Isla’s farewell with Peter wasn’t as tearful as I expected it to be, but I could tell Isla was sad the moment her father stepped out of the door and drove straight to the Navy base after dinner. Dinner had been a cheerful affair, with me volunteering to cook tossed vegetables, which we ate along with the leftover pasta. Peter ordered some vanilla ice cream as a dessert treat, and even took time to enjoy it with us as he and Isla engaged me in conversation. I wasn’t wrong in my assumption that Isla was a bright, cheerful kid, but the cheer dimmed a bit as she watched the car turn the corner of the road and disappear through the front window.

Not liking seeing her sad, I clapped my hands and waited until Isla turned in my direction. When she did, I gave her a smile.

“It’s still pretty early. What do you guys usually do here for fun?”

“You mean when I’m with dad?” she asked.

I nodded. Right. She also often stayed with her mom. Isla tilted her head and thought it over.

“Usually he’d help me with homework, but I already finished them all right after school so I won’t have to worry about it,” she said, proudly. I told her that was good and smart of her, then waited as she proceeded thinking. “Since it’s the weekend, we usually watch movies.”

If there was one thing I learned about babysitting a kid who still didn’t know me that well, it was never to force-mimic what she did with her parents. It was a constant reminder of the things they enjoyed together, only making the kid compare you to her parent—and often, the end results were either they missed their parents more, or they preferred you and had said parents resenting you.

Still, I always gave the kids choices, and so I gave her one now by asking, “Would you like to try watching a movie with me, Isla?”

Isla nodded her head, then went with me to the living room. I began subtly probing her about what she and Peter often watched together, then avoided those and looked for ones that she and I hadn’t watched yet. We ended up choosing a Christmas movie that was both funny and heartwarming, and soon Isla warmed up to me and began to get excited. As the movie ended, I could feel her getting sleepy and shook her gently, telling her we needed to get to bed. I stood watch as she brushed her teeth, then changed into a pajama set that was purple and full of yellow stars. I made a move to turn off the lights, but her words stopped me.

“Don’t I get a kiss goodnight?” she asked, solemnly. Those blue eyes bored into mine again, big and irresistible.

I felt my heart softening despite myself. Quietly, I tucked her in, then kissed her forehead gently.

“Goodnight, Isla.”

“Goodnight, Rachel,” she murmured. Then she turned to the side and cuddled with her brown bear, one she introduced as Cuddles earlier.

In a few seconds, the little girl was fast asleep.

* * *

The next day, Sunday, was spent cooking up new stuff to store in the fridge and watching Isla practice her dancing some more. After lunch, I told her that I’d help her pack her stuff so I could drive her to her mother and I could go home before night fell. But to my surprise, Isla shook her head and repeatedly told me that she didn’t want to go to her mother’s place, and not a single word I said managed to convince her. She began looking glum again, and I sat with her in bed and tentatively tried to broach the subject.

“Why don’t you want to go to your mom’s?”

Isla shrugged. “She might kick me out again.”

I blinked. “Kick you out…again?”

The girl nodded solemnly. Then she began to talk about how she overheard her mom and dad talking on the phone, and how she heard her mom reminding Peter that she didn’t want him dropping Isla off during the wee hours of the night whenever he got called for work because it disrupted her own schedule. Apparently, her mom made a new schedule for when she could visit the mansion, and this week was not her week yet.

“I’m pretty sure she’s not going to be happy if I show up unannounced at her place,” Isla said.

I couldn’t imagine a mother not being ecstatic about her own daughter showing up anytime at her house. I remembered right away how my mom had welcomed me without any judgement when I returned home, then began to wonder what kind of person Peter’s ex-wife was. Perhaps something really went bad in their marriage that things got bitter like this. It was none of my business, really, but I guess I understood why I got hired now—because of the so-called new schedule.

This meant that I couldn’t leave yet until Peter returned home or the date to drop Isla off to her mother’s was up, whichever came first.

I realized that I didn’t mind, really. Isla was a fun girl to be with, and I could see this as a way for us to bond.

“Hmm,” I murmured to her last sentence. Isla looked up at me.

“Can’t I just stay here with you? We can hang out and get to know each other more,” she pleaded, softly, her eyes going big again.

I stifled a grin as she unknowingly used her charms on me. I nodded, solemnly. “I would love that. What do you want to do today?”

We ended up taking a walk at the nearby park, where Isla talked my ear off about her dream of becoming a professional ballet dancer someday. I told her that was great, but said she needed to finish her studies first because that was important, too. Isla began asking me questions about my life, listening intently when I told her about my family and my siblings. She began laughing when I told her of my nieces’ and nephews’ antics, and other hilarious babysitting stories I had. She grew fascinated as I told her how close I was to my siblings, telling me she wished her father would find someone soon so she could have a baby brother or sister. But it wasn’t really a priority, because she would support whatever made her dad happy.

“You’re a good kid,” I said, feelingly, hugging her close. Two days in, and I could already feel our bond forming that easily. It felt so natural between us, and I wasn’t kidding when I said she was a good kid.

We went home before night fell, had dinner, then went to bed early. Isla wanted to hear me pray, and so I did, with her following my lead. I kissed her goodnight again without her having to request, and she went to sleep with a smile on her face.

Over the next few days, aka school days, we developed a routine: I woke up early and prepared breakfast and her lunchbox, then woke her up so we could eat breakfast together. I then drove her to school early and listened as she enumerated the things in her bag. Apparently, this was a system her dad created so that she wouldn’t forget anything. After dropping her off, I went back home and did minimal household chores, even though Peter never really listed them down. I figured it was the least I could do with what he was paying me, and with all the free time I had while Isla was at school. Laundry was easy because he had a high-tech washing and drying machine, so it didn’t take me long to finish the whole batch in just one sitting. Then, when I found myself getting bored, I began to arrange the fridge and the living room, feeling relaxed. The Bartlett house was cozy, with not much clutter and simple taste other than Isla’s bedroom, which was rife with color. I began to wonder what Peter’s bedroom looked like, figuring out that it must be as masculine as he was.

Then I began to think that imagining his room was a stupid thing, and I tried to erase it off my mind.

When everything was clean and all the clothes were dry, I prepared the makings of dinner early, trying something new every day to get Isla excited and note down which new dishes she liked best. I also made desserts, making sure to store a piece or two for Peter when he came back. Isla said her father often returned after a week, which made it perfect, because my desserts could usually be stored up to two to three weeks.

Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays were Isla’s ballet practice schedule after class, which gave me extra time to clean the house some more before picking her up right after. But on Friday, when I’d pretty much done all household chores I could, I decided to drive to her school early. I stood by the entrance door, watching her come out hopping with two of her school friends. She paused when she spotted me, her blue eyes lighting up and making me smile. Then she hurried over to where I was.

“Rachel!” she exclaimed. “Why are you early? I have ballet practice today.”

I grinned at her. “Would you mind if I came to watch?”

If anything, Isla’s smile turned into a beam as she suddenly looked excited. She called her friends over and introduced us, and the girls turned shy as we walked the block towards the ballet studio. As Isla took hold of the conversation, I did my best to ease them into it, too, asking the two girls questions about ballet. Apparently, Cindy and Charlotte had been doing ballet since they were toddlers, Cindy because her mother was a dancer, too, and Charlotte because she liked watching The Nutcracker cartoons when she was a kid and had wanted to be a ballerina ever since. Again, I couldn’t comprehend how they already figured out what they wanted at such a young age, even if maybe it was only fleeting. I didn’t remember myself wanting to do anything at that age other than play, read the occasional book and accompany my mother as she cooked in the kitchen. I often tagged along with my dad on his fishing trips, but it was more because of boredom than anything else, and I remembered not being very interested when he tried to explain all the hooks and baits used.

Then high school came, and I was one of the quiet ones who didn’t hang out with the popular crowd, but didn’t quite get called a nerd, either. In fact, the popular clique were nice to me, which often puzzled me considering how they liked to make fun of lots of the others there. Despite being in a religious school, it was a pretty vicious world, and I tried my best to keep my head down, focus on making it through classes and ignore all the gossip and drama going on around me.

Then there was college. In college, it was pretty difficult to ignore everything and just focus on the classes when your roommate herself was the IT girl and brought the party to the house. My university wasn’t religious by any means, and I guess the culture shock of seeing people have sex casually and treat it like a passing interest rather than a special thing, got to me. Then there was the drinking and the drugs, which completely altered some of my friends that I couldn’t recognize them anymore. Some could handle it—others couldn’t, and it turned them into such monsters that I was afraid how deep they’d spiral out of control.

It also made me afraid how easily I could be tempted into almost giving in as semester after semester came and went. It shook me, really, and I decided that I didn’t want to test my limits and got out of there as quickly as I could.

And now here I was, with still no idea what to do with my life.

We entered the studio with those thoughts swirling in my mind all over again, but I didn’t allow the girls to see how distracted I was. There was a waiting bench for parents, and I sat on it and brooded as the girls gathered with the others and their instructor, who I already met on my first day picking Isla up.

What did I like, really? What was my passion? I couldn’t imagine being a chef or a baker despite cooking calming me down. It just…it didn’t feel like me at all, and I didn’t think I could last my whole life cooking as a career. I didn’t major in any subject yet when I was in college, but I remembered liking fixing and decorating. I also liked household chores a lot. But I didn’t think the university I went to offered those, or what it could translate to after I graduated.

All this thinking was giving me a headache, and I decided to put it to rest for now. There was plenty of time later to seriously think about it before I proceeded into anything. At the moment, the best thing to do was to be cautious before delving into anything, because I couldn’t afford to fail a second time and disappoint my parents again. Despite their want for me to be happy, I believed they also wanted the best for me, and lounging around being a nanny for the rest of my life probably wasn’t their idea of the best.

The music got louder, providing me enough reason to break out of my thoughts and focus on the girls practicing. There were a total of seven girls, all varying from eight to ten years old, and they were currently practicing what seemed to be another classical piece. Isla was one of the shorter of the girls gathered, and she was standing at the center near the right, her face serene as she concentrated on her movements. I watched her do her pirouettes, feeling proud. I couldn’t imagine how much prouder Peter must have felt when he watched his daughter be so good at something and enjoy doing it. The music ended and the girls dispersed in different parts of the floor, with Isla wandering to one side. She kept practicing her pirouettes and various leaps that I couldn’t identify, and she sometimes wobbled on her feet when she landed. But for the most part, she nailed them perfectly. I couldn’t wait to tell her how good she was when we drove back home.

I was still watching intently as Isla leaped again, higher this time. Then things happened too fast for me to comprehend or react to.

Instead of landing on her feet, Isla stumbled and landed on her ankle. I watched as it twisted right in front of my eyes, a terrible rush of feeling coming over me as I heard her cry.

Then the feeling turned to fear when I heard the big, fat sound of a crunch.

She screamed in pain. Everything else became a blur for me as I rushed towards her, ignoring the voices around me as I knelt in front of her. Her leg was twisted in an unnatural angle, and there were tears already streaming down her face as she turned to look at me. I tried not to look panicked as I realized she couldn’t move at all, finally hearing the teacher and the girls gathering around us.

“Please call the ambulance,” I told the teacher, who nodded her head and hurried over to do so. I asked the girls to step away and give Isla some breathing space, then turned to Isla again. Her pallor was slowly going gray, and it was the most terrifying thing ever.

“Hang on, Isla,” I murmured, gently, holding her hand and letting her squeeze mine. “We’ll get you help.”

God. I only hoped the ambulance wasn’t too late.