If These Walls Could Talk by Bettye Griffin Page B

everything brand-spanking new and expensive-looking; no assembly-required tables. Ah, but they had plenty of time to redecorate. They’d be here the rest of their lives. When they retired they would sit out back in the proverbial rocking chairs and watch the sun set in the evenings. Mitchell and Shayla would send their children to Grandma and Grandpa’s for the summers....

    The first prick in Camille’s bubble came when, Tuesday evening at dinner, she asked her female neighbors about day care options for the children of New York commuters.
    â€œI don’t think anyone stays open past six,” Linda Tillman said. She turned to Marianne Willis. “Do you know of any place, Marianne?”
    â€œActually, I don’t.” She shrugged apologetically. “Our oldest was fourteen when we moved here, so Jeff and I managed without day care. And now that I have a real estate license in Pennsylvania, I work pretty close by.”
    â€œI work from home doing medical insurance coding,” Linda said, “so we had no need for day care, either. But I’m sure there has to be someplace.”
    â€œOh, I’m sure there is,” Camille replied confidently.
    But her subsequent research proved there wasn’t, and she began to panic. She hadn’t expected to encounter problems in finding day care; she just assumed that since people from New York were pouring into the area that extended day care would be readily available. Was everyone who lived here like Linda and Marianne, with older offspring or work-at-home positions that didn’t require them to need child care?
    Once she and Reuben returned to work in another week they would be away from home most of the day. They would have to catch the 5:40 AM bus into the city, and take the 5:30 PM bus back, which would put them in Tobyhanna at around 7:30 in the evening. That made for a frighteningly long time for the children to be alone. Not only would they have to get themselves up and off to school each morning, but they would have to get their own dinner upon returning from school. They could hardly have dinner at 8:00 or 8:30 at night. They couldn’t avoid the commute, but the schedule bordered on neglect for children as young as theirs.
    She talked to Reuben about it. “We’ll have to get someone to watch them,” he said.
    â€œThat’ll be expensive, Reuben. I’m not sure we can afford it, especially after what we’ve already spent.” The cost of window fashions alone ran over two hundred dollars, and the dining room another twelve hundred. And Reuben, anxious to start barbecuing in the warm spring and summer weather, had bought a shiny new gas grill from Lowe’s; another two hundred gone.
    â€œWhat choice do we have?”
    This seemed like a good time for her to tell Reuben what was on her mind, even though the want ads in Sunday’s paper revealed dismal pickings. “I thought I’d try to find a job around here.”
    â€œAnd make, what, eight bucks an hour? You saw the paper the other day. You can’t bring home those kinds of wages in the twenty-first century. It won’t be enough for us to make it, Camille.”
    â€œBut if I can find something that pays reasonably well, when you factor in the cost of bus passes and babysitters, wouldn’t you want me to change jobs?”
    â€œYes, but that’s a pretty strong if . In the meantime we’ve got to protect Mitchell and Shayla. Maybe get some local kid to sit with them until at least six. By that time they’ll have to go home and have dinner themselves, but at least we’ll be home within another ninety minutes. Mitchell is almost eleven. I know that’s young to be responsible for your little sister and yourself when it’s getting dark outside, but I think he can manage for an hour and a half. We’ll coach them.”
    Camille wasn’t convinced. “It’s such a big house, Reuben. And