Page 65 of Watching Henry

But then it all began to catch up with her.

She had nothing.

Hadley was gone, the job was gone, the children were gone. Her reputation was gone. And maybe she was to blame for some of those things, but right now she had nothing to lose. Nothing to lose and a whole lot that should be said. That needed to be said.

So she snapped.

She turned back, dropping her cases. “Before I go, in the spirit of honesty, since my relationship with the truth isn't quite as dubious as you'd think, you might want to take a good, hard look at what's happened around here.

“Ms. Underwood—”

“Perhaps what you don't realize, Mr. Allan, is that your detachment, your personal issues, are impacting your children in ways that are far worse than Hadley or I could ever model. We at least showed them the benefits of hard work, caring, consistency, and a safe, warm home.”

“Ms. Underwood—”

“Florence?” Ms. McLeod came out of the living room. “What on earth is going on here?”

Florence took a step back so she could look at both of them. “What's going on here is a little taste of home truths. The two of you are supposed to be the adults, you're supposed to be the parents. But you're so wrapped up in hating each other, competing against each other that you don't see what effect it's having on your kids.”

“That will be quite enough, Ms. Underwood,” Mr. Allan said.

“No, let her finish,” said Ms. McLeod. “What do you mean, dear?”

Florence took a breath, feeling the blood in her cheeks. “I mean that your daughter still wets the bed, that your youngest son is so afraid of anyone disliking him or starting a fight that he placates everyone around him, and your oldest son is feeling so lost and alone that he broke his arm trying to run away.”

“You think that's all a reaction to the divorce?” Ms. McLeod asked, leaning against the doorframe.

Florence nodded. “Of course it is. They see you guys fighting, they feel the competition between you. And they've had their whole safe world taken away from them. Everything they knew and depended on. Including, if I might say, their old nanny. They're hurting, and the two of you don't seem able to see that you're not helping them.”

“Ms. Underwood,” Mr. Allan began.

“No, Colby,” said Ms. McLeod. “Listen to her. She's an expert. From everything you said she's immensely qualified to look after our kids, and she's trying to tell us something that perhaps we need to hear. You hired her, now listen to what she has to say.” She turned back to Florence. “So what do we need to do?”

“No fighting in front of the children, no bad-mouthing each other, as far as possible you should be polite to each other in their presence. You decide between the two of you how the children will be taken care of, where and when, and then stick to your decisions, do not involve the children in your arguments. And above all, you need to give them some consistency, a routine, something to depend on.”

“God that sounds awful,” Ms. McLeod said. Florence scowled at her. “But, of course, we can always try it,” she added.

Mr. Allan rolled his eyes. “For God's sake, Maeve. They both lied, they both say they lost money, though we've got no idea whether they truly did lose it or if they took it.”

“Colby...”

“Our children didn't go to day camps, didn't go to museums, they did nothing all summer,” Mr. Allan continued.

“And it was the best summer ever,” said Charlie, bouncing down the stairs. “Can we do it again next summer, dad? Please?”

“Yes!” squealed Emily, following Charlie down the stairs.

“Darlings,” Mr. Allan began, but he was interrupted.

“Where are you going?” Henry was standing at the top of the stairs, arm strapped across his chest, glaring at Florence's suitcases.

“Darling, Ms. Underwood has to leave us,” Mr. Allan started.

“No,” Henry said simply. He trotted down the stairs. “I don't want her to. I say no.”

“Henry,” said his father.

“I. Said. No.”