Household Gods

“You’re welcome,” she said. “You can take that off the total; fair’s fair. Now, suppose you tell me when I can expect the rest. If it’s later than Thursday, I expect you’ll be hearing from Mr. Falk again.”

“Thursday!” he howled. “Do you have any idea how much money that bastard says I owe?”

Just about enough for a nice vacation in Cancun, and a couple of payments on the Acura, Nicole thought. She elected not to say it. “I’m sure Mr. Falk will be pleased to discuss the matter with you,” she said.

“He can talk to my lawyer,” Frank snarled.

“That’s perfectly all right with me,” Nicole said equably. “You can pay me, or you can pay me and your lawyer both. I’m sure you can figure out which one is cheaper.”

“Bitch.”

“Thank you. Remember – Thursday. Send it here to the office, so I can get to the bank on the way home. Now that the kids are at Woodcrest, that will be a lot easier,” Nicole said.

Frank had to be on his cell phone. There was no satisfying slam of receiver into cradle. Just a prissy little click. Nicole threw back her head and laughed. Oh, that had felt wonderful! And the beauty of it was, he would pay. She was as sure of that as of sunrise tomorrow. Sunrise in West Hills, what was more – not in Carnuntum.

Cyndi popped her head into the office, wide-eyed and reminding Nicole vividly, just in that moment, of Julia. “What’s so funny, Ms. Gunther-Perrin?”

“Not funny, really,” Nicole said. “But you know what?” She waited for Cyndi to shake her head. “This is a pretty good place.”

“What, the office?” Cyndi sounded amazed. But then, Cyndi had no idea how much she automatically accepted as the physical and mental furnishings of her place and time. Nobody did. Nicole certainly hadn’t, not till she got her nose rubbed in it.

She leaned back in the comfortable padded chair, glanced at the computer screen and the color photos of her children next to it, and took a long breath of clean, odor-free, air-conditioned air. “It’s not so bad,” she said. “It really isn’t.”

Nicole started to wonder about that as she pulled into Woodcrest’s godawful excuse for a parking lot. If Kimberley and Justin had turned out to have a difficult day, she’d be back to square one again. But this time, for absolute certain, she wouldn’t be whining to any gods or goddesses. She had every intention of staying right where she was.

The preschool building was much better than its parking lot, though it had a tired, end-of-the-day feel to it. Kimberley let out a squeal and did her best to tackle her mother. Justin was right behind her. Nicole braced automatically and took the brunt of the double blow, and smiled down at them. They smiled back. From the look of those smiles, they’d had a good day.

Kimberley got hold of her hand and dragged her toward the four-year-olds’ cubbyholes. “Mommy, come here! Look at the picture I made!”

A heavy weight of worry dropped from Nicole’s shoulders. It was all right; the kids were happy. As she initialed the sign-out sheet, Miss Irma appeared from the depths of the room to say, “Kimberley was a very bright, well-behaved girl today. I think we’ll enjoy having her here.”

Justin hadn’t tried too hard to tear the place apart or burn it down, either, from Miss Dolores’ account of his day. For a two-year-old, that was moderately high praise. Nicole left Woodcrest in a warm glow. She’d forgotten how good that felt – and how good it felt to feel good.

Getting home was dead easy, once Nicole escaped that miserable parking lot. Small price to pay, she thought as she did her best to keep her car from getting clipped coming out. If this was the worst she had to do to keep the kids happy, she’d take it.

“We had tacos for lunch today,” Kimberley informed her. “Chicken tomorrow, and hotdogs the day after. That’s what Miss Irma said.” If Miss Irma said it, Nicole gathered, it must have come down from Mt. Sinai with Moses.

“Hogs!” Justin agreed gleefully. He couldn’t say hotdogs very well yet, but he loved to eat them.

Too much fat, Nicole thought automatically. She couldn’t get as exercised about it as she used to. It was food – something she’d learned to appreciate, deeply, when she hadn’t had enough of it.

Dinner went as well as dinner could with a pair of rambunctious kids who were tired from a long and exciting day. When she’d got them both bathed and put to bed – so clean and sweet-smelling, and no nits to pick, not even one – she did a little work with reference books and notepad. Then, yawning, she put herself to bed. Just as she turned out the light, she slid a glance at Liber and Libera on their plaque. “It was a good day,” she said. “It was a very good day.”