Today she gives them a closemouthed smile and rolls up the sleeve of her cardigan, waiting a moment, holding her breath, before quickly pulling it down again. It’s a wide, heavy ten seconds before Aine approaches her, closing the gap between her and the rest of the pickup crowd, putting one black boot next to Annie’s brown one. Around them are self-portraits drawn in crayon. A construction paper menorah and a Christmas tree tacked on the painted brick walls. One of the menorah’s paper bulbs hangs lopsided, ready to be replaced with another decoration, ready for this season to pass.

“The boss do that to you again?” Annie looks over at Aine and quickly flits her eyes to the ground. She knows silence can be better than words, that it can fill people up with just the right amount of presumptions. A pregnant pause can imply anything.

“You really need to tell someone about that, you know. I can help you. We all can.” A few of the other nannies, a couple of stay-at-home moms, have shifted over.

“We have rights, you know, even if we’re not unionized. Here, give me a call next time you need anything.” Aine grabs a notebook from her bag and writes her number on it, then hands it to Annie. Murmurs from the other women, the news being passed down the hall, mouths to ears.

“I knew my instincts were right about that woman,” Annie hears from the mom who called Mrs. Keller cold. She’s speaking so audibly that Annie wonders if this is a boast, a way of exhibiting her keen judgment. Perhaps it makes her seem like a better woman. A better mother.

Another woman approaches, one Annie recognizes from the birthday party. Plump, with a bad haircut, her gray roots showing, a large mole jutting from a fleshy chin. She guides Annie to a corner.

“My husband is a lawyer. If things worsen with her, just let me know and I’ll get him involved. Just know that we’re all here for you. And that what she’s doing to you isn’t okay.” She hands Annie a business card. Mr. Bradford Loomis, Esq. Annie nods and cups it, slipping it into her pocket. The woman squeezes her shoulder and looks her in the eye before trudging back to the group.

And then there’s the noise of the classroom door squeaking open and the onslaught of children rushing out. Suzy is one of the last, carrying a drawing of an orange blob, black lines spreading in thirty-degree angles along one end of the orange squiggles.

Suzy hugs Annie and starts chattering about her day as Annie zips up her jacket, inserts her hands into warm mittens, tugs her hat around her head.

It’s started snowing outside, gentle flakes that dissolve instantly when they hit the ground. Suzy holds her tongue out.