October Halloween Exclusive - "Catching" - Part 3

Three

“I sowwy.”

Sounding just as pitiful as last night, Avery looks at the cold wetness that has permeated the bedsheets.

Harper sighs. “It’s okay.”

“It was on accident.”

“I know. It’s okay. But we have to wash the sheets.” Harper looks at her own pajamas (a peony waffle-weave from Nordstrom that she’s not sure she’ll wear again. Because once you’ve been peed on…). She looks at Avery. “We’ll have to wash your jammies, too, so you have your costume for tonight.”

Avery folds her arms. “Don’t wanna be a unicorn.”

Harper thinks of the outfit in the master bedroom closet. “Yeah, you do.” She pokes Avery. “Come on, let’s get a wriggle on.” She watches as Avery climbs out of bed and stands beside it, pouting. “I’m hungry,” the little girl says.

“Well, I hope you’re not thirsty.” Harper gets off the bed and looks down at the wet patch. “How’d you manage that, you didn’t even drink that much last night.”

Avery shrugs miserably.

“Come on,” Harper says, “You can have a bath before breakfast.” She pulls the zipper on the child’s onesie and it slides down to her feet.

And Harper stares.

Avery catches the look. “What?”

Harper blinks. “Nothing. It’s nothing.” She flutters her fingers at Avery’s crotch. “Take off your undies.”

Avery does as she’s told, stepping out of her clothes, and Harper gathers them into a bundle. “Okay,” she says briskly, “Let’s run you a nice warm bath, get you all clean.”

“When’s Mommy and Daddy be here?” asks Avery.

“In a little while,” Harper says. Not before she can get the sheets washed, hopefully. She prepares Avery’s bath, and once the little girl is in the water, Harper grabs the bedsheets and clothes and heads to the laundry room.

Everything is soon in a hot laundry cycle. Harper is left standing naked by the washer, holding Avery’s Pull-up in her hands. Bone-dry, unlike Harper’s own pajama bottoms, which were soaked.

The sound of hot water filling the washer is enough to muffle Harper’s cry. How disgusting. How childish. How dumb.

While the revelation is humiliating, Harper can only be grateful that the little girl didn’t realize that she didn’t wet the bed. Her babysitter did.

She leans against the washer. Why did this happen? Is it the virus? Harper remembers one of the more outlandish Internet rumors, where victims are mentally reduced through a series of euphoric episodes. Each time, losing control of their bladder or bowels. Until their mind has returned to early childhood.

Harper takes a deep breath. That’s impossible. The science says so. No one with A negative blood has contracted the virus, and besides, the government has said on repeated occasions that the ‘happy pee-pee’ variant is a myth.

There are lots of reasons why an adult might have an accident like this. She’ll Google when she gets a second to spare, she’ll check her symptoms.

She goes to the master bedroom and puts on the mother’s bathrobe, and then she heads back to the bathroom, so she doesn’t have to add ‘drowned little girl’ to her list of mistakes.

“All washed up?” she asks.

A dry-haired Avery nods, although it’s likely that she’s just been sitting in bubbles, playing with her Barbies. It must be nice, Harper muses, to be safe in the knowledge that you’ll be taken care of. Little Avery doesn’t have to worry about the future, she doesn’t even worry about the next moment. Just rainbows and unicorns in that silly head of hers, most likely.

Harper wrinkles her nose. What was that weird dream she had? Wasn’t it something about…No, the memory flickers around her mind and then fades. The woman shrugs. Dreams are trick like that.

“I’ll wash your hair,” says Harper, and she wets and then shampoos the little girl’s head, returning her hair to the same strawberry-scented sweetness of last night. Avery sits silently, obediently, she is chastened following her night-time accident, she has been quietened by something she didn’t do, and Harper just feels worse.

“There,” she says, rinsing Avery’s hair, lifting her out of the tub and wrapping her in a towel, babying her. “All clean and sweet, like a little princess!” She smiles at Avery. “Like a sweet little unicorn.”

That brings a half-smile from Avery. The girl points at Harper’s bathrobe. “That’s Mommy’s.”

Harper nods. “I know.”

Avery frowns. “Why you wearin’ it?”

Harper laughs. “So I’m not naked!”

There. Avery giggles at the idea. And she’s fixed, just like that. Because kids are easy, kids are no trouble at all. Why do parents complain so much, why are they always so tired? Harper could do this job in her sleep.

Except, of course, she shouldn’t wet the bed.

“I’m just borrowing it,” says Harper. “Until after breakfast. That okay?”

Avery nods. “My jammies clean now?”

“Nearly,” Harper says. “We gotta wash them and then they go in the…” Her mind goes blank. “In the…” She shakes her head, laughs. “The hot air thingy…thing.”

Avery gives her a doubtful look. “The dryer?”

Harper laughs again. “Exactly!” She kisses the top of Avery’s head. “What a smart cookie you are.”

They go through to Avery’s bedroom and Harper dresses the little girl in a T-shirt and Trolls panties. “Your costume will be ready after breakfast.”

Avery looks up, her face brightening. “Fench toes?”

Harper laughs. “French toast.”

Avery nods.

“Well, I promised, didn’t I?” She picks up the little girl and holds her against her hip. “Come on, you can be my little helper.”

“Not carry,” says Avery, wriggling and squirming until she’s back on her own two feet. “Big girl,” she says, taking Harper’s hand.

“Big girl,” Harper echoes. “Got it.” She smiles at the idea of Avery considering herself a big girl. Harper is the big girl. She has a job, an apartment, she even drives a car! She smiles indulgently at the child and then the walk downstairs.

When they get to the kitchen, Harper opens the refrigerator and taps her chin. “Let’s see…”

She picks up the carton of milk, then puts it back. Do they need milk? Isn’t it eggs? Harpers heart thuds in her chest. With perfect understanding, she realizes that she has no idea how to make French toast. Even though she’s made it countless times.

“Letting the cold out,” Avery says, surely repeating a criticism she’s heard from her parents.

“Right,” says Harper. “Sorry.”

She takes a deep breath, gives her head a shake. There’s something wrong. Something messing up. And Harper can’t help wondering, has this babysitting job, this family favor, has it let her catch the virus? She’s not physically smaller, she still towers easily over Avery. But then she thinks of Internet rumors, and of theories that the government has dismissed as nonsense, and she knows that she doesn’t necessarily have to get physically younger. It must only happen to her mind.

Harper swallows. “Let’s, uh…let’s…” She finally closes the refrigerator. “Yeah, hon, we don’t have any…we don’t have the right indegri…ingee…we don’t have the right stuff for French toast.”

“Oh,” says Avery. “Huh.” She scrunches up her face. “Can we have chocolate toast?” She squats by the kitchen cupboard and pulls out a jar. She holds it with both hands for inspection.

Harper peers at the label. For a moment, she’s sure she won’t be able to read the red lettering. But she can. Of course she can. She’s not a dumb baby. “You want Nutella toast?”

Avery nods her head emphatically.

Harper tilts her head at the girl. “That good food for unicorns?”

An even bigger nod is Avery’s response.

“Okay,” Harper says, laughing more loudly than she needs to. “Nutella toast it is.” Breakfast has been decided, thanks to the four-year-old. Surely, Harper will feel better, once she’s had something to eat. One she's  had a moment to think.