A social worker had mentioned that at the shelter back in Eugene. Katherine Kinard had said something similar during a parents’ coffee klatch. A worried-looking father had mentioned that his son had had a bad experience in day care when he was only a couple of years old, and that he still remembered it.
That happened, Katherine had said calmly. Children’s memories went back further than many people thought. What mattered was letting a child admit bad things had happened, and then helping the child leave those things behind.
Abby nodded. “Yes,” she admitted gently, “he did. Sometimes people yell when they’re angry at each other.”
Emily’s face scrunched up in serious thought.
“Sam says his daddy never yells.”
Abby smiled. Sam was in Emily’s play group. “That’s good. People shouldn’t yell.”
“Was that man angry at me?”
“Well, he didn’t like what you said, Em.”
“But I was right. He should have said he was sorry.”
“Yes, but . . . Maybe he got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning.”
“Or maybe it was ‘cause he has a cold.”
Smiling, Abby smoothed the frown line from between her daughter’s eyes.
“You think so?”
“Yup. His nose was all red, like Lily’s when she got sick. She had to drink lots an’ lots of orange juice an’ she didn’t come to day care for a whole week. Remember?”
“I remember.” Abby hesitated. “Em. Do you remember what I said about talking to strangers?”
“Uh-huh. And not helping anybody look for their little girl or their puppy.”
Emily’s expression was solemn. As she had so many times during the last two years, Abby wondered where to draw the line between keeping her baby safe from the man who’d fathered her, and letting her enjoy the innocence of childhood.
“Yes. That’s right.”
Emily tucked a finger into her mouth. “I didn’t talk to that man, Mommy.”
“You did, baby.”
Her daughter shook her head so emphatically that her braids flew around her face.
“I talked to you.”
One point to the four-year-old, Abby thought. She sighed and rose to her feet.
“Right. Technically, anyway.”
“What’s technically mean?”
Abby smiled. “It means you’re right and I’m wrong.”
Emily’s light brown eyebrows rose in confusion and Abby gave another deep sigh. “Okay, how about this? You shouldn’t say things about other people so they can hear them.”
“Yesterday, you said Lily’s new dress was pretty. You said it to me, but Lily was right there. She could hear you.”
Two points for the four year old, Abby thought, and grinned.
“Right again. How’s this? You shouldn’t say things that aren’t nice. Got that?”
“Yes.” Emily wrinkled her freckled nose. “You should whisper them.”
Abby began to laugh. One thing she’d learned since fleeing Oregon and her ex was that no matter how rough things seemed, her baby could always brighten her day.
“I give up.” Abby retied the blue bow around one of Emily’s braids. “Go on. Have fun, drink all your milk at lunchtime, and I’ll be back for you after work.”
“Okay, Mommy.”
Mother and daughter exchanged hugs just as the door swung open again. A blond woman and a little girl who looked enough like Emily to be her sister stepped inside.
“Lily!”
“Emily!”
The children fell on each other as if they’d been parted for years instead of overnight, exclaiming happily at braids identically tied with blue ribbons, at blue jeans, blue sneakers and blue T-shirts.
“See, Mommy?” Emily said happily. “Lily wore blue everything, same as me.”
“Was there ever a doubt?” Faith Marshall, Lily’s mother, smiled at Abby. “‘Today we’re wearing blue,’ my daughter announced this morning.” Faith shook her head. “You think maybe we’ve got twins who were mysteriously separated at birth?”
Abby chuckled. “Sometimes it seems like we do.” She bent down, gave Emily another quick hug. “Now, scoot. Otherwise, you’ll miss morning storytime!”
The little girls kissed their mothers and skipped off, hand in hand. Abby turned to Faith and smiled.
“They’re quite a pair.”
Faith grinned. “Two peas in a pod.”
“I was going to call you and see if Lily can come over tomorrow and spend the night. I promised Emily we’d bake chocolate chip cookies.”
“You’re off tomorrow?”
“That’s the other thing I was going to tell you. I’m off Saturdays from now on.”
Faith grinned. “Will miracles never cease?”
“My manager called me in and gave me the news just yesterday. I’d asked for that when I first began working at Emerald City, but Mr. Black—my boss—said it was impossible.”
“What changed?”
Abby shrugged. “Who knows? My manager simply said she’s decided to work Saturdays.” She grinned. “Mine not to reason why—”
“Yours just to reap the trickle-down benefits. The guys on top always get what they want.”
“In this case, that’s fine with me. I’d much rather have a normal weekend—and you won’t have to watch Em for me Saturdays anymore.”
“Lily and I will miss her.”
“Just remember, you can still leave Lily with me anytime you have a freelance job nights or weekends.”
Faith smiled. “Trust me, Abby. I won’t forget.”
“So, how about it? Want to bring Lily by tomorrow?”
“Sure. What time’s good?”
“One, two, whatever works for you.”
“Fine.” Faith pushed open the front door and she and Abby trotted down the steps to the gate in the wrought-iron fence that surrounded the day care center. “You have time for coffee?”
Abby shook her head. “Sorry. I’m almost late as it is.” She looked across Sandringham Drive at the big windows of the Emerald City Jewelry Exchange. “My boss is probably already wondering where in heck I am.”
Faith nodded. “Another time, then.”
“Absolutely,” Abby said, and wondered if the word sounded as false as it felt. “See you tomorrow.”
“Sure. See you then.”
The women exchanged smiles. Then Abby checked for traffic and ran across the street.
Their daughters had grown close, and she and Faith Marshall had quickly discovered that exchanging occasional baby-sitting duties was a lot less expensive—and a lot more reassuring—than paying strangers to watch their children for them.
Still, the women hadn’t moved beyond a superficial friendship. It wasn’t Faith’s