Page 22 of Take A Chance

“Can you take a different path to the office this morning? I want to make sure we’re not being followed. And call Wilem. I want security on alert today. I think I saw something last night, too, and I just want to make sure the house is secure.”

Gary nodded at me. “Yes, sir.”

I climbed in, and he shut the door, but something haunted me about what had just happened. It wasn’t the first time I'd felt like I was being followed, but I’d chalked those incidents up to an overactive imagination. This time, however, there was no doubt. I had seen the man with my own eyes.

The car headed out of the parking lot into traffic, but I kept my eyes fixed on the road behind us. Colin’s words haunted me. I knew nothing about Emma, and this eerie feeling of being followed only started once she came into my life. I tried to tell myself it was only a coincidence—just like how she just happened to be at the same club as me two nights before her interview to be my new nanny.

Emma was as pure as the driven snow... Wasn’t she? She wasn’t anything like Katelyn’s mother. I couldn’t believe that.

I wouldn’t.

Except the black sedan now trailing us four cars back had me wondering if I’d gotten everything all wrong.

13

Emma

“But my school clothes are the ones I should be wearing because they make me a proper young lady.” Katelyn’s protests sounded like they came straight out of a 1950s boarding school pamphlet or something. She refused to try on the cute sundress I had in my hand or the sparkly top which I thought would look adorable on her.

Greta sat on the bench next to the dressing room and clicked her tongue. She shook her head in dismay, clearly having been oblivious to the programming Mrs. Pilcher had put Katelyn through. My shoulders dropped, discouraged but not defeated. Katelyn had likely never seen other children wearing street clothing because her lessons were private between her and her tutor, or they had their own strict uniform—like her gymnastics leotard, branded with the gym’s logo. And all children wore the same outfit to school every day.

“Katie, please... I promise you’ll like it.” I crouched in front of her, holding the dress out.

She crossed her arms over her chest, defiant. “I don’t think it’s appropriate.” Her tiny voice uttering such large words was evidence of the too-high standards placed on her for a long time. I was at a loss. I felt ready to give up when a mother and daughter emerged from deep in the dressing area. The little girl wore a flowered dress with cute sandals. Her hair was down, pinned at her temples with pink barrettes. She looked so cute.

“Look, Katie,” said Greta. “This little girl likes her dress. See how pretty the flowers are?” She pointed, and the little girl grinned as she walked past.

I could see the hesitancy to try on the new outfit waning in Katelyn’s eyes. A new emotion flashed there—jealousy. Katelyn’s lip pushed out in a pout, and she looked up at me. “She’s wearing a nice dress.”

“Yes, and you can too. I’m trying to tell you that other kids don’t wear their school uniforms all day, every day. They have other clothes they wear when they’re not at school.” I held the dress out again. “Please just try it on. If you don’t like it, we don’t have to buy it. We can try a different one, or we can just go shop for toys.”

She eyed the dress and looked at Greta. “Fine.” She snatched it from my hand and stomped down the hallway of the dressing area. Her tight ponytail swayed as she turned and walked into a dressing room and shut the door. I looked at Greta, who smiled at me, holding up both hands with crossed fingers.

“Think she’ll go for it?” I sat down beside her on the bench.

“I don’t know, Emma. Mrs. Pilcher was a drill sergeant. She is pretty brainwashed.” Greta hugged her purse to her chest and we waited. After a few minutes, Katelyn came out a changed girl—literally. She looked so happy wearing the colorful dress instead of her stodgy, dark blue school uniform. She spun in a circle and giggled.

“I like it.”

Greta and I clapped happily as Katelyn spun. With this hurdle conquered, maybe finding age-appropriate toys and games would come a bit easier. “You look beautiful.” I could see the years melting off her, a childlike wonder returning to her expression. She raced over to me and wrapped her short arms around my neck.

“Thank you, Emma. I love this dress. It’s so pretty.”

I almost teared up. “You’re welcome, Katie. Go change back, and we’ll pay for it. You can buy as many pretty dresses as you want.” I held her at arm’s length. “Or you can buy shorts and T-shirts, or jeans. Whatever you want.”

She nodded her head appreciatively and ran back into the changing room, and Greta leaned in and bumped me with her shoulder. “You are doing a fantastic job with her, you know?”

“Thanks...”

I sighed contently and checked my watch. It had taken only forty-five minutes of coaxing, but I was finding the child inside Katelyn and helping her discover herself.

After paying for that dress and a few others, we got ice cream and a soft pretzel, then headed to the toy store to find some dolls or trucks, whatever it was Katelyn wanted. I could tell she hadn’t been outside the house much for anything other than structured activities. Most children would have raced off a time or two, but like a good little robot, Katelyn stayed right beside me.

“So, what sort of toys do you like?” I took her hand and led her toward a wall of pink. Dolls, toy kitchens, rocking horses, you name it—everything in the little girls’ section was some shade of the color.

“I don’t know. I like my bear, and I like Candy Land.” Katelyn’s eyes took in everything, mesmerized by the tall shelves full of different types of toys. “Oh, I like this.” Her hand shot out, and she grabbed a pink bouncy ball and bounced it. It hit the corner of her foot and went sailing down the aisle and she chased it.

“I’ll get her,” Greta said, chuckling. Katelyn disappeared around the end of the row as Greta wobbled after her. I stayed put, looking over all the different types and sizes of dolls. There were no simple baby dolls anymore. Every one of them had a special name and brand to them. And the prices were outrageous, but this was the most expensive mall in the city. It wasn’t my money, either, which made the sticker price both harder and easier to accept. I didn’t want Blake to think I was just throwing his money away, but he had plenty of it, and this was for his child.

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