Salters down the street hired Lila to babysit. Lila had come home at eleven o’clock on Saturday night beaming, with twelve dollars in her pocket and plans to sit for Alex and Meghan the following Friday. “Are you sure?” Bethie asked. “We didn’t invite you down here to put you to work.”
“No, no,” Lila said. “We had fun!” With more animation than she’d displayed since her arrival, Lila told them about how they’d had a board-game tournament, and how she’d made Mickey Mouse–shaped pancakes for dinner. A few mornings later, Eileen Salter had hailed Bethie as Bethie was retrieving the paper from the end of the driveway.
“Your niece is a miracle worker,” Eileen said, bouncing up and down as she jogged in place in her bright-blue tank top and black Lycra biker shorts. Eileen said that Lila had managed to get her daughter to comb her hair and her son to sleep in his own bed. Bemused, Bethie said, “She seemed to enjoy it,” and Eileen, who’d always been a little frosty toward Bethie (Bethie was never sure whether that had to do with her black husband or her lack of kids), said, “She’s amazing. You’re so lucky.” Bethie had high hopes for a regular engagement, but at the end of July Eileen and Bill took the kids to visit her parents in Rehoboth, and that was the end of that.
The last two weeks of August felt like they took two months to pass. Bethie’s shoulders would tense every time she heard Lila sigh; she’d have to fight the urge to shout Just talk to us! every night at the dinner table. Talk to us! she’d think. Let us help! But Lila never did.
The night before Lila’s departure, Bethie made one last foray to her room. Lila was sitting on the bed, her back against the wall. Her hairbrush sat on top of her dresser, and her backpack slumped next to her bed. The Sweet Valley High and Trixie Belden books were still lined up on the shelf, untouched.
“I’ll bet you’re looking forward to going home,” Bethie said, sitting on the edge of the bed, hoping she looked cheerful and that she didn’t sound like she was happy that Lila was leaving. Lila turned to her and grabbed her hands, startling Bethie, who didn’t think Lila had touched her, voluntarily, even once, all summer long.
“Can I stay here?” Lila asked. “With you and Uncle Harold?”
Bethie was so shocked that she almost couldn’t think of what to say. “You want to stay here?” she asked.
“Please,” said Lila. “Please, can I?” She leaned forward, her eyes shiny with tears. “I wouldn’t have to go to private school. And you could fire Isobel and Sidney. I could do the cooking and cleaning, I could even buy groceries on the weekends—”
“Whoa, whoa!” Bethie was shocked by Lila’s words, and by Lila’s unrelenting grip on her hands. “What’s wrong?” Bethie asked. “Why don’t you want to go home?”
“Because my mom hates me,” Lila said.
Bethie stared at her niece. “Oh, honey. Your mom doesn’t hate you.”
“She does.” A tear spilled down Lila’s cheek. “Why do you think she sent me here? She wanted to get rid of me.”
“She doesn’t want to get rid of you,” said Bethie. “We asked if you could come! It’s true that your mom’s going through a hard time right now, and maybe she hasn’t been herself. Maybe she hasn’t made you feel like she loves you, but I know she does. And Harold and I love having you. Your mom was doing us a favor!”
Lila shook her head, once to the right, once to the left. Her voice trembled. “She likes Kim and Missy because they’re smart and good at stuff. I’m not smart . . .”
“Oh, Lila. Of course you’re smart.”
“I’m not,” Lila said, raising her voice. “I’m not in any of the accelerated classes, I got a Needs Improvement in math. I hate school, and I’m not good at anything else. Missy was good at sports and writing, and Kim was good at drama and debate, and both of them got good grades, and I’m just . . .” Lila raised her hands and let them fall, a dismayingly adult gesture of resignation. “I’m ordinary,” she said.
“Lila.” Bethie kept her voice low and calm. “You are not ordinary, you are wonderful. You’re a very smart, very special girl.”
“I’m not smart. Or special. I’m just regular, and that’s not good enough for my mother. She’s always talking about how Kim