll see him at night, after I’m back from a run. He’ll be sitting on the patio with his laptop and a glass of wine, or he’ll be out in the swimming pool doing laps, and he’ll wave me over and ask about my run. Or he’ll ask about my day with Teddy. Or he’ll ask my opinion of some random consumer brand—Nike, PetSmart, Gillette, L.L.Bean, and so on. Ted explains that his company designs “back-end software” for big corporations all over the world, and he’s constantly seeking out new partnerships. “What do you think of Urban Outfitters?” he’ll ask me, or “Have you ever eaten dinner at a Cracker Barrel?” And then he’ll really listen to my answers, as if my opinions might actually shape his business decisions. And it’s flattering, to be honest. Apart from Russell, I haven’t met a ton of people who care what I think. So I’m always happy to see Ted, and I always feel a little charge when he invites me over to talk.