Chapter 2 - The Woman Everyone Thought Was Replaceable
Noah reached me before anyone else moved.
He ran across the living room in dinosaur socks, his little legs pumping so hard he nearly slipped on the marble.
“Daddy!”
I caught him.
His arms went around my neck.
Normally, Noah launched himself at me because he wanted to show me something.
A drawing.
A toy.
A lizard in the garden that Grace had already explained could not live in his bedroom.
This time, he buried his face against my shoulder.
That was different.
Children know fear before they know how to disguise it.
I put one hand against the back of his head.
“I’ve got you.”
His body trembled.
“Mama Grace got hurt.”
“I know.”
“Vanessa hit.”
“I saw.”
Across the room, Vanessa Hart stood beside the fireplace.
Her face had gone pale.
Grace hadn’t moved.
Her hand remained against her cheek.
My mother sat on the sofa.
Margaret Cole looked less frightened than irritated.
That told me almost as much as Noah’s fear did.
I looked at Grace.
“Are you hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
“No.”
Her eyes met mine.
I softened my voice.
“Are you hurt?”
She swallowed.
“My cheek hurts.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
I nodded.
Then I looked at Vanessa.
“Leave.”
Her lips parted.
“Adrian—”
“Leave.”
“You don’t understand what happened.”
“I watched what happened.”
“She was—”
“Not in front of Noah.”
That stopped her.
I felt Noah’s fingers tighten around my collar.
Whatever came next, my son would not stand in the middle of it.
I looked toward the hallway.
“Elena.”
Our house manager appeared almost immediately.
She had probably been listening from the kitchen.
“Elena, take Noah upstairs.”
“No!”
He clung harder.
I kissed his hair.
“Hey.”
“No.”
“Look at me.”
He did.
His gray eyes were wet.
“Grace is okay.”
He looked toward her.
Grace forced a smile.
“I’m okay, bug.”
“You come?”
“In a little while.”
“Promise?”
Grace hesitated.
That hesitation bothered me.
Noah noticed too.
“Promise?”
She walked toward us.
Vanessa moved instinctively backward.
Grace touched Noah’s hair.
“I promise I’ll come upstairs before bedtime.”
He studied her face.
Then touched her reddened cheek with one small hand.
“Does it hurt?”
“A little.”
“I kiss?”
Grace closed her eyes.
“Sure.”
He leaned from my arms and kissed her cheek.
Something in my chest hurt.
“There,” he whispered.
“Better?”
Grace smiled.
“Much better.”
Elena took him.
Noah kept looking backward until they disappeared upstairs.
Then the room changed.
Vanessa spoke first.
“Adrian, she was completely inappropriate with me.”
I looked at her.
“Did she hit you?”
“No, but—”
“Threaten you?”
“No.”
“Touch you?”
“No.”
“Then nothing you say next explains putting your hand on her.”
Vanessa stared.
“You’re taking the nanny’s side over your fiancée?”
“Grace.”
“What?”
“Her name is Grace.”
My mother’s eyes closed.
That sentence had become familiar.
Vanessa laughed once.
“This is unbelievable.”
Grace finally lowered her hand.
“I’m going upstairs.”
“Wait.”
She stopped.
I immediately regretted the command in my voice.
Grace heard it too.
Her shoulders tightened.
I changed it.
“Please.”
She looked at me.
“Would you stay for five minutes?”
“Why?”
“Because I need to know what happened before I walked in.”
She looked toward Vanessa.
Then my mother.
“No.”
One word.
I wasn’t used to people telling me no.
That had become a problem long before I understood it was one.
Grace continued.
“Not like this.”
“What do you mean?”
“With everyone standing here waiting for me to justify why she hit me.”
Vanessa scoffed.
“Oh, please.”
I turned.
“Vanessa.”
She went silent.
Grace looked at me.
“I’ll talk to you later.”
Then she walked upstairs.
I let her.
That mattered.
Vanessa immediately began.
“She has been undermining me for months.”
I put my hands into my pockets because I did not trust them to remain relaxed otherwise.
“How?”
“She acts like this is her house.”
“Examples.”
“She changes Noah’s schedule without consulting me.”
“Why would she consult you?”
Vanessa stared.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re not Noah’s parent.”
“I’m going to be his stepmother.”
“We’re engaged. That doesn’t make you his parent today.”
“And Grace is?”
The question landed.
I didn’t answer quickly enough.
Vanessa saw it.
“So that’s it.”
“What?”
“You think she is.”
“I think Grace has raised him since he was four months old.”
“As an employee.”
The word sounded ugly.
Maybe because it was technically true.
Maybe because it wasn’t enough.
My mother stood.
“Adrian, this is getting unnecessarily emotional.”
I looked at her.
“A woman was struck in my house.”
“Vanessa lost her temper.”
“She hit Grace.”
“Yes.”
“You say that as though she knocked over a glass.”
Margaret sighed.
“I’m not defending it.”
“You’re minimizing it.”
“I’m trying to keep perspective.”
There was that word.
Perspective.
People often asked for perspective when they wanted someone else’s pain reduced to a manageable size.
Vanessa crossed her arms.
“She told me I wasn’t allowed to take Noah to lunch.”
I looked at her.
“Were you?”
“What?”
“Allowed?”
Her face reddened.
“I’m your fiancée.”
“That still isn’t an answer.”
“Your mother said it was fine.”
I turned toward Margaret.
My mother lifted her chin.
“I thought Vanessa and Noah needed time together.”
“Without Grace?”
“Yes.”
“Without me?”
“You were working.”
I stared.
“Noah is three.”
“He’s not an infant.”
“No. He’s three.”
My mother sighed.
“You cannot expect him to accept Vanessa as family if Grace keeps inserting herself between them.”
There it was.
Not concern.
Competition.
I suddenly understood why Grace had hesitated when Noah asked her to promise she would come upstairs.
“What exactly happened?”
Vanessa answered.
“I told Grace I was taking Noah to lunch and the aquarium.”
“And?”
“She said Noah had been running a slight temperature.”
My attention sharpened.
“What temperature?”
“Ninety-nine point eight,” Vanessa said dismissively.
I looked at Margaret.
“Was he sick?”
“He was perfectly fine.”
Vanessa continued.
“Grace said he should stay home, rest, drink water, and see how he felt.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“She had no authority to tell me I couldn’t take him.”
“Actually, she does.”
Vanessa stared.
I continued.
“She is the person I employ to make day-to-day care decisions when I’m unavailable.”
My mother’s expression hardened.
“That is exactly the problem.”
“What is?”
“You’ve given a nanny the authority of a wife.”
Silence.
Vanessa looked at me.
I looked at my mother.
“Keep going.”
Margaret hesitated.
“You know what I mean.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Adrian.”
“Say it.”
“You have allowed Grace to become too important.”
There.
My mother had finally named the crime.
May you like
Grace mattered.
That was apparently the problem.
