"We get the warhead and we hold the world ransom for...one million dollars!"

~Austin Powers: International Man of Mystery

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 "What are you thinking?!" Sacha hisses at me as she stocks the synthetic flower wall with orange chrysanthemums.

I twirl a sprig of baby's breath around and shrug. "I don't think it'll be a big deal! I mean, the oldest is thirteen—she can run the show, and I'll just provide adult supervision. Easy peasy."

"You're going to have to take them to school, make sure they get fed—which means grocery shopping, by the way—taking care of them, cleaning the house. There's a lot to being a mom!"

I blink and stumble backward, my jaw going slack. "Did you...did you just call me a mom?"

"Well—"

"Because I'm not a mom! I never asked to take care of these girls! Aimee basically said that she just needs someone to watch them, and I was her last resort. If anything, I'm a babysitter. And if Aimee was expecting me to be like her, then she has another thing coming!"

Sacha frowns and sticks the last chrysanthemum into the holder. "Bev...your nieces are gonna be with you for six months. They'll be in a completely new place with no friends and neither of their parents. They're going to need someone to love and care for them. It won't be easy for them or you."

I toss the baby's breath back into the cart and lean against it. "Don't give me that, Sacha. I was alone my entire life! Kids are much tougher than you think."

Sacha gives me that look. The one that shows a mix of disappointment and empathy. The one that chisels away the stoniest part of my heart. "And you really think you're better off for that?"

She takes a handful of slime kits and disappears down aisle 16 to stock them.

I try not to think about her words. I keep telling myself that six months isn't too long. The kids will go to school, come home, eat dinner, and go to bed. As soon as I know it, it'll be January, and they'll be out of my hair and I'll be thirty-thousand dollars richer. Easy.

~~~~

I recline on the couch, a bag of Cheez-Its resting on my stomach, munching away as Sacha and Iris Barber, the diner lady, run around the house.

"Dusty's room needs to be pinker!" Iris calls from upstairs. "I have the perfect lace curtains to match!"

Sacha is already jogging up the steps, an armful of bright pink pillows in her arms.

I groan.

When Sacha found out that I hadn't done anything to prepare for the girls coming over, she called Iris (who is renowned for her interior decorating skills) and they've been killing themselves ever since. They stalked Aimee's Facebook page to get a feel for what the girls were interested in and haven't stopped since.

I was going to protest the utter destruction of the bedrooms, but when I saw Sacha come in with a mop bucket and duster, I figured a free deep cleaning was worth all the decorations flooding in.

I keep telling myself that six months with three kids will be a breeze...but I can't seem to untangle the knot in my stomach.

Maybe thirty-thousand dollars isn't enough.

I know Aimee has enough money in the bank to at least fork out a little more. I won't say she's a millionaire, but she definitely has enough money to fly first class and get a glass of champagne with a cranberry in it, if you know what I mean.

As I'm wondering if I could milk Aimee for enough money to buy a Lexus or Lamborghini, Sacha comes to stand in front of me with a neon green giraffe in one hand and an electric pink rhino with sunglasses on in the other. "Which one for Jemma's room?"

I frown and haul myself to my feet. "I don't know, which one would give her a heart attack faster?"

Iris comes down the stairs with a ruffled lace and tulle duvet bundled in her arms like a giant prom dress.

"Okay, okay, that's it!" I shout, holding my hands in front of me as if it will protect me from the onslaught of horrendous décor. "Please, spare me any more!"

Sacha blinks at me stupidly. "We're just trying to help, hon. I think the girls will love the rooms!"

I scoff. "Yeah, I'm sure Eloise, Jemma, and Dusty will love living in a Spice Girls advertisement."

"I think it looks great!" Iris defends. I can only see her eyes and the top part of her bun from behind the large mass of material in her arms.

"Well, thanks for all the stuff—maybe after the six months are up, I can sell it all at a Justice for Girls convention."

Iris frowns. "You're not being very appreciative."

"I agree," Sacha pouts.

I roll my eyes. "Let me take a look..."

I jog up the stairs and go into Eloise's room first. It's the one that used to be Aimee's. I haven't even been in here for years.

The bed has a white, modern comforter on top, with a turquoise throw laying across the foot of it. Several knick-knacks are lining the cream-colored shelves and a bright yellow rug in the middle of the floor. It's...classy, but fun. I actually think it would suit a thirteen-year-old with the name Eloise.

Jemma, the nine-year-old, has a room with a zebra carpet and purple walls. Enough said.

Dusty's room is the most frivolous. With lace and pink and tulle stuffed in every corner, it's fit more for a Barbie than a six-year-old. I hate the fact that she will, without a doubt, love it.

Even though I haven't seen any of these girls since Jemma was born, I have a feeling that Iris and Sacha are right on the mark.

"The zebra carpet has to go," I mutter.

Iris and Sacha exchange smug looks that know they've defeated me.

"You get two free iced coffees if it gets to stay," Iris wagers.

I curse and then agree.

~~~~~

It's the day Aimee is coming with the girls.

What am I supposed to do until three?

I've already eaten half a box of Rice Krispies with five spoonfuls of sugar in it and watched enough Bob Ross videos to call myself Da Vinci.

When you started yelling at Bob to, "JUST FINISH THE PAINTING ALREADY!" you know it's time for a walk.

It feels strange, knowing that the next six months will be filled with annoying nieces hanging around the house.

When I was a kid, I never stayed home. I was always skipping school, exploding Mentos/Diet Coke bottles in the back of the bus, or convincing Evie Granger that her cat was a possessed demon who had come to kill her family until she started crying.

These girls would probably be on video games or cell phones for the entire six months.

I can't take the silence anymore and decide to head down to Iris's for one of those free iced coffees she promised me.

It's so hot outside, I practically have to walk on pavement made of dead gnats.

I make my way down to Iris's and she cheerily gives me a free drink. She's been especially nice to me ever since she decorated the girls' rooms.

That's the thing about people. You let them do you a favor one time, and they become your best friend. That is, until you cross them again, and they give you a box full of donuts that are filled with mayonnaise instead of cream.

Not that it's ever happened to me...

But I guarantee that the next time I pay $3.00 instead of $4.00 for my iced coffee, Iris will be back to frowning and "grow a conscience, Beverly" in a second.

I make my way back home.

On the side of the street, dressed in a pair of exercise pants that do little to contain the mass of wrinkles on her legs, is Judy Hemingway walking her dog, John Adams.

My heart soars with triumph. "Judy!" I call.

She looks up and a cruel smile is already making its way across her face. "How's the chicken business, Bevvy? I was thinking about it and yellow really is your color."

John Adams barks in agreement.

"You're looking at the new caretaker in Chestnut Ridge," I call back. "Aimee is dropping her three daughters off with me for six months. Thirty-thousand dollars is waiting for me at the finish line, Judy. Maybe I'll buy you a facelift with it. Or a personality. Though I'm sure you can pick up another one at Walmart."

Judy laughs. And laughs. And laughs. John Adams seems to be laughing too. "You'll never make it!"

I stick my tongue out at her and continue on my way. I'll show her. And I'll rub that money right in her shriveled raisin face.

I turn onto my street when I see a shiny white Suburban parked in my driveway.

Dread fills me.

As I near the porch, I see the three girls stretched out on the steps, cheeks red, and faces slick with sweat.

Aimee is sitting on the porch too and stands up when she sees me. Her bleached blonde hair is matted to her forehead with sweat, and it looks like her Ann Taylor blazer is a little sticky too.

She's gained a lot of weight since I last saw her, but, as usual, she still looks amazing.

"Beverly!" she pants. "Where have you been?!"

I guiltily lift up the iced coffee.

"We've been locked out here for almost thirty minutes!"

"I'm so hot!" one girl—I think it's Jemma—whines.

I take in a deep breath. Oh boy...