Lily parked in the circular drive and pulled the antique doorbell. She was greeted by a sweet-faced, white haired woman. Although she had to be over eighty years old, with a tell-tale osteoporosis hump, her face was smooth. Aside from a few crinkles at the eyes when she smiled, this woman was wrinkle-free. She must have been quite a looker in her prime.
The old woman looked at Lily and said, “You must be the care-giver that Bellin sent.”
“Yes, Ma’am. I’m Lily Costello.”
“And well brought-up. I’m Claudia Berger. I’m the Abbots’ next-door neighbor.”
“Abbot? Is this some sort of a monastery, then? They told me nothing at the school.” Indeed, the house was large enough and secluded enough to meet the contemplative needs of monastic life.
“Monastery?” the old woman was clearly amused by the thought. “Bless you, no. This is the Schifferle Mansion.”
“As in Schifferle Breweries?”
“Yes, dear. The current residents are Frank and Tom Abbott. Grandson and Great-grandson of the founder.”
“So my client’s name is Frank Abbott?”
“Yes, dear. Go through to the library. On the right there. They are expecting you. I must hurry now. It’s my morning at Head Start.” With a warm but fragile handshake Claudia traded places with Lily and left.
Lily gaped at her surroundings like a tourist. As a rule, Two Rivers, Wisconsin, has very few opulent houses. As its name implied, Schifferle Mansion was a regulation mansion, and a veritable museum to boot. Lily opened the double doors to the library and saw exactly the kind of room one would expect: leather chairs, bookcases to the ceiling crammed with leather bound books, and of course there was a fireplace.
Lily put on a brave face and said, “Messieurs Abbott, I presume?”
“Who are you, then?” The older one asked. He had a full head of completely white hair and crayon blue eyes that were magnified by his thick glasses. He wore a sharply pressed white shirt and navy blue chinos. Clearly this was a man for whom appearances mattered. Luckily, being raised by Camellia had prepared Lily for such interactions.
“Oh, Mr. Abbott, you’re going to love this,” she said. “My name is Lily Costello.”
“You’re kidding me,” said the younger Mr. Abbott. He had brown hair and eyes that were light brown, almost amber. He wore a Pink Floyd t-shirt and jeans that were clean but clearly well-loved.
“I kid you not.” Lily responded.
“They said you and the old man would make a good team,” the son rose and extended his hand. “Tom Abbott. Good to meet you.”
“I’m sorry to have dragged you out here for nothing, Miss Costello,” said the old man, “but I don’t need some dollar-an-hour babysitter.”
“That’s good, Sir, because I am, generally speaking, a fifteen-dollar-an-hour babysitter.”
“Miss Costello,” the son began, “come with me. I’ll show you around the place and we can discuss terms. Excuse us, Dad.” And then he whispered to the old man, “Behave!”
He escorted Lily back to the foyer and through the dining room to the kitchen. Tom offered Lily a chair at the kitchen table and a cup of coffee. She declined the coffee and accepted an Evian instead.
Tom wrapped both hands around his mug and said, “Ms. Costello—that still cracks me up—can I call you Lily?”
“Of course.”
“Lily, what did the placement office tell you about this position?”
“The address. Any port in a storm, don’t you know.”
“Did they mention that we are looking for a live-in care-provider?”
“Oh.”
“Is that a problem?”
“I have children.”
“And?”
“And they live with me. We’re kind of a package deal.”
“And?”
“Well, how would your father feel about his home being overrun by my kids?”
“How many kids do you have?”
“Two. Anna is ten; Jared is twelve.”
“Lily, we have room for thirteen kids, six dogs, and a pony—inside. How about this? There is a ballroom, and two bedrooms on the third floor for the kids. Right below that is a guest suite with a sitting room and full bath.”
“I’m not sure my children would thrive in this environment.”
“What environment?”
“How should I know? I just got here.”
“Dad has a crusty exterior. And he can be moody as hell. He is really pissed at being sick. But he was a great dad.”
“What are his health issues?” Lily asked.
“He has always been healthy as a horse. Now he’s old and parts are failing and he can’t handle it. Several years ago, he developed diabetes; it runs in the family. That took a toll on his kidneys, so he’s on dialysis. He does three exchanges a day. He needs his hip replaced, but the bone is so depleted from the dialysis that the doctors aren’t sure that they can even do it. We need you to manage his insulin, his dialysis, his diet, and his physical therapy. Plus he would like you to help him compile his memoirs and do a little light house keeping—we have a girl that comes once a week to do the real cleaning. In exchange we will pay you a modest salary, room and board for you and kids and the use of a vehicle. What other reservations do you have?”
“Well, to be honest, I’m concerned about the propriety of a single woman living in the same house as a single man,” Lily said.
“Dad?”
“No, you.”
“Ah. Well, um. I wasn’t expecting that.”
“I’m sorry. I embarrassed you.”
“No, no, not at all.” Tom was, in fact blushing. “I am only here part time. I’m in Chicago a lot. When I am here, I prefer to stay in the pool house. The light is better.”
“What is it you do?”
“I, uh, paint.”
“Wait, Thomas Abbot? Prismatic cubism? The new Joseph Stella?”
“You’ve heard of me?”
“Does the name Camellia Rose mean anything to you?”
“Camellia Rose was responsible for getting me my first gallery show.”
“She’s my mother.”
“Lily Rose Costello? She really did name all her children after flowers?”
“Yeah. Don’t go there.”
“The job is yours if you want it.”
“Does your Dad have a say in this?”
“He will probably fire you at least three times a week. It doesn’t count unless you get a letter from the lawyer.”
“Did you say pool house?”
“Would you like to see the place?”
“Absolutely.”