Page 52 of Head Over Heels

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Sandra, a plump woman with curly gray hair who says she’s worked in the store since before Chase took over, measures my foot. I didn’t know people evendidthat anymore. I thought they just ordered three sizes from Zappos and chose the one that fit best.

Katie sits next to me, swinging her legs because they won’t touch the floor, lining her foot up precisely when the saleswoman asks her to.

Sandra comes back with a stack of shoe boxes. She squats and helps Katie into a pair of cute pink hiking boots, then guides my feet into a pair of boots so brown, ugly, and stiff I’m not sure whether my desire to cry is more about loathing or pain. “Breaks your heart, doesn’t it?” Sandra asks.

I look gratefully at her, thankful she’s so sympathetic about the awful boots, then realize her question isn’t about the boots, it’s about Katie, who’s hopping all over the store now, showing her boots to anyone who will look.

“Losing her mama like that,” she whispers.

“Yeah,” I say quietly. Katie is better every day, but I know from personal experience that being motherless never really gets easier. All those times when someone else’s mom brings cupcakes to class. When your friend skins a knee and you watch her mom cry with her over the sting of the alcohol. When you get your period.

Someday, when Katie’s older, I’ll tell her,You survive it, but you don’t get over it.

“It’s a terrible thing, no doubt about it,” Sandra says briskly. “But then there’s this other part of me that’s—well, not glad, that’s not what I mean at all; you don’t ever wish ill of the dead—but at least now Chase’ll get to be a real part of his daughter’s life.”

As if on cue, I hear Katie crowing with joy over her new boots, and Chase chuckling, and I look over at them. My ovaries swell to bursting.

“You gotta give ’em a real try before you know if they’re right for you,” Sandra says, and my eyes fly to hers. She’s looking at my feet.

Oh. The boots.

I obey the command, walking in the miserable boots back and forth. I’m distracted now, from the discomfort and the dislike. I stop in front of Sandra.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Sandra says. “I’m sorry Katie lost her mama. Nothing worse than that. But she has an amazing dad. And maybe a nice stepmama, someday, too?” Her voice rises, teasing.

She’s talking about me.She thinks—

She thinks Chase and I—

And Katie—

What if…?

But there is no room in my life for what-ifs. There never has been, and there certainly isn’t now.

“I’m just Katie’s nanny. And only for another week.”

“Oh!” Sandra blushes furiously. “I thought—I guess because of the shoes and the camping trip and the way you guys look at each other—”

She stammers to a stop, the sentence unfinished.

“Howdoyou like those boots?” Sandra asks, recovering her equilibrium.

Relieved, I hold up a foot, which feels like it’s been encased in concrete. “Ihatethem,” I admit.

Sandra’s smile widens. I think she’s been messing with me. Maybe it’s a test of some kind.

“Is there anything, I don’t know—”

“Softer? Lighter weight?”

“Less like aski boot?”

She opens another box and takes out a pair of boots I don’t hate. I mean, I don’t imagine they’ll get a lot of use after the camping trip, but they don’t make me want to curl up and rock, either. They’re black and white, with craggy white soles and a diamond pattern in the nylon. I try them and on walk back and forth across the shoe area a few times, not exactlyadmiringthem, but at least not hating them.

Sandra and I give them our joint stamp of approval, and I head over to find Chase and Katie.

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