Chapter Seven

Scarlet

Come on, get it together. I inhale and open the fridge, trying to find something to make for dinner. My first day as Jackson’s nanny is almost over, and it did not go as planned at all.

Today wasn’t miserable. Time didn’t crawl, and I didn’t want to claw my eyes out or drown myself in a bottle of wine. Instead—dare I say it—I had fun. I didn’t expect to like Jackson. I hoped to mildly tolerate him while I formulated a plan on how to con his dad out of a large sum of money, but events unfolded differently.

Jackson isn’t a spoiled and entitled brat. I can tell teaching Jackson manners is important to Wes, and even though he comes off as a mean old grump, I sense he’s a gentleman at heart. After only a day, the kid is growing on me, and I need to press pause—if not rewind—on this whole situation and go back to not giving a shit.

But, dammit, I can’t.

“Do you want help making dinner?” Jackson asks, little feet slapping against the hardwood floor behind me.

“Uh, sure. What do you want?”

“Chicken nuggets and mac and cheese and pickles and maybe a cupcake for dessert.”

I laugh. “Well, we can do the mac and cheese for sure.” I grab butter and milk, setting them out the counter. “Pickles too,” I add when I see the jar. I preheat the oven, glad there’s a bag of dinosaur-shaped nuggets in the freezer.

It’s not exactly a home-cooked meal, but the kid’s not going hungry tonight. That has to count for something, right?

As the food is cooking, Jackson asks me to sit down and color with him. I bring a coloring book and a big box of crayons to the table.

“I’m going to draw a picture for Daddy,” he tells me. “And one for you.”

“Thanks, buddy.” I carefully tear out the pages he wants and take one for myself, absentmindedly coloring Mickey Mouse in different shades of pink.

“Are you from Chicago?” he asks.

“I am.”

“Aunt Winnie lived there. I went there before. We took a train!”

“I used to take the train a lot. It’s pretty cool.” Cool if you like the smell of piss and dealing with the assholes that always seem to be on the same route I am.

“It wasn’t like Thomas the Train.”

“No, I guess it’s not.” I trade my light pink crayon for a darker one.

“Actually, I’m going to give this picture to Emma.”

“Who’s Emma? A friend?”

Jackson shakes his head, and hair falls into his eyes. He looks so much like his father.

“My cousin. She’s a baby.”

A baby cousin? Must be Quinn’s. I just smile and nod, not wanting to know any more about the Dawson family. Don’t know, don’t care. Once I get enough money to take care of Dad, I’ll be out of here and won’t give them a second thought.

“Emma and Uncle Archer have the same birthday.”

“Mh-hm.” I need to tune this out.

“And Uncle Archer cuts people open. For his job!”

“Wow, that is cool. He’s a surgeon, right?” Dammit. I already know too much.

“Right. And he really cuts people open!” Jackson says slowly, eyes wide. “He saved me from the pool once. I almost died.”

I stop coloring and look at Jackson. “You almost died?”

He nods and puts on a terrified look. It’s fake, but he knows he’s supposed to be upset when he talks about this. Smart kid. “I fell in and water got inside my breathing. I had to go to the hos-able!”

It takes me a second to realize “hos-able” is hospital. “That’s scary. I’m glad you’re okay now or else I wouldn’t get to play with you all day.”

He nods and starts coloring again. “Daddy was scared. I think he cried. Don’t tell him I said that. Daddy doesn’t cry. Not even when Mommy left.”

“Your mommy left?”

Abort. Abort. Stop asking questions. The less personal info you have about Wes, the better.

“Daddy doesn’t know where she is.”

“Oh, um…” I have no idea what to say to that. I’m no good at this.

“She didn’t love me enough to stay here.” A line of worry forms between Jackson’s eyes, and I hurt for him. I put my arm around his shoulders.

“That’s not true. She must have just, uh…uh…had something else to do.” It’s a good thing I’m not posing as a counselor. The gig would be up on that one within minutes. “I’m sure she loves you in her own way.”

“I don’t know what she looks like. Maybe she’s pretty like you.”

“If she’s lucky.” I give him a wink.

He goes back to coloring, telling me about something that happened on an episode of PAW Patrol. I wrestle with my mind, and my mind ends up winning. So Jackson’s mother left him when he was little, too little to remember her. Why? And how?

It. Doesn’t. Matter.

Water boils over from the pot on the stove, hissing as it reaches the burner beneath. I jump up and turn the heat off, hoping I didn’t ruin something as simple as boxed macaroni and cheese. Jackson keeps coloring as I drain the water, testing a noodle. It’s a little overdone but isn’t terrible.

I make the mac and cheese, cover it, and take the nuggets out of the oven. Weston should be back from work soon, and I suppose we can all eat together. My phone rings, and I know it’s my sister right away.

“Hello?” I answer, waiting for the automated voice asking if I’ll accept a call from an inmate.

“Hey, sis,” Heather rushes out. “You didn’t come visit me today. What gives?”

“I started a new job.” Looking at Jackson, I step out of the kitchen. “I probably won’t be able to come for a while, actually. I’m in rural Indiana.”

“What the fuck are you—sorry, I won’t swear anymore,” she says to a guard. “What are you doing there?”

“I’m a nanny again.”

A few seconds of silence pass, and I can only imagine Heather’s stunned face. “Why?”

“I need money.”

“But I had a job for you.”

“I’m not doing that,” I spit out, blood pressure rising. “No fucking way.”

“But you’ve been all flirty with that C.O. He has it bad for you. Asks about you all the time.”

“That doesn’t mean I’ll bring—just no. I keep him favorable in case you need an extra snack or if I ask him to look the other way if—no, when—you do something stupid. Like this. But I can’t flirt my way into or out of this.”

“You underestimate the power of your pussy.”

“Heather,” I start, pinching the bridge of my nose. She sounds manic, and she just went through a cycle a few weeks ago. “Are you taking your meds?”

“Yes! Jesus, Scar, stop trying to be my mother and be my sister for once, why don’tcha?”

“Trust me, I’d love nothing more.” Unfortunately, I’ve been a mother to her since the day she was born. “I just…I just want you to get through your time and get out of there. No more talking with shady people who promise you protection in exchange for business, okay?” I step out of the kitchen and out of earshot. “Just keep your head down and behave.”

She grumbles something but doesn’t push the issue, mostly because she can’t. Not over the phone. But even still, I’m not bringing drugs into a prison. I’m no Mother Teresa, but even I have my limits.

“So is this nannying gig going to turn out like the last one?” she asks.

“If I’m lucky.”

“You are lucky, Scarlet. You’re beautiful, and the world loves beautiful people.”

“It’s more than that.” I sink down on the first step, feeling the threads I keep tightly wrapped around myself start to loosen. I tighten the threads back up until I can hardly breathe.

Not today, Satan.

“I have to go,” I tell her. “Call me the next time you can, okay? And please, Heather, just keep to yourself.”

“That’s not how it works in here, sis. You gotta find a crew or you’ll get eaten alive.”

“You’re in minimum security, Heath. Is it really that bad?”

“You have no idea,” she says in a voice so icy it sends a chill through me. “Love you, Scarbutt.”

“Love you too, bitch.”

I end the call and close my eyes. She’s in minimum security now, but I have a sinking feeling it’s only a matter of time before she’s sent to max. Dad’s dying. My sister is in prison. Jason is overseas.

I’m so alone, and I just want my family back…though deep down I know I never really had one in the first place.