Page 14 of Clinically Delicious
Chapter Seven
Gabriel
The drive home was a masterclass in restraint.
Every red light was a small mercy, giving me precious seconds to construct the speech I’d deliver once Megan was safely tucked in bed. I’d mentally drafted seventeen versions, each more scathing than the last. By the time I pulled into the driveway, I’d settled on a tone somewhere between “disappointed headmaster” and “prosecutor presenting irrefutable evidence.”
Cate sat in the passenger seat, radiating guilt like a nuclear reactor. Good. She should feel guilty. My daughter—my brilliant, fragile, already-traumatized daughter—had a broken arm because this woman thought a skateboard was an acceptable substitute for a surfboard.
In the backseat, Megan dozed, her pink cast cradled against her chest like a trophy. At least she was happy. That was something. A very small, very irritating something that complicated my righteous anger considerably.
I carried Megan inside, her slight weight familiar in my arms. Cate trailed behind us like a condemned prisoner walking to the gallows, which was, frankly, appropriate given the circumstances.
Megan barely stirred as I changed her into pajamas and tucked her into bed, her new cast resting on a pillow. I brushed the hair from her forehead, my anger momentarily eclipsed by the overwhelming relief that it hadn’t been worse. A broken arm would heal. But the what-ifs circled my mind like vultures. What if she’d hit her head, what if the break had been compound, what if, what if, what if.
I kissed her forehead and turned off the light, leaving the door cracked just how she liked it.
Now for the reckoning.
I found Cate in the living room, perched on the edge of the couch like a bird ready to take flight. Her hands were clasped in her lap, knuckles white. When I entered, she looked up, and I caught something in her expression that gave me pause—not just fear, but genuine remorse.
I ignored it. I had a speech prepared, dammit!
“Sit,” I said, though she already was sitting. I remained standing, arms crossed.
Height advantage:established.
“Dr. Lyon, I—”
“Let me speak first.” My voice came out harder than I’d intended, sharp enough to cut. “In the span of six hours, you managed to accomplish what I thought was impossible: you made every other nanny I’ve hired look competent by comparison.”
She flinched.
I continued.
“A skateboard, Cate. You put my daughter on a skateboard without a helmet, without pads, without any apparent understanding of basic physics or child safety protocols.”
“I know.”
“I’m not finished.” I paced because standing still required a level of calm I didn’t possess. “Do you have any idea whatcould have happened? Do you understand that I spend my days treating children whose parents made one careless decision, one moment of poor judgment?”
“I do now,” she whispered quietly, and something in her voice made me stop pacing.
I looked at her. Really looked at her. Her eyes were red-rimmed; her mascara smudged. She’d been crying. Probably in the car while I’d been too busy mentally composing my termination speech to notice.
“Why?” I asked, and the word came out less accusatory than exhausted. “Why would you do something so monumentally stupid?”
She met my gaze, and I saw her spine straighten slightly. “Because she asked me to.”
“That’s not a reason. That’s an excuse.”
“No, it’s not.” Her voice gained strength, defensive walls rising. “She asked me to teach her because she wanted to be like the other kids. Because apparently, every other nanny you’ve hired has said no to everything she wants to do, and she’s desperate for someone to say yes.”
Her words hit like a physical blow, mostly because they were true.
“So your solution was to break her arm?”
“My solution was to make her happy!” Cate shot back, standing now, her own anger finally surfacing. “And yes, I screwed up. I know I screwed up. But at least I tried. At least I didn’t just park her in front of a screen and call it a day.”
