Chapter 4
The nanny reached for the item on the counter and handed it to him. What he saw next forced him to question everything he thought he knew about the woman standing in front of him.
The item on the counter was a small silver voice recorder.
My father stared at it.
Then at my stepmother.
Then back at the recorder.
For the first time since he had walked into the utility room, his anger disappeared.
Not softened.
Disappeared.
What replaced it was worse.
Recognition.
The nanny noticed too.
“What is that?” I asked.
My father did not answer.
My stepmother did.
“It’s nothing.”
Too quickly.
The nanny tightened her hold on my daughter.
My baby had stopped crying, but her face was still blotchy and red. One tiny fist pressed against the nanny’s collarbone.
My father reached for the recorder.
My stepmother stepped toward him.
“Don’t.”
He looked at her.
One word.
“Why?”
“It’s private.”
“Whose?”
She said nothing.
My father turned the recorder over in his hand.
There was a strip of masking tape across the back.
Two words had been written on it.
OFFICE COPY.
My father went completely still.
I had seen that handwriting before.
So had he.
It belonged to his attorney.
My stepmother reached for the recorder again.
This time, my father moved it behind his back.
“What is my attorney’s recorder doing in my house?”
“It isn’t his.”
“It has his handwriting on it.”
“He gave it to me.”
May you like
“For what?”
She looked toward the nanny.
