Francine looked over her shoulder at the mint-colored house. Each dwelling so far seemed to be a kind of brick and mortar facsimile of the people inside. The plain, detail-free ranch fit the pattern well, giving away little about the not too old, not too young, quiet but sweet, more or less handsome-ish inhabitant.
She’d gotten a curious thrill upon seeing Michael Bruno the first night, but what if he was just another Ben? That wasn’t the impression she’d gotten, but of course she’d been wrong before.
“I’ll think about it.”
Chapter 4
I often think: “I wish I were a child again.”
[ x ] TRUE [ ] FALSE
“Alley-oop!” Francine knifed her hands under Charlie’s armpits and lifted him into the sink. The boy had become impossibly sticky and grimy in the last ten hours, but she was taking the cool-aunt route of letting him wash his black-bottomed feet in the sink in lieu of a full bath.
Ellie had been so engrossed in her travel itineraries, party planning, and a thousand other things, she’d failed to give Francine a crash course on childcare. Even the cursory spiel normally given to a teenage babysitter would’ve been nice: Here’s the number for pizza, don’t overwater the zinnias, Thursday is garbage day, and oh, here’s how to keep a seven-year-old alive.
That same seven-year-old was excitedly prattling on about how he’d had the “most amazing day ever,” though Francine suspected that was basically how Charlie saw every day in summer.
“…and I raced a Lego boat down the stream by the park and somebody carved a bunch of swear words under the slide there and then I used my allowance for the ice cream truck which I almost didn’t catch in time but then I did and I got a Bubble Play. That’s the cherry-ice baseball glove and the baseball in the middle is gum and it’s like hard as a rock but you can use it as a marble so it’s still good. And I got brain freeze but if you put your tongue on the top of your mouth it goes away.”
“Mmhmm…” Francine nodded as she scrubbed the soles of his feet with a sponge and some dish soap. It was fortunate the conversation wasn’t dependent on her responses, because her mind kept wandering back to San Francisco. And Ben. And all the little details of their life together. The memorized cocktail orders. The cologne he wore only on weekends. The birthmark on his left hip she said looked like a shooting star.
“And then I caught tadpoles at the pond. Oh, there are three ponds at the front of the neighborhood. Tadpole Pond, Snapping Turtle Pond, and Haunted Pond. Then I pretended there were ninjas and a robot attacking me but I got away, but then I fell and skinned my knee for real.”
“Mmhmm…”
Their mutual dislike of movies that let a phone ring for too long. The understanding that she’d eat any pickles that came with Ben’s sandwiches and he’d eat whatever olives came with her salads. The lullaby of his beating heart as they fell asleep together.
“Aunt Franciiiiine,” Charlie complained. “My feet are clean now.”
“Right, sorry.” She dried his feet with a dishtowel and hoisted him out of the sink. “Wanna do the honors?”
Charlie nodded, and eagerly dumped a packet of cheese powder into the waiting pot of macaroni.
“Mac and cheese is the fanciest, best food in the world,” he announced, stirring the yellow-orange goo.
“Fancy food for our fancy dinner.” Francine plated the rest of the meal. “We also have pan-fried beef cylinders, you might call them hot dogs, and a seasonal offering of, um, garden candy.”
“Veggies.” Charlie stuck his tongue out in disgust as he carried the plates over to the table.
Francine joined him with two glasses of lemonade. “All paired with a Minute Maid frozen concentrate, 1989. A fine vintage. It might not be the pinnacle of fine cooking, Bubba, but it’s definitely the pinnacle of mine.”
Charlie however, had no complaints, as he began to devour his hot dog.
Francine tried her mac and cheese, which, she had to admit, was pretty fantastic. One undeniable perk of babysitting was getting to dive back into the comfort foods of her own childhood.
“Being here with you makes me think of when I was a kid,” she said.
“You were a kid?” Charlie asked, while hiding some lima beans behind his last bite of hot dog.
“Yes, you little smart aleck. A lot like you, actually. I loved summer and hated lima beans.” She picked a pale bean from her microwaved vegetable medley and flicked it out the open window. “They’re almost as bad as green olives.”
“I hate green olives, too. So much.”
Francine smirked, ninety-nine percent sure the boy had never tasted an olive in his life. “Go ahead.”
Charlie enthusiastically chucked his own lima beans out the window.
“You will, however, have to eat some green things while I’m here. I have to be the adult every now and then. So what do we do with the rest of the veggies on your plate?”
Charlie thought hard. “What if we eat them real fast, then eat the mac and cheese to get rid of the taste?”
“Love it.” Francine held out a pinky. “Together?”
Charlie hooked it. “Go.”
They scarfed the mixed vegetables, then packed their mouths with mac and cheese. After they’d washed it all down with a gulp of lemonade, Charlie let out a loud burp, and Francine couldn’t stifle a laugh. “Okay, my little garbage disposal, I’ll clean the plates while you go throw on some pj’s. Giddy-up.”
“’Kay.”
He scampered off and Francine brought their plates to the sink, cranking open the window to let in the fragrant scent of a lavender bush. The nonsensical, sun-wearing-sunglasses thermometer clipped to the window shutter showed a temperature in the mid-nineties, even well after sunset.
While the wet, stagnant heat was inescapable, reminiscing with Charlie had offered Francine a brief respite from unproductive thoughts about Ben. But in the absence of interaction, she could feel the stormclouds gathering again. Not good.
“I get to explore at night,” Charlie said from the doorway behind her.
“Charlie! You have to stop sneaking up on me like that.”
“At least you didn’t swear this time.”
“Excuse you, mister. I never swore, and you’re supposed to be neck deep in pj’s by now.”
“I’m serious.” Charlie ran over to the sink. “I get to explore at night, just for a little bit. I forgot to tell you that when I told you my agenda this morning.”
“And I told you that you can’t substitute-teacher me on everything. Plus, I just scrubbed your feet clean,” she added, realizing she’d have to redo the dishes with a new, non-foot sponge.
“I’m not tricking you,” he promised.
Francine shut off the faucet and dried her hands. “Tell me with a straight face your parents let you do that.”
Charlie adopted a serious face and tone. “They let me do it. Exploring is the best at night. It’s not super hot and there aren’t any cars. I run around, maybe play Tag with other kids, maybe say hi to Ajax, and then I come home and I’m tired, so Dad can watch TV and Mom can drink wine without me bothering them.”