“Flo? Honey, Flo’s eighty years old.”
“So? She seems plenty sharp to me. Certainly capable of watching a small child.”
There was a long pause. “I don’t know,” Emmi replied slowly. “It might be too much for her.” She lowered her voice. “Here’s the thing . . .” She hesitated again. “Flo’s . . . not herself.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” Emmi began uncomfortably, “you remember Miranda, don’t you?”
“Flo’s mother? Of course I do.”
“Do you remember how she started to wander off looking for turtles? And how Flo would get all worried and we’d all run out and search the beach?”
“Good Lord, Emmi. Is Flo wandering off?”
“No! Not yet, anyway. But she forgets things more.”
“We all do!” Cara felt enormous relief. “She’s just getting older.”
“True,” Emmi replied with a light laugh. “I can’t remember names at all anymore. I recognize the person, but the name? Gone. But,” she continued in a more serious tone, “it’s not just names with Flo. Her mind wanders too. Honestly, I just don’t know if it’s safe to leave a baby with her.”
“I won’t leave the baby with her. I’ll be in the next room. I just need another pair of eyes. Someone to play with Hope so I can work.”
Emmi sighed. “I guess that’s okay. Anyway, she’s in the kitchen. Hold on. I’ll fetch her. Oh, wait, I almost forgot. I’m having a little party tomorrow night. Just family and friends. I want to welcome Hope.”
Cara was touched. One more proof she’d made the right decision in returning home. “That’s so thoughtful. Thanks, Em.”
“You know me. I love a good party. Now, hold on. . . .”
Cara watched Hope while she waited. Her daughter had crawled over to the base of the large birdcage and pulled herself up to a stand. She began banging the cage with her palm, sending Moutarde fluttering.
“No, no, Hope,” Cara said, hurrying over to pull her away. “Don’t touch the birdcage.”
She picked Hope up, eliciting a howl of protest. Cara felt a spurt of worry that maybe Flo was too old. She set Hope in front of the pile of toys. “Here, baby girl. Play with your fun toys!” No sooner did she let go of her than Hope was crawling right back to the birdcage.
“Hi, Cara!”
At the sound of Flo’s strong, assured voice, Cara felt a wash of relief. Emmi was just a worrywart.
“Good morning, Flo!” Cara said into the phone as she hurried to grab Hope before she reached the cage. “How are you feeling?”
“As well as can be expected at my age.”
“Good. Good,” Cara said, rocking Hope on her hip.
“What can I do ya for?”
Cara took a breath. “I was wondering. Do you have any free time this morning? I’m desperately trying to get some work done, but with Hope awake, I can’t focus. Would you be able to watch her? Just for a few hours?” She couldn’t keep the pleading tone from her voice.
There was a pause as Flo considered the request. “Well, now . . . I’m not as quick on my feet as I once was. And it’s been a while since I did any babysitting.”
Cara heard the hesitancy and plowed forward. “I only need you to keep an eye on her while I work. You’ll be in the next room, and I’ll be here the whole time.”
“Well, then, I think I can manage.”
“Oh, thank you, Flo!”
“Happy to help. What time should I be over?”
Cara sighed. “As soon as you can.”
A FEW YEARS earlier when Heather had rented the house, Cara had converted the ocean porch into an art studio and aviary. Cara had been slightly jealous of the great, light-filled space; now that Heather wasn’t renting the house any longer, Cara had followed her example and set up a desk, a few bookshelves, and her canary cage on the porch and claimed it as her office. Once she got Flo and Hope settled in the living room, she sat at her desk and sighed with relief. At last. Soon her fingers were tapping away on the keyboard.
Within a few minutes, Hope was crying. She heard Flo’s high-pitched voice trying to cajole her to be quiet. The problem was, Flo didn’t cajole very well. Hope was having none of it, and her crying only intensified. Cara closed her eyes and counted to ten. If I could just get one good hour . . . She checked her watch, mindful of her phone appointments.
She reluctantly pushed back her chair and went to the living room; Flo was sitting on the floor and trying to keep Hope from crawling to the porch. It was kind of funny. Flo had never married or had children. She wasn’t the domestic type.
“Maybe I could take her for a walk?” Flo offered. “She knows you’re in there, and there’s no holding her back.”
A memory of Miranda wandering the beach searching for hatchlings flashed in Cara’s mind. But Flo seemed just fine. Older, yes. But Alzheimer’s or dementia? No.
“That sounds like a good idea. Hope loves the outdoors.”
As predicted, Hope quieted the moment the breeze kissed her skin. She lifted her face and smiled widely. Cara slathered her with sunblock, put on her sun hat, and buckled her into her stroller.
“Have a nice time. Not far, though,” she added.
“Get some work done,” Flo shot back.
Cara laughed and crossed her arms as she stood at the end of the driveway and watched Flo and Hope meander away at a leisurely pace. Then, checking her watch, she hurried back to her office.
MORE THAN AN hour later, Cara’s last phone appointment was finished. She set the phone on the desk and cocked her head to listen. The house was strangely quiet. Only Moutarde’s occasional peep broke the silence.
Cara furrowed her brow. It didn’t take an hour to walk around the block. She got up and walked to Hope’s bedroom, thinking Hope might be napping. No one was there. Walking faster, she went out to look across the deck, then farther out onto the beach. She saw no one. Her heart began beating a little faster as she went out the front door, grabbing her phone en route. First she went to Flo’s house, but no one was there. Picking up speed, Cara power-walked around the block, craning her neck. It was a beautiful spring day on the island. The sky was a peerless blue and dotted with white clouds. Birds chattered in the trees, and an occasional wind ruffled her hair, the kind of soft breeze Hope loved.
Her thoughts raced faster than her steps. Where are they? Was I wrong to let Flo babysit? Could she be lost in her own neighborhood? She’s lived here for eighty years! She was almost running by the time she turned the final corner toward Flo’s house and caught sight of a woman and a stroller in the distance.
Relief flooded her as she hurried toward them, trying to catch her breath. Flo was leisurely smiling under her turtle team ball cap, and Hope was blissfully asleep in the shade of the canopy.
“Hey there,” Flo said as she drew closer. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Cara’s mouth was dry. “Where were you?”
Flo straightened, and her face registered Cara’s sharp tone. “I was walking the baby, like you asked.”
“For so long? I said a short walk.”