“What are you trying to do?” The look and tone are such a spot-on impression of her dad that I almost laugh. Except she isn’t joking. In fact, her withering gaze is actually starting to make me nervous. “What are you hiding? Is it something about my dad?”
“No,” I answer truthfully. Mostly truthfully, anyway, since Keir is technically indirectly involved. The damning headlines aren’t about Keir, though. “I’m not hiding anything. I just thought we might do something different today. We were just watching cartoons yesterday and the day before that.”
“I like watching cartoons while I eat breakfast. That’s how I start my day. Yesterday you said you like watching cartoons, so why can’t we watch them today?”
Oh my God.
I love this kid, but seriously? Has she been trained in interrogation by the CIA?
“Surely there’s something else we can do?” I’m starting to panic. What am I going to say if she walks over to the remote and turns on the TV herself? I might be the nanny and I might technically be in charge, but we usually resolve our differences of opinion with a reasonable, rational discussion that usually comes with a tiny bit of compromise. How can I compromise when her dad said specifically to keep her away from the TV?
“Is it about my mom?” Her voice is quiet this time. “That’s what it is, isn’t it? She’s done something bad.”
The last part isn’t a question. I’m sure today isn’t the first time Kinsley has acted out in public, but does Isla know more than her dad and aunt realize? Kids—especially this kid—are smarter than most adults are usually willing to admit.
“Why do you think it’s about your mom?” I ask even though I know I should keep my mouth shut.
I’m curious though, and it’s not like I’m offering any unsolicited opinions or even any new information. It’s just a simple, open-ended question and I think it’s a valid one. Besides, there’s no point in pretending anymore if Isla already knows the situation.
“My dad always acts like this after he talks to her. He gets really angry and says we can’t go anywhere or do anything fun for a couple of days.” A door slams down the hall, emphasizing her point. “See?”
How am I supposed to argue with that?
I can’t and I won’t.
Not that I can blame Keir for being upset with his ex. I honestly don’t know how he’s gone this long without having a full-blown meltdown in front of the entire world.
There’s nothing I can do to change Kinsley’s behavior—or Keir’s for that matter—but I might be able to help Isla forget about some of the confusion and hurt feelings she’s experienced, at least temporarily.
“I know what we can do,” I say, offering her a hand to get down from the kitchen table. “Let’s have a FaceTime chat with my sister. I haven’t talked to her in a while, but she always knows exactly how to cheer me up when I need it.”
Isla gives me a suspicious look, but still takes my hand and allows me to usher her into the living room. “Why do you need to be cheered up?”
Lord, was I this perceptive when I was her age?
Probably not. Pretty sure I wasn’t even close.
“It’ll be something different for both of us,” I answer. I’m getting better at dodging her persistent questions by the minute, but I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do if calling Joy doesn’t work to distract Isla.
Either way, it’s not like my sister can possibly make things worse.
I reach for the phone and start the video chat before Isla can ask any other questions. My sister’s surprised face appears on the screen a few seconds later. “Hey, sis,” she rubs her eyes and squints at me. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay?”
Oh, no.
The time difference.
It’s almost nine in the morning here but the sun isn’t even close to coming up back home. I hate that I woke her up and hate even more that she’s probably worried about me, but the damage is done now. “Sorry,” I wince. “I just, um, wanted to talk. I forgot we’re in different timezones, though.”
She yawns and shakes her head, then finally flashes her contagious smile. Joy’s name perfectly describes the emotion I associate with her the most, and I’m counting on her to deliver some of that joy to Isla right now.
“This must be Isla,” she says, turning her attention to the little girl as if on cue. “Did my sister wake you up before you were ready this morning, too?”
“No, but she won’t let me watch TV.”
Well, this is going great so far.
“We thought it would be more fun to call and talk to you,” I say, hoping my sister will take the hint. “There’s nothing good on TV right now anyway.”
“Except cartoons,” Isla points out.
Joy can’t possibly know my actual reason for calling, but she still handles it like a pro. “Which cartoon is your favorite?” she asks. “And you have the most adorable accent, by the way. I’m sure you hear that all the time.”
“Do I?” Isla looks up at me. “Do I really have an accent?”
“Most people around here would say Joy and I are the ones with the accent,” I answer as diplomatically as possible.
“That’s true,” Joy agrees. “We have different accents in America, too, but they’re pretty boring when you hear them all the time. Yours sounds sophisticated.”
I’m not sure Isla actually knows what sophisticated means, but she seems to take it in stride. It only takes a few more seconds of back-and-forth chatter before they’re both talking about their favorite cartoons again like there isn’t more than a decade of difference between their ages.
I don’t care what they talk about, as long as Joy keeps her distracted for as long as possible. And honestly? Just watching two of my favorite people in the world interact with each other is unexpectedly fulfilling and distracting for me, too.
This is the first time all morning that I don’t feel overwhelmed and stressed out by the Kinsley situation. I’m smiling and laughing right along with Joy and Isla, and… it’s nice.
Really nice.
It’s also a good reminder that I need to call my sister more often. I could use a little more Joy in my life.
CHAPTER NINE
KEIRAN
I find myself staring out the big, floor-to-ceiling windows of my office more and more lately. I used to look out there because I enjoyed the view—a view that most people don’t get to enjoy.
Now I hardly notice the view at all.
Instead, I look out these same windows and wonder where I went wrong. I have every comfort, every luxury and material thing a person could possibly want, but I’m not happy. The people around me aren’t happy. And while there’s plenty of blame to go around, at some point I have to wonder if I might actually be the cause of all that unhappiness.
Of course it doesn’t help that every time my life seems to be moving in the right direction, the universe comes along and smacks me down.
Taking a trip to Rome? Watch your back, because your assistant will try to kill you.
Prevent that sex tape from going public? Turns out there’s someone else behind the whole thing.