Lynn parks the stroller next to a red-painted bench, tucks her skirt under her, and sits near her charge. Sarah, a one-year-old, is asleep. Her tiny fingers clutch a much-chewed stuffed rabbit. Lynn has been employed as a live-in nanny for most of Sarah’s life, though she often regrets not finishing her psych degree at NYU four years ago and beginning her ‘baby business instead.’ Money—not ambition—had been the issue.
On this warm day, the grass in the park is emerald green and a cluster of daffodils huddle in a raised rock garden, their heavy yellow heads nodding in a light breeze. The wealthy community keeps the playground immaculate, with parents and nannies on alert for candy wrappers, cigarette butts, beer cans, and weeds, which they remove, and any homeless people, who are forced elsewhere.
While Lynn commends protecting the children’s environment, she is less comfortable with some of the parents, especially Brittany, a svelte, perfectly coiffed mother, who rarely says hello. Brittany’s son, Kiefer, is four, with a square head and thick body. Lynn wonders if an NFL career is in Kiefer’s future. A tackle perhaps? He’s on a swing, careening back and forth with zealous energy, his face ruddy with effort.
‘Be careful, Kiefer,’ Brittany says. A suggestion, not an admonition.
Her son digs deeper into the air, going higher.
A few feet away, Teddy stands near a man, presumably his father, who is seated on an adjacent bench and engrossed in The Wall Street Journal. Teddy is shy and slender, pale, with long sandy hair. From previous conversations with his nanny, Teddy’s usual caretaker, Lynn knows the boy is seven months younger than Kiefer.
‘Can I play on the giraffe?’ Teddy asks his dad.
His father makes no response.
Kiefer abruptly stops swinging and stares at Teddy.
‘Dad, may I please play on the giraffe?’ Teddy asks again.
The man nods but his eyes remain fixed on the newspaper, though his right foot, shod in a Ferragamo loafer, twitches with impatience at the interruption.
Teddy heads toward the giraffe, which is yellow with dark brown spots and is set on metal springs. As he approaches, Kiefer leaps off the swing, elbows Teddy aside, and throws his leg over the giraffe’s tan saddle.
‘Yee-haa!’ Kiefer cries, slapping the giraffe’s rear like it’s a bronco. ‘Look at me, Mom!’
Brittany smiles approvingly.
Teddy is silent as Kiefer bobs up and down on the giraffe, his hand twirling an imaginary lariat. Slowly, a tear slides down Teddy’s cheek. His father turns a page of the newspaper.
Lynn is about to intervene, when Brittany rises and folds her arms over her chest.
‘Sweetie, maybe little Teddy would like a chance to ride on the giraffe.’
Kiefer greets this with a hoot and shakes his head.
‘I think you’ve made Teddy sad. Honey, you don’t want to do that, do you?’
Kiefer throws a defiant look at his mother and keeps rocking. Teddy wipes his eyes with his shirtsleeve and sinks to the ground, his chin pressed against his chest. Drops continue to fall from his eyes.
‘Maybe you want to play on the swings again, Kiefer?’
Her son ignores her. Brittany sighs, sits, crosses her legs, and picks some lint from her black Capri pants.
Lynn feels color suffuse her cheeks. She wants to pull that bully off the giraffe and give him a stern lecture on respecting others, sharing, and being kind. Well, actually, Lynn thinks, she’d like to throttle the kid, and while she’s at it, convey some choice words to the mother, though she would never do either.
After checking Sarah is still asleep, she walks over to Teddy and hands him a tissue. ‘I’m sorry,’ she whispers.
Large blue eyes search hers. She takes his hand, helps Teddy to his feet, and leads him to a tall pink elephant, also set on springs. It’s too high for Teddy to mount, so Lynn lifts him aboard. As the boy surveys the park from this new height, his face suddenly glows with happiness.
‘Hey! You!’ a man shouts. ‘What the hell are you doing with my son?’
Lynn turns. Teddy’s father has thrown aside his newspaper, rushed toward them, and is now glowering at her.
‘I was only trying—’
‘Are you some kind of pervert?’ he demands, his fingers tightening into fists.
‘I—’
‘Dad… Please…’
Teddy begins crying again. From his perch on the giraffe, Kiefer snickers. Brittany rummages through her purse, finds a tube of lipstick, and freshens her mouth with a glossy coral color.
‘Leave my son alone or I’ll call the cops,’ Teddy’s father threatens.
Speechless, Lynn watches as the man snatches the boy off the pink elephant, throws him over his shoulder, and hurries away after tossing the newspaper in a trash container.
Kiefer’s mouth curls with satisfaction. After more whoops and bounces, he dismounts the giraffe and goes to his mother. ‘I want ice cream.’
‘You do? Of course, darling.’ She smooths his brown hair. ‘You’ve been such a good boy today.’
Giving Lynn a hostile look, she and Kiefer leave the park.
Lynn rejoins Sarah. The baby wakes, smiles, and gurgles as Lynn takes Sarah in her arms and places the small, warm face next to hers.
‘Promise me you’ll never be like…’ She drifts off, realizing her time with Sarah will be too abbreviated to influence how the child matures.
Gently, Lynn lays the baby in the stroller, covers her with the blanket, hands her the toy rabbit, and pushes the carriage down the sidewalk, away from the swings, the brown-spotted yellow giraffe, and the pink elephant.
[To Lisa Cantrell]
Laury A. Egan is the author of a collection, Fog and Other Stories, and nine novels: The Outcast Oracle (a Kirkus Reviews Best Book of 2013), The Swimmer, Turnabout, Jenny Kidd, Fabulous! An Opera Buffa, A Bittersweet Tale, The Ungodly Hour, Wave in D Minor and Doublecrossed. Four poetry volumes have been published: Snow, Shadows, a Stranger, Beneath the Lion’s Paw, The Sea & Beyond and Presence & Absence. Her stories and poems have appeared in over forty literary journals. Find Laury on Twitter as @EganLaury and on her website: www.lauryaegan.com
Photo by Andreas Dress on Unsplash.
Lovely short story ! Reminds me of the times I’ve spent in the Park with my grandson.