Nursery Crimes by Ayelet Waldman Page B

what was surely an expensive carpet. Unsurprisingly, there was nothing to be found. I looked down at my shirt, and, with a helpless shrug, whipped it off over my shoulders and, joining Audrey Hathaway on the floor, used it to mop the spilled sauce. She sat back and stared at me, her surprise completely stopping her tears. I finished cleaning up the spill, tossed my filthy shirt on top of the lasagna pan, and hoisted myself to my feet, holding the by now quite disgusting offering in my arms.
    “Where’s the garbage pail?” I asked.
    “In the kitchen. Through there.” The girl pointed down the hall. I first checked my shoes to be sure they were clean of sauce, and then headed down the hall toward the perfectly appointed kitchen. I glanced at a gilt-framed mirror that I passed and was horrified to see myself in my black-and-white-spotted maternity bra, the one Ruby likes to call my cow bra. My stomach bulged over the top of my leggings, and my belly button made a little tent in the black fabric. Shuddering, I rushed into the kitchen. I crammed the pan, shirt and all, into the stainless steeltrash bucket under the sink, found some paper towels on the counter, unrolled a few dozen sheets, and soaked them with warm water. Carefully squeezing out the towels, I made my way back to Audrey, who was still kneeling in the middle of the entryway. She hadn’t moved, but neither had she resumed her sobbing. I took each of her hands and gently cleaned them. Then, I wiped the sauce off her shoes and scrubbed up the last traces from the floor. I went back to the kitchen, threw out the mess of paper towels, and returned to the hall. Audrey hadn’t budged.
    Groaning, I lowered myself next to her and stretched my arms out to her. Silently, she inched over to me and awkwardly leaned into my arms, resting her head on my chest. She started to cry again, but without the violence of the first episode. This time her tears fell quickly and silently, dampening my bra. I rocked her gently, smoothing her hair with my hand.
    We sat like that for a few minutes. Finally, Audrey Hathaway sat up.
    “I’m sorry,” she said. It sounded like she’d been saying that a lot.
    “Don’t be sorry, honey. You have nothing to be sorry about.”
    “I miss my mom.”
    “I know, sweetie. I know.”
    “You’re a friend of hers? I’ve never met you before.”
    “Well, no. Not a friend. I met your mother right before . . . right before she died. My daughter applied to her school.”
    She looked at me, still obviously not understanding what I was doing there.
    What
was
I doing there? What had I been thinking? “I didn’t really know your mom at all. She didn’t evenaccept my little girl to Heart’s Song. After I heard what happened I just thought you and your dad might not be that interested in cooking,” I finished lamely. I looked around at the devastation I had wrought on her house and on myself.
    I couldn’t help it. I laughed. Audrey looked startled.
    “Look at me!” I said with a gasp through my guffaws.
    She seemed to see me for the first time and suddenly burst out laughing, too.
    Wiping tears from our eyes, we got up from the floor.
    “Can you just see me driving down Santa Monica Boulevard in this?” I asked her.
    “You’d probably get arrested!”
    “For solicitation! Of cows!” That set us off again.
    Once we finally managed to catch our breaths, Audrey stuck her hand out.
    “I’m Audrey.”
    “I know. My name is Juliet.” I shook her hand.
    We stood looking at each other for a moment and then I remembered something.
    “Oh, my God, your father. I can’t let him see me like this.”
    “Stepfather. And don’t worry. He’s not here.”
    “You’re here alone?” I was astonished. What kind of a man leaves a child alone just days after her mother is killed?
    “Yeah. He had to go out. He’ll be back soon. Maybe I can find you something to wear.”
    “That would be great, although I hate to bother you.”
    We both looked