Hannah

The next morning when I knocked on the Parkers’ door, I was notably less nervous, and when it opened, the scene was noticeably less chaotic.

But Charlie’s smile was still as dazzling as it had been the few times I saw it the day before.

“Morning,” he said as he grabbed one of my suitcases, then the other.

“Good morning. Thank you.”

I stepped in, and he closed the door behind me.

“No problem. I really appreciate you starting so soon.” He rolled the suitcases toward the staircase to the lower floor and what would be my bedroom. “I’ve got to get back to work tomorrow—today really. It’s waiting impatiently for me in my office.”

I followed. “It’s no trouble. The timing worked out nicely.”

“That, it did.”

We said nothing else as we made our way down the stairs, down the hall, and he turned the corner into my room with my bags.

I stopped outside of the threshold on instinct, warning triggering nerves in a chain up my back at the sight of Charlie in my room. I couldn’t force myself in, and I didn’t want to.

Calm down. He’s safe.

He brought the suitcases to a stop next to a wardrobe and turned to me, his face soft and open, eyes deep and honest though tight in the corners with pain or sadness or regret—I couldn’t be sure which. Nothing about him inspired fear, but I stayed put all the same.

“The kids are somehow miraculously asleep, but if they sleep much past nine, it might be hard to get them to nap. I’ll be in my office if you need anything that Katie can’t help you with.”

“Does she work every day?” I asked.

“Sundays are usually her day off, but she’s sticking around to help get you settled. She knows far more than I do about running the house,” he said with a deprecating chuckle as he started for the door.

My pulse ticked a notch faster with his every step, and I moved out of the way, giving him a wide berth to pass. He paused, watching me curiously, his hand moving as if he might try to touch me, but it fell back to his side.

“We’re glad you’re here, Hannah,” he said softly.

“I’m glad to be here,” I said equally soft.

With that, he nodded once and turned for his office, taking my breath with him in a whoosh.

He won’t hurt you. You can trust him. You should try.

And I wanted to. He’d done nothing but respect my space, never hinting that he was anything but innocuous. But Quinton’s face flashed in my mind, straightening my back, clearing my thoughts.

The differences between Charlie and Quinton struck me, the juxtaposition of emotions they invoked stark. Where Charlie gave me no tangible reason to be concerned, Quinton had made me uncomfortable from the first moment I met him. Something about the way his eyes would linger or the way his handsome lips curled when he smiled.

It wasn’t long after I’d moved in that he grew bolder. He would appear in the doorway of the kitchen late at night when I was making tea or make it a point to meet me in the hallway, as if he’d been waiting for a moment to be alone with me in a quiet, unavoidable space.

I’d told myself it was innocent enough, ignoring the warning signs I should have heeded.

Once, he’d touched my hand when his wife had her back turned to us, the feeling of his skin on mine like hot grease.

Once, he’d cupped the curve of my behind and squeezed, his hand disappearing so quickly, I wondered if it had been imagined.

Once, he’d come into the bathroom while I was showering and kindly reminded me to lock the door. I had; I’d locked it tight and double-checked it.

Once, he’d come into my room in the dark of night and woken me with his hand up my nightgown and lips against mine.

I’d pushed him away, gotten out of bed, poised to run or scream or fight, and when I’d told him to leave, he had.

I had known it wouldn’t be the end. The desire in his eyes had been anchored by an unspoken promise to wait, not to stop. But he’d left my room, and I’d moved the chair in front of the door with shaking hands before packing my bag.

In the morning before I’d left, I’d told him and his wife I had a family emergency and would be leaving immediately for Holland. She’d hugged me and thanked me and wished me well while he watched us embrace with smoldering anger, the sullen, bitter look of one who had lost their toy.

Lysanne’s host family had welcomed me, and for two weeks, I’d repaid them with my time while I worked with the agency to place me in a new position. A better position.

And I believed I’d found one. This time, there were no predatory glances, not even a hint of anything but respect. It had been too soon to make the decision to stay, especially since I’d been wrong before. But where Quinton had always felt dangerous, Charlie only felt safe.

Quinton was beautiful in the way a panther was—too strong and sleek and hungry to trust.

Charlie was beautiful in the way a prince was—too noble and honest and virtuous to deny.

To pretend like he wasn’t would be a lie and an absolute farce. But it didn’t mean anything that I saw it and felt it. I’d seen plenty of handsome men, even dated handsome men. I told myself I was just more aware because we’d be living together. And because he wasn’t married. And because seeing him with his children did something to me that I couldn’t quite describe, awoke some instinctive desire for that. Not him, but that.

The fact that I felt anything at all, even a passing thought of anything past professional interest, should’ve had me packing, not unpacking as I was, folding my clothes and organizing them in the big wardrobe. But as much as I’d learned, I was still naive, telling myself I was in control. I reminded myself that anyone would be interested in a beautiful, successful single father. Something about the loneliness and determination it took to do something like that inspired respect and an air of allure. It was strictly circumstance, not the man himself. I didn’t even know him.

I thought I would do well to keep it that way.

So, I tucked my thoughts away with my sweaters and socks with the hopes they’d stay put.

The room where I stood was old and dark and cozy, the beautiful antique mantel almost imposing but still quaint. It reminded me so much of Holland in that way, a familiarity that touched me with a deep sense of longing. But home wasn’t going anywhere. This room was mine only for a time.

Of course, that was sad in its own right, a reminder of how quickly things could change.

By the time I finished unpacking, it was after nine, so I made my way up to the kids’ rooms to wake them.

First, Maven, bleary-eyed and sluggish. She hung on me like a koala, and I took a seat in her rocking chair, singing to her for a few minutes as she shook off sleep. The weight of her resting on my chest was a warm comfort, her blonde curls silky in my fingertips as I rocked and hummed and sang. And then she sat, peering at me with the biggest, deepest brown eyes, thumb in her mouth as she touched my cheek with her other hand.

I kissed her cheek and picked her up, heading to Sammy’s room.

The moment I whispered, “Good morning,” he shot out of bed like a bolt, bright-eyed and asking questions about the day.

“Let’s start with breakfast, shall we?” I asked on a laugh.

He agreed with a whoop as he ran out of his room and down the stairs.

When I reached the kitchen, he was already sitting at the table with a muffin on a plate, eating the top of it.

“Mornin’,” Katie sang.

“Good morning.”

I sat Maven in her booster seat, and Katie appeared at my elbow with a muffin and a cup of milk for her. Maven delicately picked it up and took a small bite.

“And how are you this morning?” Katie asked, making her way back over to the island where she’d laid out a spread for me.

“Quite well, thank you. How early do you get here most days?”

She shrugged. “About six, give or take. Later on Saturdays.”

I loaded a plate with fruit and a croissant. “I’m sorry you had to come in today.”

She waved me off. “Oh, it’s fine. I’m glad to help out, even gladder that you’re here and I can go back to single duty instead of double. Not that I don’t love the angels, but I’d rather be scrubbing baseboards on my knobby old knees than trying to keep them out of trouble. I have a hard enough time keeping myself out of trouble.”

I laughed and took a seat at the bar. “Does their mother not live in town to help?”

Katie’s lips flattened out. “Oh, she does. She works just up Amsterdam, at Mount Sinai.”

My face quirked in confusion.

She didn’t wait for me to ask; the question must have been plain on my face. Her voice lowered. “She’s abandoned all of them—her whole life outside of her job. She hasn’t seen the children since she left last winter.”

I found I had nothing to say and no appetite for my breakfast. I watched Maven eating her muffin with methodical gentility, wondering how in the world their mother could have left them so easily.

But I caught myself. I didn’t know her, couldn’t possibly know how difficult or easy it had been. Perhaps guilt had been slowly eating away at her. Maybe she’d tried to come back. Maybe she didn’t believe herself fit.

The thought made me feel better than the image of her as a monster. So, I clung to that.

“Do they miss her?” I asked, glancing at Sammy, who was humming and so intent on his breakfast, he didn’t seem to be listening at all.

“Hard to say. I’ve never heard them mention her.”

“How strange,” I muttered.

But Katie chuffed. “Not really. Word is, she wasn’t winning any awards for Mother of the Year. Wife of the Year either.” She leaned forward even more, her voice almost a whisper. “She cheated on Charlie. It went on for years right under his nose—and with his best friend.”

A slow tingle worked down my spine. “Oh my God.”

Katie nodded, her shoulders rising and falling with a sigh. “He lost all his friends. Seemed they’d all known about the affair and failed to tell him. And Mary left the house straightaway, nearly disappeared. His parents came for a bit while he secured me and Jenny and got us all set up.” She shook her head. “Charlie was a mess in those days. But that’s a story for another time.” Her eyes shifted to the entrance to the kitchen, and she straightened up. “Tea or coffee?” she asked, turning the conversation with the question.

“Tea would be lovely, thank you.” I answered.

She nodded and turned on the kettle. I watched the kids eat their breakfast, wondering over how it had all come about, how he had handled it all, how he’d felt and what he’d been through.

I sighed. I could wonder all day long, but there was no way for me to understand just how badly he’d been hurt. The errant thought that he might have been to blame crossed my mind, but I couldn’t truly convince myself, not after what I’d seen, however brief the glimpses I’d gotten were. He’d have to be a spectacular actor to walk around with the weight on his shoulders and the sadness in his eyes, to pretend to love his children. You couldn’t manifest love where there was none. It was no easier than stopping it once it took hold.

I always believed evil could be seen, sometimes in the smallest, quietest places. But those quiet places were also where you could see courage, strength, goodness.

Charlie had only shown me the latter, and Katie had confirmed my belief that he would have tried to do the right thing. And I clung to that more tightly than I probably should.

* * *

Charlie

I shouldn’t have locked myself in my office all day, but I did.

It had been innocent. I always worked on Saturdays, sometimes from home, but I’d taken the day before off to acclimate Hannah, which had left me with some catching up to do. I’d lost myself in the task at hand, and before I knew how late it had gotten, Katie popped her head in to say goodbye for the day.

I’d taken both lunch and dinner at my desk, and by the time Hannah came in to let me know the kids were long asleep and that she was turning in, I remembered something very vital.

My wishes for wanting more time to spend with my children were futile.

I tried to tell myself that maybe, if I could get on top of my workload, I could find a way to come home early a few days a week. I could take a few hours off on the weekends for dinner or lunch or bedtime. But that was a lie of its own. There was no getting on top of things. The onslaught of things to do never ceased, never slowed, and even if I found some way to catch up, I’d never get ahead.

Instead, I’d only have more work to pile on.

With Hannah’s presence came the desire to hide myself away, to be alone. It was a new person in my space after a long, long while with things being the same. It felt like an intrusion. Not to say it was unpleasant, just foreign, distracting.

It was a reminder of just how alone I’d been—that something so simple as a new nanny would affect me beyond the obvious.

There were times when I missed my old life, missed the days of drinks and dinners and outings with friends, missed the days when I’d had less work and more time. When I’d gotten on my feet after Mary left, I’d thrown myself into work so completely that, after a few months, I’d earned a promotion—a promotion that increased my workload by a large enough margin to consume any free time I’d enjoyed. And, until recently, the distraction had been welcome.

But I missed the camaraderie of friends, the comfort of a relationship, even if it was all wrong, even if it wasn’t real.

Being alone, I’d found, was easier in too many ways to risk venturing back out into the land of the living. At least this way, I couldn’t get hurt again.

This house, every room, everything inside—including the three beating hearts—was colored with lost memories and wishes blown to the wind, never to come true.

When I’d met Mary, I had been studying for the bar exam, and she had just started her residency. We’d had precious little free time, but in that free time, we had been together, blowing off steam. And I’d liked her well enough.

How was that for a declaration? She’s pretty okay.

At the time, I hadn’t been thinking past the weekend.

And then she’d told me she was pregnant.

She’d broken the news with tears and anger, and I’d held her and promised her it would be all right. The trouble was that I had been stupid enough to think it would be. I’d convinced myself that our commonalities could translate to love.

There had been no way of knowing at the time that she wasn’t capable of giving her love, not to me, not to anyone. And I hadn’t realized it until Sammy was born. Day by day, little by little, my hope had chipped away until it changed into a twisted, broken version of the original, and I’d covered my eyes and pretended like it was all just fine. Just fine. It would work out. My beautiful life was just around the corner.

What I wanted had always been just around the corner, and I’d been chasing it, turn after turn, trying to catch it. Sometimes, I’d catch a glimpse before it was gone, giving me false hope that I might be gaining.

But in the end, I was always a little too late.

I had been fortunate in a lot of ways. My parents had planned well enough to pay for my college outright and were wealthy enough to help us with the down payment on the house. My job at the firm had paid more than enough to support us, and with Mary’s income included, we had done very well. Better than well.

But money wasn’t enough to make us happy, and kids weren’t enough to keep us together. Neither of those statements would surprise anyone in the world but me and her.

The end hadn’t been kind to either of us. Endings never were.

I’d spent years pretending like things were fine. We’d survived only by working as many hours as we could just to keep ourselves occupied. Of course, Mary had kept herself occupied in other ways, too. Like in my best friend’s bed. For two years.

She’d lied, lied to me, lied to herself. She’d betrayed us all, and her only regret was that I’d found out. I knew this because I had known her as best as anyone could, as one would silently observe a snake from behind glass. She had been interested in self-preservation, nothing more—not from me, not from him—and we’d both learned it far too late.

When I’d learned what she’d done, I should have been lost. When she’d disappeared into thin air, I should have been split open. I should have felt the sting of loss like a quick blade when I held my crying son and told him I didn’t know where she was. When I’d stood in my room and stared at her open dresser, her clothes hanging from the drawers in hasty, spewing stillness, I should have felt something.

But I hadn’t.

It was where I’d been ever since—a gray wasteland where every day was the same. There was no color, no spark, no life. Just work and failed fatherhood and sleeping and eating and working in a Sisyphean loop without a goal or end.

My phone messages asking her how she wanted to handle custody had gone unanswered. My emails with rundowns of our options were never returned. My efforts to try to get things moving had been met with silence.

I’d tried to give her time. Maybe she was as broken down as I had been those first few months after she left. I’d wanted to believe she’d come around. And it wasn’t until I had been desperate for a resolution that I went to Mount Sinai where she worked.

I remembered walking off the elevator, seeing her from behind, her head bent as she’d jotted in a file, hair in a tight ponytail, blue scrubs and lab coat as nondescript as any of the other doctors that passed. But I had known it was her, known it as well as I knew my own hands and as distantly as I knew my own children. She was a part of me, and she was alien—foreign and familiar. I knew her, and I had no idea who she was.

She turned and saw me, her face caught in some mix of emotions—fear, pain, failure, dismay. And then her lips flattened, her eyes closing her off behind an iron wall.

As if I were to blame. As if I had left her. As if I’d done anything but honored my promise to her even though I knew deep down in the quiet places of my heart that she didn’t love me.

As if I had slept with her best friend.

Former best friend.

But even Jack hadn’t kept her. He’d realized what I’d known all along—Mary was too selfish to ever love anyone but herself.

Once she’d processed me standing before her, she’d turned on her heel and hurried away, ignoring me as I chased her through the hall, easily dodging me by ducking into a corridor for hospital staff that required a key entry. And I’d stood outside of that door for a long while, staring through the small square panes of glass, wondering how I’d found myself in that place, in that moment.

I’d been trying to get her to work with me, to negotiate, and I had only been met with silence. That day was the final straw. She didn’t care, and she never would. So, I’d filed for divorce without her, and I had given her no quarter with my terms.

But she’d only ignored that, too. The divorce papers had gone unsigned, and the temporary custody hearing had gone on without her, her seat cold and empty. And I’d found myself alone, except not alone. I had my kids to care for. Everything had fallen on me, and I’d had no idea how to handle it all.

So, I didn’t. I couldn’t.

I’d like to blame my job for my failures. Working eighty-plus hours a week at a law firm didn’t lend a lot of time for anything besides sleeping and eating, and even those were sometimes luxuries. I’d like to blame Mary for not being my partner or for her inability to love even her own children.

It was a cruel thing to think, and I supposed I didn’t really mean it. I believed, somewhere in her, she cared. It was only that those feelings were buried under so many layers of self-importance that not only could she not find them, but she had no desire to.

And so I’d decided to learn to be a father, to learn how to give my children the love they hadn’t gotten from either of us. What I hadn’t counted on was my absolute ineptitude.

I was too broken and afraid to step in, in the way they deserved.

In all those years of hiding away from my marriage, I’d hidden from them, too. And I’d been away so long, I couldn’t find my way back to them, the path grown over and wild and gone. And I was lost somewhere inside the tangle.

By the time I finally came out of the office, the house was dark and silent with sleep. Moonlight was the only light in my room as I moved to the closet and peeled off my clothes. The nightlight was the only light in the bathroom, and I didn’t change that either as I brushed my teeth, watching my reflection.

I looked older than I should and younger than I felt.

The last nine months had taken a toll on me. I supposed deep down I knew the pace of my life wasn’t sustainable, that if I kept going as I was, I’d crash and burn and take everything down with me.

Honestly, I was surprised I hadn’t already.

But I couldn’t find a way out of the cycle. I’d broken the bone that controlled my speed, and my life had kept careening forward as I hung on and closed my eyes and hoped that what sped up would someday slow down. Part of the problem was that I hadn’t questioned it nearly enough.

But after yesterday and the introduction of Hannah into our lives, I found myself considering it much more earnestly. Her energy had me blown off course, just a step, just enough to make me crack my eyes and take a look at where I was, and I didn’t like what I saw.

And as I climbed between my sheets, I tried to close my eyes again, tried to force them shut, tried to find peace.

But it was no use.