Page 27 of Count My Lies

In the next room, there’s the rise of voices. Panic grips me, coiling around my throat like a constrictor. What if Violet invites whoever brought Harper home inside? What if they recognize me? I look around wildly for a place to hide, a broom closet maybe, behind the island.

Just as I’m about to bolt from my chair, I hear Violet saygoodbye, the front door closing, Harper chatting excitedly. I exhale, one big whoosh, and shake my head.Get it together, Sloane.It was well over a year ago now. I’m sure my name had faded from everyone’s lips by the time Harper started at Mockingbird. And if it hadn’t, it doesn’t matter. To Violet, I’m Caitlin, not Sloane. But even so, from now on, I’ll be sure to arrive after Harper gets home from school, never before.

A moment later, when Harper bounds into the kitchen, Violet behind her, I have a smile on my face.

“Caitlin!” Harper yells. “Look what I made at school today!” She waves a round piece of colored construction paper over her head, edges jagged with scissor cuts. “It’s Jupiter!”

“Wow,” I say, taking it from her. “You must have worked really hard on this!” Praise the effort, not the child! An oft-repeated refrain of the principal at Mockingbird. Old habits, I guess.

Harper and Violet both beam at me.

“Should we go to a new park today?” I ask. “I know of a good one just off Hoyt.”

“Yeah!” Harper says. “Can we, Mom?”

Violet nods. “Absolutely! Do you want a snack first?”

“A muffin!” Harper says, doing an excited little wiggle.

“Sure, go wash your hands and I’ll get you one.”

A pout forms on Harper’s face. “I want it now!”

“Okay,” says Violet patiently. “As soon as you wash your hands.”

Harper’s face crumples. “I hate washing my hands!” Harper belts. She drops to the floor and begins to kick her feet against the couch.

“Harper,” Violet says. Her voice is stern, but I can see the worry on her face. I feel my hands grow clammy, my heart rate quicken. I’d seen a million tantrums at preschool, but this was different. What if her heart gives out?

Half-panicked, I crouch down next to Violet. “Hey, Harper,” I say. “Can you show me how to wash my hands? I forgot how! Do I put water on my feet? Or on my head?”

Harper stops crying, sniffles, and looks up at me. “No,” she says, shaking her head.

“Do I put water on my nose?”

She wipes snot from her face with her sleeve, giggling a little bit. “No.”

“Will you show me?”

She nods, gets up. Violet shoots me a grateful smile. I smile back, but I’m rattled. What if I hadn’t been able to get her to stop crying? What if she’d fainted? Violet would have expected me to know what to do. She trusts me.

Guilt gnaws at me, its tiny teeth sharp. Of course she trusts me. Because I told her I was a nurse. Does that make me a bad person? I don’t want to know the answer to that.

Harper is waiting expectantly for me, so I get up and follow her into the kitchen. Something could have happened, but it didn’t. It didn’t.

“Come on,” I say to Harper, taking her hand. “Do I put soap in my ears?”

She laughs and pulls me toward the sink.

13

Over the next few weeks, as the days get longer and hotter, pants replaced by shorts, sweaters by T-shirts, Violet, Harper, and I slip into a familiar routine. Just like I’d hoped, my three shifts a week quickly turn into four, then five, Monday through Friday.

Every day I arrive at the Lockharts’ house just after Harper comes home from school. Around one, the three of us head over to the park. On the walk there, she holds both our hands, begging us to swing her until we worry her shoulders might pop from their sockets. We trade off who pushes her on the swings or chases her around the playground. When we’re done, I’ll take Harper to a ballet class, or gymnastics, while Violet goes home to study.

When Violet and I are together, our conversations are easy. We chat about our days and our lives and the latest celebrity gossip, who got sent home on the latest episode ofThe Bachelor. She mentioned she watched it a few weeks ago, so I started watching it, too, on my laptop, after my mom falls asleep on the couch. I also started buyingVogueafter she told me about an article she read, so I can be up on the same things she is.

She talks a lot about Harper, funny things she’s said or done, her latest tricks to get out of bedtime. Lately, it’s asking for her back to be scratched for at least ten minutes. I laugh when Violet tells me how Harper’s coerced her into professing her love to each of her stuffed animals, kissing their cheeks and tucking them in before Violet is allowed to leave the room. Sometimes, Harper requires her to give each stuffed animal a back scratch, too. You can tell how much Violet loves being a mom, how much motherhood suits her.

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