Hidden Pictures(7)
“I have my own questions. Give me five minutes.”
Ted gives his son a little push, sending him on his way. Then he unbuttons his coat and sits across from me. I realize he’s not quite as trim as I thought—he has a bit of a paunch—but the extra weight suits him. He looks well fed, well cared for.
“Did you bring an extra copy of your résumé?”
I shake my head no. “Sorry.”
“No problem. I’ve got it somewhere.”
He unbuckles his briefcase and removes a manila folder stuffed with documents. As he flips through the file, I see that it’s full of letters and résumés from other applicants. There must be fifty of them. “Here it is, Mallory Quinn.” And as he extracts my résumé from the pile, I see it’s covered with handwritten annotations.
“Central High School but no college, right?”
“Not yet,” I tell him.
“Are you enrolling in the fall?”
“No.”
“Spring?”
“No, but hopefully someday soon.”
Ted looks at my résumé, then squints and cocks his head, like he can’t quite make sense of it. “This doesn’t say if you speak a foreign language.”
“No, sorry. I mean unless you count South Philly. ‘Do youse guys wanna jawn of that wooder-ice?’”
Caroline laughs. “Oh, that’s funny!”
Ted just marks his notes with a small black X.
“How about musical instruments? Any piano or violin?”
“No.”
“Visual arts? Painting, drawing, sculpture?”
“No.”
“Have you traveled much? Gone abroad?”
“We went to Disney when I was ten.”
He marks my résumé with another X.
“And now you work for your aunt Becky?”
“She’s not my aunt. It’s just the name of the day care: Aunt Becky’s Childcare. Because ABC, get it?”
He sifts through his notes. “Right, right, I remember now. They’re a recovery-friendly workplace. Do you know how much the state pays them to employ you?”
Caroline frowns. “Honey, is that relevant?”
“I’m just curious.”
“I don’t mind answering,” I tell her. “The state of Pennsylvania pays one-third of my salary.”
“But we would pay all of it,” Ted says, and he starts scribbling figures in the margins of my résumé, doing some kind of elaborate calculation.
“Ted, do you have other questions?” Caroline asks. “Because Mallory’s been here a long time. And I still need to show her out back.”
“That’s fine. I’ve got everything I need.” I can’t help but notice that he moves my résumé to the very bottom of the stack. “It was nice to meet you, Mallory. Thanks for coming by.”
* * *
“Don’t mind Ted,” Caroline tells me just a few moments later as we exit the kitchen through sliding glass patio doors. “My husband’s very smart. With computers, he’s a wizard. But socially, he’s awkward, and he doesn’t understand recovery at all. He thinks you’re too high-risk. He wants to hire a student from Penn, some whiz-kid with sixteen hundred SAT scores. But I’ll convince him you deserve a chance. Don’t worry.”
The Maxwells have a big backyard with a lush green lawn, surrounded by tall trees and shrubs and flower beds popping with color. The centerpiece of the yard is a gorgeous swimming pool ringed with patio chairs and umbrellas, like something you’d see in a Las Vegas casino.
“This is beautiful!”
“Our private oasis,” Caroline says. “Teddy loves playing out here.”
We walk across the lawn, and the grass feels taut and springy, like the surface of a trampoline. Caroline points to a tiny path at the edge of the yard and tells me it descends into Hayden’s Glen—a three-hundred-acre nature preserve crisscrossed with trails and streams. “We won’t let Teddy go alone, because of the creeks. But you’re welcome to take him as much as you want. Just watch out for poison ivy.”
We’ve nearly crossed the yard before I finally glimpse the guest cottage—it’s half-hidden behind the trees, as if the forest were in the process of consuming it. The house reminds me of the candy cottage in the Hansel and Gretel story—it’s a miniature Swiss chalet with rustic wood siding and an A-frame roof. We climb three steps to a tiny porch, and Caroline unlocks the front door. “The previous owner kept his lawn mower in here. Used it like a garden shed. But I’ve fixed it up for you.”
Inside, the cottage is just one room, small but spotlessly clean. The walls are white and the roof rafters exposed, thick brown beams crisscrossing the ceiling. The wood floors are so pristine, I’m compelled to kick off my sneakers. To the right is a small kitchenette; to the left is the most comfortable-looking bed I’ve ever seen, with a fluffy white comforter and four enormous pillows.
“Caroline, this is amazing.”
“Well, I know it’s a little tight, but after being with Teddy all day, I figured you’d appreciate the privacy. And the bed’s brand-new. You should give it a try.”