Cheese toast, strawberries, and a sippy cup of milk. There were worse breakfasts even if it wasn’t really breakfast food. The new nanny would be able to make scrambled eggs without burning them.
“Emma, breakfast.” The stars were aligned. Wonder of wonders, she came on the first call and didn’t argue when he tied the bib around her neck.
“Honeybee,” he said as he set her food in front of her. “I’m going to get dressed. You eat and I’ll be right back.”
He was almost out the door when she said, “Circle waffle.”
“What?”
“Want a circle waffle.”
“Circle waffle?” As far as he knew, Emma had never had a waffle, circle or otherwise. “You like cheese toast. Eat it while it’s hot.”
“Want a circle waffle.”
“I don’t have a circle waffle.”
“In there.” She pointed to the freezer.
Like an idiot, he opened the freezer and looked, as if he hadn’t bought everything in there, as if maybe the circle waffle fairy had paid a visit. Fish sticks, chicken fingers, ice cream, vodka, popsicles. No circle waffle.
“Here.” He picked up a strawberry and held it to Emma’s mouth, whereupon she clamped her mouth shut and twisted her head away from it. “Try the cheese toast. It’s your favorite!” He tore off a piece and held it toward her.
“No! Circle waffle!”
“Emma,” he said reasonably, as if it was possible to reason with a three-year-old. “I don’t have a circle waffle to give you. If you’ll eat your cheese toast, I’ll buy some today.”
“No! Hate cheese toast. Hate strawberries!”
Time was getting away. “How about some cereal?” He opened the cabinet and pulled out the raisin bran and cornflakes. “How about this? I’ll let you pick.”
“CIRCLE WAFFLE!” She slammed a tiny fist onto the table.
“Look.” He retrieved his Cap’n Crunch from its hiding place. “I’ll let you have some of this.”
“CIRCLE WAFFLE!”
Desperately, he reached to the top shelf for the chocolate chip cookies. “Look,” he said, holding out a cookie. “It’s round. Just like a circle waffle.” No one had to know. It was food. It was better than sending her to school hungry.
“No! CIRCLE WAFFLE!”
It was no longer a question of getting her to school on time. It was question of getting her there at all with anything in her stomach. He began to pull food from the cabinets and refrigerator. Muffins, applesauce, cheese, Jell-O, hotdogs, chips, yogurt — she would have none of it.
Somewhere along the way, Emma climbed out her chair and began marching around the kitchen, chanting, “CIRCLE WAFFLE, CIRCLE WAFFLE, CIRCLE WAFFLE!”
“Emma.” Luke gripped her shoulders. “Where did you eat a circle waffle?”
“Lanie gived to me!”
Well, of course, yesterday morning while he was at Rotary. Lanie Heaven
would
be at the bottom of this, with her long legs, small waist, enticing bosom — and her ex-football star boyfriend.
Luke ran across the hall and pounded on Lanie’s door, praying this was one of the rare mornings that she hadn’t gone down to the shop at sunrise. When she answered the door, she was dressed for work — blue stripes with yellow lollipops.
“Luke?” She looked him up and down and frowned. So he was barefoot and in his sleep clothes — just like she’d been last night.
“Do you have a circle waffle?” Emma’s chanting could be heard in the background.
“A what? I don’t know what you mean.”
“For God’s sake! A circle waffle! Did you give Emma one yesterday? Do you have another one? I’ll give you fifty dollars for it!”
“Oh!” Understanding spread over her face. “Sure. Wait here.” She returned with an open box of frozen waffles and a bottle of syrup.
“I guess I owe you fifty dollars,” he said.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Thanks.” He turned to go.
“You owe me two hundred dollars. There are four left in that box.” He spun to meet her eyes. She laughed that laugh. “I was kidding, Luke.
Kidding
. Take the waffles.”
Out of three nannies, surely one would be the one.
• • •
To have gotten off to such a shaky start, Luke’s day had turned out well. He’d handed down three decisions that he felt good about and the DA had pled out a case that had no business being tried in a courtroom. He’d paid Lanie’s new employee, Phillip, to return the casserole dishes and pie plates across town, so he didn’t have to deal with that. When Jill St. Clare called to thank him for returning her dish and asked if he wanted to join her and “a few other people” for dinner tonight, he’d managed to turn her down without being rude — though he’d wanted to be. Didn’t these people know he still felt married? Now, all he had to do was pick up Emma from the birthday party and, with any luck, this time tomorrow, he’d have a nanny.
He was almost out the door when the phone on his desk rang. He picked it up but he didn’t sit down.
“Judge? This is Tiptoe Watkins out at the cemetery.”
Did Olive have no concept of call screening? He’d fire her, if he had the guts.
“Yes?”
“Etheline Martindale is out here again setting out tomatoes and planting corn on her daddy’s grave.”
Good God!
“And that’s a problem for you?” Judges were supposed keep their tones neutral.
“If you owned a cemetery, would you want vegetables growing on your graves?”
“Uh, I guess not.” Judges weren’t supposed to say “uh.”
“I can tell you, you would not. It’s undignified is what it is. You have to have dignity in a cemetery. Truth be told, I don’t think old Judge Martindale would take kindly to cornstalks on his grave. But Etheline has tried to do it every spring for twenty-four years.”
“Well, Mr. Watkins — ”
“Call me Tiptoe. Judge Gilliam did.”
“All right. Tiptoe, if you want to have her arrested or get a restraining order, this is not the proper channel.”
“Oh, no, no. Nothing like that. I don’t want to scare Etheline. I just don’t want her harvesting tomatoes and corn from my cemetery come July.”
“Then I’m not sure — ”
“I need you come out here and talk to her, Judge. Judge Gilliam always did. I always campaigned for Judge Gilliam and I like your daddy. I’d be glad to do the same for you.”
Was this bribery? Did he even want to be elected? If he did, how much sway could a cemetery owner named Tiptoe have? Not that it mattered. He didn’t have time for this.
“Have you asked her not to do it?”
“Oh, no. I couldn’t do that. Etheline requires special handling. You know she’s never been the same since Judge Martindale died. Never married. Besides, she and my wife play cards together. Every Wednesday. I just need you to remind her it’s against the law to raise vegetables on a grave.”
“Here’s the thing, Tiptoe. I don’t think it is against the law.”
“Well, it should be. Who ever heard of vegetables on a grave?” Luke looked at his watch. He had exactly twelve minutes before he was supposed to pick up Emma. “So can you come? Right now?”
“No, as a matter of fact, I cannot. I’m tied up.” Just then, Keenum walked by the door. “But I’ll tell you what I will do. I’ll send my law clerk out to talk to her.”
“I don’t know. Etheline sets great store by a judge and Judge Gilliam always came himself.”
Judge Gilliam wasn’t trying to raise a child alone, with no wife, no nanny, and no waffles!
“I’ll send Keenum. That’s all I can do for you right now.”
“All right,” Tiptoe said reluctantly, as if he had the final say in this decision.
“How will Keenum find her?”
“She’ll be the one setting out tomatoes on a grave.”
Well, of course.
• • •
To Keenum’s credit, he didn’t blink when Luke gave him the bizarre directive. But Keenum never blinked. He always did as he was asked, perfectly and in a timely fashion.
Before walking over to Heavenly Confections to pick up his car, Luke put a stack of bench memos that Keenum had prepared in his messenger bag. He would look them over, but they’d be perfect. Too bad Keenum wasn’t a nanny. Maybe he could be. All it would take was a new job description.
1. Dress Emma and take her to school.
2. Speak toddler.
3. Shop for groceries.
4. Do laundry.
5. Be willing to stay overnight on short notice.
6. Be proficient at first aid and tying hair bows.
7. Know when it’s overkill to call the pediatrician.
8. Know how to talk her down from wanting a circle waffle.
9. Make her feel safe, loved, and important.
10. Perform all other duties as they arise cheerfully and with love.
Damn. He wasn’t looking for a nanny. He was looking for a mother. And that couldn’t happen.
He pulled in front of the Eubanks house. There were still plenty of cars parked in the driveway — a good sign that he wasn’t late. These days, late was always an issue.
As he approached the front steps, Luke met a woman holding the hand of one of Emma’s classmates. He didn’t remember her name but there was a good chance the boy was named Jacob. According to Emma there was Jacob R., Jacob K., and Jacob M. in her class of twelve.
“Party over?” he asked Jacob’s mother.
“Just winding down. You can go on in.”
As opposed to what? Standing on the porch until Emma turned sixteen and decided it was time to leave? It was only after ringing the bell and waiting in vain for three minutes that he understood what the woman meant. He was expected to let himself in. He tentatively opened the door and stepped inside to chaos. The organized activities were over and there was a houseful of three-year-olds, high on sugar. If anyone even heard the bell, no one had time to open the door.
There were children everywhere. Some were being readied to leave, some were playing in groups, and a Jacob was crying while his mother explained that he couldn’t take home the gift he’d brought. All this was set against a backdrop that made some Mardi Gras decorations he’d seen pale in comparison.
Emma, Beau Bragg, and Jackie Joseph’s little girl sat on a plastic mat playing with Play-Doh. Emma was wearing a pink crown and had blue Play-Doh in her hair.
He was about to call to her when she looked up, caught sight of him, and laughed like the best part of the day was happening for her. That was saying a lot. Clearly, there had been cake and, even now, Denise Eubanks was handing a check to a clown.
“Daddy, Daddy!” Emma ran to him and he picked her up, inhaling all her usual little girl smells mixed with the scent of cake and grape juice. She hugged him, then turned in his arms and called to Missy Bragg, “Beau’s mommy! My daddy came to get me!”
Missy stepped up and patted her back. “Your daddy would never forget you.”
Luke frowned. “Does she call you ‘Beau’s mommy’? Like that’s your name?”
“She does. In her world, that’s who I am.”
“Emma,” Luke said. “Emma, this is Miss Missy — ” he trailed off and looked at Missy. “That doesn’t really work, does it?”
“Afraid not. My name does not lend itself to the time honored southern tradition of being called Miss, insert first name, regardless of marital status. Let’s just leave it at Beau’s mommy.”
Emma pointed to the pink party favor crown she wore. “I got this! And this!” She held up her wrist to show Luke her plastic bracelet. “You gotta see what else!” She squirmed out his arms and ran off.
“This was quite the party,” he said.
Missy handed him Emma’s backpack. “Purr Kitty is inside. Yes. Denise likes to do things up. I tried to get her to have a puppet show, but no! It had to be a clown. I hate clowns. I’m not afraid of them; they just annoy me with their big red noses and huge shoes. The only thing worse than a clown is a clown who does magic tricks, which this one did.”
Luke almost smiled. “I promise no clowns for Emma’s next party. I guess we’ll be expected to do something like this when she turns four. We’ve only ever had family parties. Well, except for the first one before — ” He stopped himself before referring to the life when he’d had a wife and Emma’d had a mother.
“You’ve got a while to come up with a bigger, better dog and pony show. Though I suggest only dogs at first. Save the ponies till later.”
“Maybe. After this extravaganza, she might decide she’s been cheated and want those ponies now — today.”
“Look, Daddy!” Emma had returned and waved the metallic beribboned bag with her name spelled out in glitter. Luke squatted down and dutifully exclaimed over everything in the bag — stickers, bubbles, glitter markers, magic wand, feather boa, sunglasses. There had to be twenty dollars’ worth of stuff here.
“Such good presents and you’re not even the birthday girl.”
“Party favor bags,” Missy said with a smile and raised eyebrow. “A requirement for all the best birthday parties.”
As Emma ran back to her Play-Doh, Luke took a closer look at the other children. The boys wore fancy little one-piece outfits with fire trucks and animals appliquéd on them and the girls, all except Emma, wore smocked dresses and church shoes. Emma wore the overalls and tennis shoes he’d dressed her in that morning.
“I didn’t dress her appropriately.” The words were out of his mouth before he had time to stop them.
“She looks adorable,” Missy said.
“She has clothes like these,” he said defensively. His mother bought them. Had he ever bought her a garment? Where did you buy this stuff?
“Don’t worry about it,” Missy said. “She doesn’t care and it’s ridiculous to dress these children like they’re going to meet the Queen of England when all they are going do is eat cake on a Tuesday afternoon.”
Missy was right. It wasn’t a tragedy that Emma wasn’t dressed like the other kids, but it felt like one more thing on a long list of his shortcomings. Luke looked pointedly at Beau’s green plaid overalls with the airplane on the bib. “Yet your child is dressed like the others.”
“I’m weak and shallow,” Missy said with a shrug. “And deceptive. Harris put me on notice right after I bought Beau’s Christmas outfit with the smocked Santa and sleigh. He says we are done with these fancy baby clothes. I guess he wants him in cammo and football jerseys. Only too bad for him, Easter is coming and I’ve got a plan.” She sighed. “I am going to be in all kinds of trouble.”