Free Maybe This Time by Jennifer Crusie Page B

else?”
    Alice grew still, and her eyes seemed sadder suddenly, the shadows underneath them growing darker. “No,” she said, and rolled over, away from Andie, scooting down under the covers as she turned.
    â€œOkay.” Andie got up, picked up the Jessica doll from where it had fallen to the floor, tucked it in beside Alice, and turned off her bedside light. “I’ll be right across the nursery if you need me.”
    â€œI won’t,” Alice said, her voice muffled by the covers.
    â€œRight.” Andie hesitated and then bent and kissed the top of Alice’s head, and Alice batted her away. “Sleep tight, baby,” Andie said, and went across the hall to check on Carter.
    He said, “Come in,” when she knocked, which she considered progress, and when she said, “Don’t stay up too late, we have to start schoolwork tomorrow,” he nodded without looking up from hisbook. Since saying “Stop reading so you can learn something tomorrow” seemed contradictory, Andie picked up his empty tray, said, “Good night,” and left the room, closing the door behind her.
    Dancing princess,
she thought, and wondered which one of the nannies that had been.
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    Andie put the dishes in the sink and then used the phone in the kitchen, now complete with dial tone, to call the Happy Housekeepers number she’d found at the Dairy Queen to set up a cleaning crew. Surprisingly, they said they’d come the next day. Something moved behind her as she hung up, and she turned around expecting to see Mrs. Crumb, but she was alone.
Weird,
she thought, but that was the least of her problems. She was making a difference with the kids, a small difference, but a start, but there was something just out of her reach, something about the place that she couldn’t put her finger on yet. Mrs. Crumb might be up to something, the kids were probably always up to something, but there was something else.
    Frustrated because she couldn’t puzzle it out, she got out a bowl and cookie sheets and the baking supplies she’d stocked up on and made chocolate chip cookies. The oven was ancient, but chocolate chip cookies were hard to screw up. She hesitated before adding the almonds and cashews, pretty sure Alice would turn her nose up at nuts, and then decided that if Alice wanted cookies, she could damn well eat nuts. The measuring and the mixing always smoothed out her thinking processes—nothing was as calming as creaming butter—and when the kitchen was warm from the oven overheating and the smell of baking chocolate, she took final stock of where she’d been and where she was going. Everything was fine. There was no reason to be uneasy. She was in a transition phase and so were the kids. In a month, the kids would go to Columbus together, where they’d start their life with North and she’d start hers with Will . . .
    She went on planning, keeping a close eye on the cookies andturning down the heat as they browned too fast. She pulled out the first tray of cookies and slid in the next unbaked tray, and by the time the whole batch was done—the oven really was a sadistic bastard, doing its damnedest to scorch everything she put in it—she was back to normal. Everything was fine. The former nannies had been idiots. It was going to be okay.
    She left the cookies to cool and went back upstairs and got ready for bed. Then she climbed into the big four-poster with the third-and seventh-grade curriculums, along with a box of workbooks for grades one through ten since the nannies hadn’t been able to pinpoint exactly where the kids were in their education. At ten, she heard somebody outside her door, but by the time she opened it, the only thing in the hall was a tray with a pot of liquor-laced tea and a striped cup, with two of her cookies on a plate beside it.
    She crawled back into bed and sipped her tea—Mrs. Crumb still with the heavy hand