Isaac always said he wasn't good with kids, even less so with babies. Then this job with the Blocks came along.

Some people, mainly his father, complained Isaac lacked direction, despite a strong set of natural skills. He had a soothing way of talking to people – everyone from cashiers to someone in front of him on line at the bank to Westchester's less fortunate on the street felt compelled to tell their stories past polite greetings. So he majored in psychology in undergrad, thinking being a therapist would be a cinch… only to find memorizing all that different diagnostic information impossible (Not that he had a bad memory. Maps? Sure. Words? Not so much.) No matter. Now that he knew people, he decided, how about business school? Great… until he found he didn't have a competitive bone in his body (a lack of team sports in favor of chess club and playing the oboe in band back in high school should have told him that). Two years of barely passing business classes later, his parents cut him off. No more school. No more rent money. He was in his thirties and it was time for a job.

What the hell was he gonna do?

This he asked himself as Westchester's premiere radio station for hits from the seventies onward played. He always took long drives in his mom's old gray Honda sedan when he needed to figure out what to do. It was a smooth drive, that car, and always put him at ease. Not that he minded his dad's car, either. He didn't mind any cars, really, not even the clunker he drove in high school, no matter how sorely out of place it was the sparkling SUVs that surrounded him in that town.

It was intensely soothing to be driving in circles around the McMansions located near the Mamaroneck Metro-North station, but he had to admit, it wasn't giving him any ideas. He would probably do better going home and highlighting the newspaper's job listings. So he decided to make one last circle, in the deepest part of the neighborhood, the behemoth of a stone manor at the top of the circle. It was gated and had a For Sale sign in front of it for two years straight – until that day.

"Huh!" he said out loud to himself in the car. A U-Haul Isaac had been distantly following for a few minutes, looking small in comparison to the estate it was driving toward, was parked in front of the gate. A man's hand was reaching out towards the numerical keypad, his arm extended as much as he could, since he wasn't able to really park the truck that close to the pad – his fingers stretched mightly to hit the numbers. He hit a combo, and it beeped so shrilly, Isaac could hear it from his car. The gate did not open. The stretched hand hit another combo. Nothing.

The guy threw open the door to the U-Haul and marched up to the pad, looking around it, probably for another possible indicator of a way to get in, or maybe a weak spot to bash in. His head was freshly shaved, and Isaac recognized his now-rumpled button-down as designer in some way (Isaac wasn't one to recognize designers by name just yet, but he had leafed through his fair share of Esquires).

The guy just looked so frustrated it was almost pathetic, and Isaac felt sorry for him. Still from a safe distance in his car, he called out, "Welcome to the neighborhood."

The guy looked over at Isaac and gave him one of the longest, most appraising looks Isaac had ever felt. He was familiar with it in Westchester. But unlike the usual reaction (often a cold "Can I help you?", or worse, stony silence), this guy came away with, "I don't feel very welcome yet."

"You just buy that place?"

"Yes, and I'm starting to think I bit off more than I can chew."

"I'm sure it'll work out. You rent that U-Haul yourself?"

"Is it that obvious I've never driven one before- Oh for…" on his most recent attempt at a combination, the keypad beeped three times and lit up red. "Great. I can expect the cops any second now. Here to arrest me for the crime of forgetting the combination I apparently need to get into my own house." He wandered a few steps closer to Isaac's car, rubbing his head. "You know the dumbest thing? I picked the new combo myself when I signed the papers. Of course I picked something with no significance, like an idiot."

"Not a kid's birthday, I'm assuming."

"Not for another three months," and now the frustration was fading from the stranger's face. "The exact date is anyone's guess. Wife's on bed rest now. Our girl's not even here yet, and she's already keeping us on our toes."

Something about this overshare was intensely charming to Isaac. He wished he was actual neighbors with this guy, and not just riding through the neighborhood to ogle wealth. "Congratulations."

"Thanks. I'm William, by the way."

"Isaac."

"Isaac, you know the area well?"

"I do my best."

"I'll be looking for some people to start work soon. We want to do a little remodeling, probably work on the guesthouse that's back there ASAP. Probably a nanny, if my wife has anything to say about it. Got any people you can recommend?"

"I'll ask around."

"Amazing," he said, handing Isaac a business card, cut so cleanly he wondered if he could use it to floss his teeth. "Don't hesitate. Call anytime."

As he walked back toward the gate's keypad, Isaac had a strange feeling, one he never really felt before. It couldn't really be described in one word or emotion. It was more like an urge, as this William walked away, that Isaac should be following him. He threw open the car door. "Hey, William!"

"Yeah?" he didn't look up from where he was at the keypad, typing in one more combo with the slow care of a surgeon (and the worried brow to boot).

"You need someone to drive that U-Haul back for you?"

Just as William turned back to Isaac, the gate creaked open.

All privileges considered, Kendra was a pretty impressive lady.

When she called Isaac to report the time she would be downstairs to be driven wherever – doctor's appointment, non-profit board meeting, aesthetician – she would give a strangely exact time. Seventeen minutes, forty-six minutes, thirty seconds. And every time, there she was, accurate about her arrival time down to the second. Every time, her outfit was perfectly coordinated, the perfect touch of perfume following her steps, her hair in frizz-free coif. Isaac practically spent more time driving Kendra around than William (she would always call with her window of time as soon as he was done pulling up from dropping off William at work), and he wondered how this woman had so many things to do after only ten months in Westchester, two-and-a-half of which were spent pregnant, on bedrest. Those were a fraught two-and-a-half months; in his commutes to work, William asked Isaac at least half a dozen times if he knew anyone whose children had been premature. The worrying was for not, as along came Massie (just before her due date) a bright-eyed baby who didn't cry much... but when she did, it was the loudest wail Isaac ever heard.

On this particular autumn day, Kendra was off. When William pulled into the driveway at 10:02a.m., Kendra called: "Good morning, Isaac. I'll be down in twenty-one minutes." And then she hung up. To some it would seem almost impolitely clipped, but Isaac was already used to it. That's just how young Westchester mothers were.

But twenty-one minutes passed, and to Isaac's shock, Kendra wasn't there.

Twenty-three minutes passed and he considered going inside, ready to perform first aid.

At twenty-five minutes, he was walking up to the massive front door of the Block Estate, wondering what terrible accident he might see, not knowing exactly what it might look like, since he couldn't imagine what force would make Kendra Block late.

But just as he reached for the handle, Kendra appeared, out of breath, car seat in one manicured hand, Louis Vuitton diaper bag in the crook of her arm, baby Massie held firmly in her other arm. "Oh, good. You're waiting here. Could you carry the car seat?" She handed it to him without waiting for a 'yes' and followed closely behind him to the car. "Massie's nanny just called and cancelled. Of course, today is the day I'm meeting the director of Westchester Parks and Recreation to talk about how there isn't a single safe and engaging item for kids under four at that park at the top of Main Street." As she spoke, she reached over Isaac and secured Massie's car seat in the back of the Mercedes sedan, with a skill level that surprised Isaac – it was kind of amusing to see her perfect hands and shiny fingernails clip in every inch of the contraption with ease. "This Cynthia woman could not be more unreliable if she tried. Little does she know I'm interviewing a lovely woman named Inez on Friday. Let's hope she works out for more than a week. That's all I'm asking for at this point. A dependable live-in worker for more than seven days at a time." She now addressed Massie – "The things I do for you!" but it was said with all joy, not a hint of genuine frustration. Still, Isaac didn't need to see Massie to know she was not giggling. He had never known a baby to smile less than Massie, especially when he was around, as if she was appraising his every move.

"We're going to city hall, if I didn't mention that," Kendra said. And then they were off.

When she wasn't acknowledging something Massie was babbling about, she was looking at the Westchester Magazine of the month. When Isaac drove Kendra around, as soon as she whipped out whatever glossy it was for the day, he knew conversation was over. He tried not to mind it too much, although it was so starkly different from William, who asked Isaac about his parents almost daily and complained so freely about his job, Isaac wondered if he could tack on an extra fee as a consultant or guidance counselor.

It was only about a twenty-minute or so drive toward the city hall, and he had spent roughly fifteen minutes of it trying to let his mind wander, instead of thinking about how the hell he could possibly get this woman to talk with him more like a person, and less like a worker. Every time he went down that train of thought, he reminded himself that there was no reason to think like that, it would only breed resentment, and that was just how his life was in Westchester for the time being. But the thoughts were insistent. Why wouldn't she just ask him one question about himself? And why wouldn't even her baby smile at him?

Stop! He told himself. She's just a baby. It's not her fault. She's trying to understand how the world works.

He looked up at the rearview mirror, kind of wishing he could see the baby from that angle. He wondered if Massie didn't smile for her mother in the same way she didn't smile for him.

He looked at Kendra in the mirror. If she was perturbed by a lack of baby approval, she didn't show it. Isaac couldn't help himself – he thought,

What would her hair look like with even one strand out of place?

Each intersection, each stop sign, when he brought the car to a slow halt, Kendra didn't flinch, eyes flitting between the magazine and her Blackberry. Isaac wasn't willing to sacrifice his impeccable reputation for smooth driving just to see her hair out of place.

Or was he?

One brake, one time. He'll say there was a squirrel.

He tapped the brakes. Well, more than tapped.

Kendra's Blackberry dropped, and she let out a chirp like a bird. Isaac barely held back a snort. If he could record that chirp, he'd play it all day.

But that wasn't the best part. When she chirped, Massie started laughing in her car seat. A high-pitched giggle, not wavering or stuttering in the slightest. She was sure laughing was the right thing to do.

"Sorry, ma'am," Isaac said, clearing his throat to cover his own laughter (but he was failing as Massie's only grew louder). "Squirrel."

"Well," Kendra said, unable to resist a smile towards her daughter. "I'll let it go if it keeps my daughter entertained. Just, um, maybe warn me next time."

"Of course," he said, even though he knew that was impossible. He couldn't think of anything else to say. Only that if he could record the baby's laugh, he'd play it all year.

Isaac tried not laugh as Massie bounded out of her house so fast that she dropped her riding crop, and in her excitement, fumbled it twice as bent to pick it up. Unaffected, once she had it in her nine-year-old hands, she continued her mad dash to the Blocks' new Range Rover. She stopped short just in front of Isaac and held her arms out. "How do I look?!"

"Ready to ride!" and he meant it. He didn't even know they made riding boots and matching helmets that small. "Hop in and let's head to Galwaugh."

He didn't need to tell her twice. She didn't wait for him to open the door to the backseat, jumping in the back with extreme force, stopping her excited twitching only to buckle her seatbelt and adjust her helmet.

As they started down the driveway, her excited chatter began. "Isaac, Isaac – did my daddy tell you? That the horse I'm going to ride today is mine? All mine? No one else's? It was for Christmas."

"Wow, all yours?" Of course, William had mentioned it, but he wanted to hear Massie's side of the story. "You don't even have to let someone else borrow her?"

"No, well, I mean, he said sometimes people who work at the farm are going to take her out so she can get exercise. But that's it. They won't ride her for fun, for themselves, or whatever. They can't take her out for lessons without me he said."

"That's so exciting!"

"Yeah, I know!" Her smile faded just a tad as she looked at the window. Isaac thought maybe she was getting distracted by the trees, as they headed closer and closer towards the area of town with more space and greenery (personally, his favorite part of town), but then he noticed she was adjusting the way her hair looked coming out of the helmet. "Hey Isaac?"

"Yeah Mass?"

"You sure I look okay?"

"Of course I'm sure," He felt some sort of pang in his torso for her. He had noticed lately that she had been asking him and her parents how she looked more and more often. She asked someone nearly every time she was in the car. She never used to – he remembered a time when it never seemed to cross her mind, at least not in front of him, but now he couldn't remember when it started. "Why wouldn't you?"

"I don't know. I thought maybe this outfit looked kinda dumb."

Uh-oh. He sensed he should get out of this conversation as soon as possible. Discussions about appearance sounded like something that her parents should really take care of. Still, he didn't want her to think he was just blowing it off. Or worse, that she indeed did not look okay. "I don't think it looks dumb."

"You promise?"

"I promise."

She still didn't look satisfied, pulling on her wavy brown hair, finally unclipping her helmet to get fully into fixing it. Isaac wanted to stay focused on the road – he wasn't quite used to driving to Galwaugh Farms, and it was pleasantly secluded enough that the front entrance could be missed. Still, he looked up into the rearview mirror once a minute or so to check on Massie. Every time he looked, she was still fixing her hair, patting it with an intensity he hadn't seen until then.

He sighed. Maybe it wasn't his place, but he just didn't feel right sending a little girl out of the car so worried about her appearance. "You know, Massie, maybe how you look isn't all that important."

She looked up at him in the mirror, little eyebrows crinkled. "Huh?"

Huh? could mean a million things. He silently cursed himself for trying to broach such a sensitive topic. Now he needed to go on, but he didn't even know what she wanted him to go on about. Oh well, he had gotten that far. No point in stopping the conversation at that point. "I think maybe… how you look doesn't matter so much, when you think about it."

As they pulled into the farm and went up the tree-lined winding road to the stables, Massie kept her eyes on the window. "Then… what does matter so much?"

Oh shit. This is why I'm never having kids. This had gotten very difficult very quickly. He cleared his throat. "Well, that's a good question. I think it's different for everyone. You know, like, maybe how you think you look isn't the same as how other people think you look."

"So how other people think how I look is what matters so much?"

Oh shit oh shit oh shit oh sh "No. That's definitely not it. Um. You know what? I'll tell you when I pick you up. Okay?"

"Okay," she said.

No, not okay, obviously. His mind was playing an endless series of images on how he might be messing up Massie for life with this one conversation. He slowed the car nearly to a stop as they crept up the road, but when they reached the farm, it was too late. Massie, eyebrows still furrowed, deep in thought, put her helmet back on with great hesitance. She hadn't been fidgeting with excitement for at least ten minutes. Now she moved with care, opening the door like it was going to bite her, and closing it with a quiet click. She turned toward the farm, holding her riding crop tightly at her side like she was trying to hide it against her child-sized jodhpurs. Just before she started to walk away, and before he even knew what he was going to say next, Isaac leaned out the window and called, "Hey, Massie."

She looked back at him over her shoulder, pulling on a strand of hair.

"I think what matters most is not how you look. It's how you feel."

Massie turned all the way around to face him, letting go of her hair. Isaac could have patted himself on the back if his hands weren't still on the steering wheel – good, he hadn't messed it up, maybe he was cut out to raise kids after all,

Until she said,

"But I think I only feel good if I look good."

Every bit of praise drained from his body, and he was almost alarmed at how quickly it filled up with worry. Since when did nine year olds worry that much about their appearance? Since when did they know how judgmental the world could be? His brain searched for the reason why, not finding any clear explanations, just another series of images, most of them just repeated visions of Kendra's fresh manicures and William's tailored suits.

Before he could move past the images and questions and think of another thing to say to her, she was already walking up to the stables, a bit of energy returning to her step as the horses came closer into her view. Isaac realized right then that if anything was going to save the confidence of a little girl in Westchester, it certainly wasn't going to be him. Not like this was a huge disappointment or surprise – he had a feeling he wasn't a family man, and this moment just cemented it. As Massie disappeared from his view, he hoped she didn't remember his promise to talk about it again later, because he vowed right then and there to leave raising children to their parents. No matter how much they focused on appearance.