When I finally get home though, around six in the evening, I find a different scene at the apartment than the one I had expected.
Chloe Ann is sitting in front of the TV, staring up at it with big, glazed eyes. Vera is on the balcony drinking a beer.
I have to admit, my first thought isn’t a good one. Vera is not supposed to be a babysitter, someone to plunk my child in front of the television so she can go drink. She and Chloe Ann are supposed to spend quality time together. It is important to me, more important than it is to either of them.
“Hi, darling,” I say to Chloe Ann as I crouch down beside her. My eyes flit to the window where I see Vera noticing me. I kiss my daughter on her head. “How are you?”
She gives me a sweet smile and then looks back to the television where some obnoxious cartoon is playing. They don’t make them like they used to.
“Fine, Papa,” she says.
I nod and sit down on the ground beside her. “Just fine?” I ask, resting my arms on my knees and looking between her and the TV. “Why is Vera outside?”
“I don’t know,” she says with a little shrug.
“How was camp today?” I ask.
“Fine, Papa,” she says, and for a moment I think the television has stolen her soul, but then she looks to me and smiles more genuinely. “We got to make pretend a petting zoo.”
“I bet you were a panda.”
“I tried,” she says with a pout. “But they said it wasn’t allowed at this zoo. I was a goat. It was fun.”
“That’s great, darling,” I tell her, and get to my feet. I stare at her for a few moments, at the light brown hair spilling down her back, the once-neat braids that Isabel had made for her this morning now all messy and rough, then I make my way over to the balcony.
“Is everything okay?” I ask Vera as I step through the sliding door.
She’s not looking at me; her attention is on the apartment across the street, but she swallows, jaw tense. “It’s okay.”
“As long as it’s not fine,” I say, taking the seat across from her. “Then you would sound just like Chloe Ann.”
Vera brings her eyes over to mine, and they are full of worry. She looks exhausted too, her face sallow.
“What happened?” I ask, my eyes darting into the living room, making sure Chloe Ann is still there.
“A lot of things,” she says, and her voice is hoarse. “I had a bad day.”
“Chloe Ann is all right?”
She nods. “Yeah. She’s all right. We’ve been . . . fighting, I guess.”
I raise my brows. “Fighting?”
“Not physically.”
“Well, no, but what are you talking about?”
She exhales heavily and her shoulders slump forward. “It all started when I picked her up. I was standing around with the others. You know, the other parents. I came early, so I was waiting for it to be over. The kids were all in a circle talking, and we were all just standing around. Everyone knew each other. But one girl came up to me and started speaking in Spanish. And I didn’t really understand. I mean, I got the gist of it, but I told her that I didn’t speak Spanish very well, that I was learning. She asked why I was there. She spoke English after all. I told her I was there to pick up Chloe Ann.” She takes a deep breath, and for some reason my heart already hurts, that I know where this story is going.
“And the girl says, oh, interesting, and I know she’s trying to figure out why a non-Spanish speaker like myself has my child at this camp, so I say she’s not my child. And even then it was fine because the girl nods, understanding and stuff. But then this fucking bitch who was like fucking listening to the whole thing comes over in her Balenciaga bag and her Louboutin shoes, and her overtanned yoga body and starts speaking rapid-fire Spanish to the girl, who then looks at me like I’m fucking white trash.”
“I’m sorry,” I find myself saying, but Vera plows on.
“And I guess that would be fine, I mean I can only imagine what this woman is saying, but at least I can play dumb and save face. So I’m standing there with this frozen smile on my face, and then the kids are dismissed, and Chloe Ann comes over just as the woman is still spewing her vile bullshit. I thought maybe it would go over her head, but it didn’t because then later we were in the car, and Chloe Ann, she turns to me and says something like, ‘why are you pretending to be my mother’ or ‘you’re not my mother,’ and . . .” A tear escapes Vera’s eye and I reach over to brush it away, but she puts her hand up to keep me back. “And I tried to tell Chloe that I wasn’t her mother, but I was her friend and her father’s friend. But my Spanish, I’m not sure she understood. And then she started crying, saying she wanted her dad and her mom, and that she hated me.”
“Oh, Vera. Estrella,” I say to her.
“But that’s not all.”
“That’s not? How can there be more?”
“I felt so bad about everything, that on the way home I stopped at an ice cream shop and told Chloe Ann she could have whatever she wanted. It didn’t stop her crying, but she still came with me in the shop and I got her mint chocolate chip, and then . . .” She pauses to wipe her eyes. “Then as we were leaving, this fucker appeared and started taking pictures of us. Chloe Ann started crying more, and I fingered the guy, just fucking screaming at the guy to leave.”
“Good,” I tell her, putting my hand on her bare knee and squeezing it. “I’m glad you did that.”
“Yeah, but now that will be in the papers.”
I shrug, pretending it doesn’t mean what it could. I don’t want to add to Vera’s guilt complex. “Maybe, maybe not. But does this mean that they were following you?”
“I don’t know,” she says feebly. “It was your car, maybe they know what to look for.”
“The photographer never said anything to you?”
She shakes her head. “No, he just took the picture. When I started yelling, he did fuck off like I asked him to. But still, I think Chloe Ann was traumatized.”
“She’s fine, Vera. She’s inside watching a cartoon. She told me she got to be a goat at camp today. That’s all that is sticking out in her head.”
“She hates me,” she spits out in defeat.