I pick up a plastic T. rex dressed in what looks to be Ken doll clothing, a bright yellow and pink Hawaiian shirt wrapped around its torso, the T. rex’s tiny arms sticking out of the ripped armholes.
“Wow,” I chuckle. “This guy’s… fashionable.”
“It’s a girl.” Leo giggles, taking the dinosaur from me. “Daddy dressed her. And named her. It’s Buttercup.”
“Oh, right, my bad. Sorry, Buttercup.”
Razor-sharp teeth.
Piercing red eyes.
Scaly skin.
Yep, sure looks like a Buttercup.
I can’t picture it—the gruff, and frankly, intimidating-looking, Evan West sitting down for a glittery tea party, using a high-pitched, posh voice to speak in place of an elephant wearing a bow-tie.
But then again, he’s a father, and fathers do these kinds of things for their kids. It’s just strange to imagine, since I’ve only ever seen the jock-like side of him—chest-bumping and grunting with his teammates on the field, like cavemen, which always pulls a chuckle from me. Men really are fascinating.
“Wanna hear a secret?” Leo’s staring at me, blinking innocently.
I laugh, leaning closer to him as he cups his hand around his mouth, whispering in my ear, “That other nanny had Oreo’s in her teeth.”
My face lights up in a grin. I really needed a pick-me-up today. “What? And you don’t like Oreo’s?”
“I do. Not when they’re in her teeth.” He leans forward again, lowering his voice. “You don’t have them in your teeth.”
“Thanks, I brushed extra hard today.”
Leo grins at me, turning back to his toy box. “Me too. Daddy makes me.”
Watching him, I laugh. He’s just a kid; harmless, and someone is sure to be back soon. How hard can it be to keep a kid alive for an evening?
3: Flo
“This is my favourite show!” Leo exclaims as he stares up at the TV bolted onto the living room wall. His eyes bulge as he focuses on the array of cartoon animals driving neon-coloured race cars along a paint-covered dirt track on screen, setting up Donkey so he has a good view from the couch.
“Thisis your favourite show?” I question with a quirked brow, slightly terrified at what children find entertaining these days. A grating jingle plays from the speakers, and Leo claps along to the twinkly song, lips spread in a grin.
It makes me laugh. Kids are so easily amused.
“It’s Whisker Wheelers!” Leo sings along with the masked leopard on screen before the end credits roll down. “Daddy says no TV after I’ve had dinner.” He holds his fingers to his lips, shushing me as if Evan is spying on us. But then it makes me wonder, does he have cameras in here? Can he see me right now? I peer into the corners of the ceiling. There doesn't appear to be any cameras. “Don’t tell him.”
“It’s our little secret, Leo.” I glance at my phone again—still no response from Alexander, and it’s been almost over an hour.
The clock ticks, and with every second, my fear that the sun will begin setting starts to creep in. It’s hours from doing so, but I can’t help but allow my panic to blossom.
Driving in the dark… we don’t mix. At all.
Memories of that night race through my mind. The dread. The fear. The sting of my salty tears as they rolled down my cheeks when my sister wasn’t answering my calls. My mom’s red face and her shaking hands as she blurted out the news.
I scrunch my eyes up for a second to bring myself back to reality. I’m not in a car. I’m on a couch. I’m safe.
“Leo, are you sure you don’t know your dad’s phone number?” I ask again, and he shakes his head, waving me to be quiet as if my presence is completely normal. He doesn’t know me, and yet, he sits here engaging with me as if I’m his designated nanny, like he’s known me for more than just an hour.
I’ve already raided all the cupboards and drawers, hoping to find Post-it notes of emergency contacts, but it seems Evan doesn’t have any. Or if he does, he’s hidden them well. But I suppose he can’t have his and his family members’ numbers on full display in case anyone unwanted steps foot inside the house… so, basically, me.
“Wannamake brownies?”
