Chapter 1 - The Woman Who Took My Daughter to the Library
When my marriage ended four years earlier, she was the one who showed up with cardboard boxes and helped me pack while my daughter cried in her bedroom. When my car broke down, April drove me to work for three days. And when I finally got a steady job as a patient care technician at a hospital outside Pittsburgh, she offered to watch Nell during my evening shifts.
"I’ve already got three kids running around," she told me with an easy shrug. "What’s one more?"
I didn’t take her up on the offer for free. Every month, I transferred $350 into her checking account. Sometimes I bought groceries for her household, too. It wasn’t enough to pay a professional sitter for the hours I worked, and we both knew it. But April always waved away my apologies.
"That’s what sisters are for, Jasmine."
I believed her.
April was forty, four years older than me, and had three children of her own. Abby was eight, Henry was six, and Max had just turned three. Her divorce had been difficult. Her ex-husband took the children on alternating weekends, but most of the everyday responsibilities fell entirely on her. She did occasional catering gigs and picked up whatever other work she could find. Money was tight for both of us.
I worked from three in the afternoon until eleven-thirty at night, usually three evenings a week. April picked Nell up after school on those days, and I collected her on my way home. By the time we got back to our little duplex, it was often past midnight. Nell would stumble into bed, and I’d set my alarm for six-thirty to make breakfast before school.
It was exhausting, but it worked. At least, I thought it did.
The first person to suggest otherwise was Patricia Miller.
Patricia was sixty-eight, a retired elementary school teacher who lived three houses down from us. She had been kind to Nell ever since we moved in. The first summer we arrived, Nell helped Patricia carry grocery bags from her car, and Patricia thanked her with a warm plate of homemade brownies. After that, they always exchanged cheerful waves.
One Thursday afternoon, Patricia knocked on our door just as I was tying my sneakers for work.
"I hope this isn’t too forward," Patricia said softly, "but I take my grandson Gabe to the public library on Thursday evenings. Nell mentioned she’s been wanting to read more mysteries. Would she like to come along?"
Gabe was nine, and Patricia looked after him while his parents worked late. She explained she usually helped him choose books and bought him dinner afterward.
I hesitated. "Nell is supposed to be at my sister’s."
Before I could say anything else, Nell appeared in the hallway, eyes shining. "Mom, please? Can I?"
I called April, who sounded reluctant. "Thursday? I thought she was supposed to be here."
"Just for a few hours. Patricia will bring her back to your place before nine."
April sighed. "Fine. Just don’t let her make a habit of it."
That first Thursday, Nell returned with a novel clutched to her chest and a sandwich wrapper in her hand. For the first time in months, she wasn’t half-asleep on April’s couch when I picked her up. She talked the entire drive home about the books she had found and the grilled cheese Patricia had bought her.
Soon, Thursday library trips became a weekly tradition. Nell’s homework was suddenly getting done, and her spirits were noticeably higher.
Then came the Tuesday evening when April asked me inside.
She stood in her kitchen with her arms crossed, holding out her smartphone. On the screen was a photo of Nell and Gabe sitting at a library table. A workbook lay open between them; Nell was pointing at a math equation while Gabe listened.
"What is this?" I asked.
"That’s what your neighbor has your daughter doing," April said sharply. "She’s using Nell for free tutoring. Patricia sits back reading magazines while Nell works with Gabe. And then she buys her a cheap sandwich so Nell feels obligated to do it."
I looked at the picture, bewildered. "April, she's just helping him."
"Jasmine, Nell is twelve! She’s a people-pleaser. She’ll never tell you she feels used because she doesn't want to seem ungrateful. You work too hard to let some retired teacher take advantage of your kid."
Standing in April’s kitchen, watching Nell help three-year-old Max untie his shoe across the room, a cold knot formed in my stomach. I thought about the free dinners. The eager smiles. The hours spent away.
May you like
I felt a rush of defensive anger. I had convinced myself that Patricia was taking advantage of my daughter's sweet nature. I gathered Nell's things, drove home in stony silence, and prepared to end the arrangement immediately.
***
