Chapter 6
Willow's phone was tucked away there.
The screen was facing inward.
She was even more cautious than yesterday.
Taylor came out of the bedroom, his shirt buttoned all the way up.
Willow shot him a quick look, then immediately lowered her head.
That glance was over in a flash, but there was something unspoken between them.
I served the oatmeal.
"Willow, are you planning to head out early today?" I asked.
Willow froze for a second, looking surprised. "Is there something going on, ma'am?"
"No, nothing."
I put the bowl on the table. "You looked pretty worn out yesterday, too."
Taylor looked up at me.
"If she leaves early, who's going to look after Isobel?" he asked.
I just smiled a little.
"Isobel's my daughter. Can't I take care of her myself?" I said.
Everyone fell silent.
Isobel sat in her high chair, banging her spoon against the table.
She didn't get any of the little games we were playing.
She thought the sound was fun.
Taylor paused as he reached for another dish.
"Take it easy, you're not fully better yet," he said.
"Okay," I replied.
I kept quiet after that.
I knew they wouldn't let me send Willow away that easily.
So I'd have to try a different approach.
At 9:30 in the morning, I handed Willow a shopping list.
"We're out of apples. Could you pick some up?" I said.
She glanced at the fridge.
"We just got some pears yesterday," she replied.
"I want apples."
She couldn't argue anymore—there was no way out this time.
She slipped on her shoes and headed out, no more excuses.
I stood by the window, holding Isobel, watching as Willow walked out of the building.
She didn't head toward the market.
Instead, she went straight for the north gate of the complex.
I handed Isobel over to the neighbor upstairs, who was always fond of her.
I told her I was heading downstairs to pick up some medicine and would be back soon.
Once I was outside the complex, I flagged down a cab.
"Follow that woman in the gray coat up ahead," I told the driver.
The driver shot me a look in the rearview mirror.
I kept my voice steady.
"She's my nanny. My kid left something in her bag," I explained.
Willow hopped on a bus.
I told the driver to hang back and follow her.
Ten minutes later, she stepped off the bus right by Sunnydale Kindergarten.
She didn't go into the kindergarten.
Instead, she headed straight for the community clinic next door.
My legs felt weak as I got out of the car.
Two pots of withered pothos sat by the clinic entrance.
A sign on the glass door read "Pediatric IV Therapy."
From outside, I spotted Taylor through the glass.
He never went to the office after all.
He was tucked away in the farthest corner of the IV area.
He had that same boy from the photo in his arms.
The boy's face was pale, a fever patch stuck to his forehead.
Willow crouched beside them, opened a thermos, and blew on a spoonful of water.
Taylor leaned in, soothing the boy.
His expression was so tender, it was almost painful to watch.
He'd comfort Isobel, too, sometimes.
But with Isobel, he always seemed like a first-time dad, kind of lost and unsure.
He was clumsy, hesitant, sometimes totally clueless about what to do.
But right now, holding Freddie, he was so practiced, like he'd done it a thousand times before.
A nurse came over with a clipboard.
"Who's Freddie's dad? The medicine is ready," she said.
A hollow feeling washed over me.
Freddie's dad?
Those two words, side by side, shattered whatever hope I was still clinging to.
Freddie coughed.
Taylor gently patted his back.
"Easy now," he murmured.
Freddie reached up and wrapped his arms around Taylor's neck.
"Dad, are you really taking me out on Friday?" he asked.
Taylor said softly, "Really."
"Is Isobel coming too?"
Taylor's hand froze for a moment.
Willow quickly scanned the room, her eyes darting nervously.
I quickly stepped back, hiding myself behind the wall.
Freddie kept saying, "Grandma said Isobel's just a little kid, so I get to give her the card."
Taylor lowered his voice, almost whispering.
"Not yet, buddy," he said gently.
"Why?"
"Because her mom doesn't know about it yet."
Freddie went quiet.
After a moment, he whispered. "Will her mom hate me?"
Taylor didn't answer right away.
He hugged Freddie a bit tighter. "No."
I leaned against the wall, my nails digging into my palm.
What gives him the right to speak for me?
How could he let a kid ask me something like that?
Freddie did nothing wrong.
Isobel did nothing wrong, either.
The real fault was with the person who pulled both kids into this web of lies.
Willow stepped out of the clinic to pick up some meds.
I slipped into the pharmacy next door.
She didn't notice me.
After she went back inside, I stood outside the glass door again.
Taylor was on the phone.
His voice was cold. "Stop sending her those photos. I said I'd take care of it on Friday."
I couldn't tell who was on the other end.
Taylor's expression was getting uglier by the second.
"Just because you want to stir up old stuff doesn't mean you get to," he said.