Three days later, just as I bend over to pick up the grubby little sneakerGrayer has hurled into the Xes' marble entryway, the front door slamsbehind me with a loud bang. I jerk upright, still holding his shoe.
"Shit.""I heard you! You said 'Shit.' You said it!" Muffled sounds of a gleefulGrayer make their way through the heavy door.
I steady my voice and reach for a low, authoritative octave. "Grayer, openthe door.""No! I can stick my fingers out at you and you can't see. I got my thungthitiking out, too.""Nanny, try to catch my fingers! Do it! Do it! Come on, catch'em!" Iconcentrate every muscle on not stepping on them.
"You're not even playing! I'm going to go take a bath. So don't ever comeback here, okay? My mom said you don't have to come back here." Hisvoice gets quieter as he starts to move from the door. "Going to get in thetub.""GRAYER!" I scream before I catch my breath. "Don't walk away fromthis door. Ummm, I have a surprise out here for you."The elevator door slides open and Mrs. X, her neighbor, and the doormanall step out.
"Nanny? Nany, I don't want your surprise. So go away. Really, really, go,get out of here." With a few "ahems" the neighbor lets herself into herapartment and the doorman hands off the package he's been carrying anddisappears back into the elevator.
I hold up Grayer's shoe.
As if for a studio audience, Mrs. X whips out her keys and proceeds toremedy the situation. "Well, then. Let's get this door open!" She laughs andunlocks the door. But she swings it open a little too quickly and catchesone of Grayer's fingers.
"Ah. Nanny broke my hand! Hh, my hand is broke. Get out of here! Go!"He throws himself onto the floor, sobbing.
Mrs. X bends down, as if about to hold him, then straightens up.
"Well, looks like you really tuckered him out at the park! You can go onahead. I'm sure you have a ton of Homework to do. We'll see you Monday,then?" I reach carefully inside the doorway and put his shoe down inexchange for my backpack.
I clear my throat. "He just threw his shoe and I..."At the sound of my voice Grayer lets out a fresh wail. "LEE! Ahhahhha."She stares down at him as he writhes on the floor, smiles broadly, andpantomimes that I should go to the elevator. "Oh, and Nanny, C-a-i-t-l-i-nwon't be returning, but I'm sure you have the hang of everything by now."I close their door and am alone again in the now familiar vestibule. I waitfor the elevator and listen to Grayer scream. I feel as though the wholeworld is sticking its tongue out at me.
"Keep your nose out of it, Nanny Drew." My father slurps the last drops ofhis wonton soup. "You never know. Maybe Caitlin had another job linedup.""I didn't really get that sense ...""You like the kid?""Minus the locking me out part, yeah, okay.""So, then, you're not marrying these people. You're just working there,what? Fifteen hours a week?" The waiter places a plate of fortune cookiesbetween us and takes the check.
"Twelve." I reach for a cookie.
"Right. So don't get your knickers in a twist.""But what do I do about Grayer?""They're always a little slow to warm up at first," he says, speaking fromeighteen years of experience as an English teacher. He grabs a cookie andtakes my hand. "Come on, let's walk and talk." We weave out of therestaurant and head over to West End Avenue.
I put my arm through his as he slips his hands into his blazer pockets.
"Glinda the good witch him," he says, chewing his cookie thoughtfully.
"Care to elaborate?"He shoots me a look. "I was finishing my cookie. Are you payingattention?""Yes.""Because this is good stuff." I stand, waiting, with my arms crossed. "Inessence, you are Glinda. You are light and clarity and fun. He is aninanimate object, a toaster who happens to have a tongue hanging out. Ifhe goes too far again, I'm talking the door locking routine, physicalviolence, or anything that puts him in danger, BABOOM! Wicked Witch ofthe West! Two point four seconds you swoop down in front of his face andhiss that he must never do that again, ever. It is not okay. And then, beforehe can bat an eyelash, back to Glinda. You let him know he can havefeelings, but that there are boundaries. And that you'll let him know whenhe has pushed too far. Trust me, he'll be relieved."I stand on the sidewalk outside Grayer's school on the following Monday.
I'm ten minutes early, as per Mrs. X's strict instructions, so I flip throughmy Filofax and chart out the deadlines for my next two papers.
"Not you!" Grayer drags himself all the way across the courtyard, as if hewere marching toward certain death.
"Hey, Grayer. How was school?""Yucky.""Yucky? What was yucky about it?"I unpin the Homework, pass off the juice.
"Nothing.""Nothing was yucky?" Buckle in stroller, unwrap pears.
"I don't want to talk to you."I kneel in front of the stroller and look him squarely in the eyes. "Look,Grayer, I know you don't like me very much.""I hate you!" I am light. I am clarity. I am wearing a big, pink dress.
"And that's okay, you haven't known me very long. But I like you a lot."He starts to kick his leg out at me. "I know you miss Caitlin." He freezes atthe sound of her name and I catch his foot firmly in my hand. "It's okay tomiss Caitlin. Missing her shows that you love her. But being mean to mehurts my feelings and I know Caitlin would never want you to hurtanyone's feelings. So, as long as we're together, let's have fun." His eyesare like saucers.
As we head out of the courtyard the rain that's been threatening allmorning finally breaks and I have to push Grayer up to 721 Park Avenue asif I'm in the Stroller Olympics.
"Weee!" he cries and I make race car noises and steer sharply aroundpuddles all the way home. By the time we get into the lobby we're bothsoaked and I pray Mrs. X isn't Home to see how I've exposed her child topneumonia.
"I sure am wet. Are you wet, Grayer?""I sure am. I sure am wet." He's smiling, but his teeth are starting tochatter.
"We're gonna get you right upstairs and into a hot bath. Ever had lunch inthe bath, Grayer?" I steer him into the elevator.
A few minutes later, a naked Grayer is plashing in the tub.
"Grayer, do you have a nickname?""What's a nickname?""A name that people call you that isn't Grayer.""My name is Grayer X. That's my name.""Well, let's think of one." I pop him in the tub and pass him his organicpeanut butter and quince jelly sandwich. He wiggles his toes in the wateras he munches the sandwich and I can tell it feels fabulously unorthodox tohim. I look around the bathroom and my eyes land on his blue SesameStreet toothbrush.
"What about Grover?" I ask.
He mulls it over, his head cocked to one side, his Serious Thinking Faceon, and then nods. "We'll try it." |