“Of course,” I say. My heart breaks for Amber, so clearly looking to me for guidance. How pathetic isthat?
“I mean, I know it’s a little early. The books say to try solid food at around six months, and Lily was just five months last Tuesday, but she is… well…” Amber pauses.
“Soadvanced,” I say.
“Oh, yes!” The proud new mother beams. “Can you tell? I mean,I can,I think, but she’s my first, but ifyouthink so…” Amber is so excited, she can barely finish the sentence.
(Note to self: This is a woman who responds well to the wordadvanced. When in doubt, throw it into the conversation.)
“How often do you feed her?” I ask.
“Well, she had about three ounces half an hour ago, so she probably won’t be hungry while I’m gone.”
“You’re goingout?” I feel my stomach lurch.
“Um, that’s okay, right?” she asks.
Do I look as terrified as I feel? Fifteen minutes on the job and I’ve already blown it. I’ve got to find a way to dig myself out of this hole, and fast.
“Of course. I’m just… surprised.” (Good save.) “I mean, I didn’t realize I was officially hired. And starting right now.”
“Oh, sure,” she says. She must see the concern on my face. “Don’t worry about getting paid. We’ll pay you for the full day.”
Money? That’s the least of my worries.
“Well, I’ve got a tennis lesson at the club in”—she looksat a small diamond-encrusted Piaget watch on her thin wrist—“thirty minutes. Lasts about an hour. If she seems hungry while I’m gone, you can give her a bottle. She likes to have it in that rocker in the den. Sing to her if you can. Then see if you can put her down.”
Put her down? Like I did for my cat?
I hear a door squeak open. I’m hoping it’s Amber’s husband, home early.
If only.
Two dogs come bouncing into the room, a giant drooling chocolate Lab and a small white yapping poodle. That’s when I notice a doggy door in the kitchen that opens into the backyard.
“This is Jane,” Amber says, patting the big dog on the head. “And he”—she scoops the little dog up with the arm that’s not holding Lily—“is Austen. I named the two of them after an author,” she adds.
Does she think I wouldn’t know that? Yes. To someone like Amber, I’m not just invisible—I’m the help. Which means I have no life or backstory worth knowing.
Austen starts to lick Lily’s face, and Amber puts him back on the floor.
“I let them run in and out, but they can’t get very far. We’ve got one of those electronic fences. And, oh, another thing. When you take Lily for a walk, Jane and Austen will want to go with you,” she says. “They like being… stimulated.”
“Well, who doesn’t.”
“Binkies and blankies are behind this panel,” she says.Not language I would have expected from a Jane Austen fan. “I’ll run now, but I’ll be back by two. Oops,” she says. She hands Lily to me as if she’s handing me a bag of groceries. “Almost walked off with her. Ha-ha.”
Ha-haindeed. Her trust in me is frightening. Amber grabs her tennis racket and heads out the kitchen door to the garage. Lily starts to sniffle. Half a second later, she starts to scream.
“And if she gets cranky,” Amber shouts, trying to be heard over Lily’s wails, “just put her in the stroller and take her for a walk.”
Ifshe gets cranky? Crankier than this?
CHAPTER 9
FIVE MINUTES PASS.
Lily is still sobbing in my arms. Now what? I grab my cell and googleHow to stop a baby from crying.
