Under My Enemy's Roof - Under Him

I shrugged. “At my age, cardio is good.”

“Oh, come on. You couldn't be more than 30,” she said, putting down her large bag, granting me a generous view of her beautiful ass. She was wearing yoga pants. Of course, she was. The see-through ones and without underwear as far as I could tell.

“Mama?”

We both looked to see Jessica coming down the long hallway from her room, still rubbing her eyes. I went into a different state of consciousness, a standing meditation to keep from feeling the emotions that were threatening to be felt.

The six-year-old looked so much like her mother. She had the same red hair, the same dimples in her plush cheeks, and the way she walked was spot on, the same as Simone, slightly pigeon-toed. Jessica’s presence made my chest ache. A feeling I did not want to feel.

“No, sorry, sweetie. But I am here to take care of you.” Becky bent down some so she could look right into the little one’s face.

“Okay,” Jessica said, still blinking.

I could empathize. It was a hell of a thing to be told right after waking up.****

Two weeks passed, and things in the world got worse. The news was using the word pandemic. People were scared, and everyone was waiting for the governor to lock us down.

Inside the mansion, the tension was high as well. I could give Miss Hump this much, she was a perfect nanny. As a housemate, she could be a real pain in the ass. Not only because it was my house, and my tiny, human blood- relation in question, yet, Becky came in like a class four hurricane in combat boots—which I had to admit looked pretty sexy combined with her yoga pants and tight sweaters.

I did my best and could be sure that if I was wrong, I would be corrected faster than a trainee at a nuclear power plant. The nanny actually swatted my hand away from a jar of peanut butter, insisting that Jessica was allergic. I wanted to swat her right back, preferably on the rump region but knew it would be inappropriate. Simone always told me that two wrongs didn't make a right.

I did make it a point to re-read the letter that Simone had left to help me along in case of her death. She really did plan ahead. It turned out that Becky had been right, and Jessica was allergic to peanut butter. Not deathly allergic, as Becky had implied, but she would have gotten a terrible tummy ache.

Still, I couldn't have Becky contradicting me in front of Jessica. I was supposed to be the authority figure and what was she to make of it if Becky kept contradicting me. I had to get rid of Becky.

I remembered that my own buddy Joe, one of the few people in the tri-state area I could stand at that point. The feeling being very much mutual, he had given me a card for a charity agency he, Joe, had set up to help childcare workers during the impending shutdown in the wake of the pandemic and asked if I wanted to be a donor. I had fibbed slightly, implying that I would be interested, but I was only interested if he would be able to help get rid of Becky.

Ducking out as Becky was putting a characteristically fussy Jessica to bed, I got out the card and dialed.

“Joe Sumner,” he said, still in business mode.

“Joe, it's Dean.”

“Oh, hey, Dean. Did you consider my pitch?”

“I did indeed and think it is a wonderful thing you are doing. Listen, you wouldn't happen to know any childcare workers or nannies, perhaps, who are looking for work?”

“No, sorry. Everyone I work with is either employed by first responders and/or already self-quarantining. That's why they need the money. You could really be a big help, you know. I know folks of your class don't traditionally work but—”

I knew where he was going and ended the call before he got there. I was getting enough guilt trips from Becky. I didn't need them from Joe, too. Though I was pretty sure I could strike another ally off the list of the very few I had in New York.

That could only be expected when one flees the country under a cloud. That was years ago, of course, but my past kept threatening to sneak up on me here. It wasn't even that bad. Not quite the words they used, but that was how it sounded in my head.

I turned on the TV, hoping to distract myself from my terrible luck, wondering which of the old gods I had so gravely offended. Probably Odin, the capricious prick. Instead, I got a news report, announcing that the entire city was on quarantine. In 24 hours, six o'clock the next night, no one was allowed to leave their homes until further notice.