She ducked behind the counter and reappeared with a handful of candy bars and suckers.

“Here,” she said. “They’re for Alleke.”

I left the bread shop with two baguettes under my arm and pushed Alleke down the street, still trying to find the logic for why Alleke should get presents on my birthday.

Erica wasn’t a babysitter. She wasn’t a close friend either. She was the woman who worked at the bread shop and played with Alleke when we came in to buy bread. She had asked if she could take Alleke for a walk on Sunday, and I had said yes.

It wasn’t until Sunday when we were standing there in the street, and I lifted Alleke into Erica’s arms, and Alleke turned and reached for me, that I realized Alleke didn’t know this woman, and neither did I.

Erica was, as April had warned me, a stranger.

I stood there and watched as Erica carried my daughter down the street and turned the corner out of sight. I walked across the street to our friends’ house where there was a Christmas party, and I sat on their couch and didn’t say a word.

I had gone skiing in the Alps once with a group of fifteen, and by the afternoon I found myself alone with the only expert skier in the group. She skied most weekends, but avoided ski resorts altogether because they didn’t challenge her anymore. She would find a mountain she didn’t know, hike to the top with her skis on her back, and ski down in virgin snow.

She was bored, of course, skiing with me, and resisted until late afternoon to ask if I would be willing to hop over the snow fence and ski down the backside of the mountain, out of bounds, in virgin snow–just once.

I thought about it, and said yes, because I wanted to be the kind of person that could say I had skied down the backside of a mountain in virgin snow in the Swiss Alps.

What I didn’t realize was I actually had to do it first.

me falling down the mountain

I spent the afternoon falling down the mountain, and I learned that virgin snow is like one giant bubble bath where you can’t see what’s under all those bubbles, including rocks, even boulders, caverns, and drop-offs. It was wasn’t until we reached the bottom that she bothered to explain what to do in case of an avalanche.

It was dangerous, and I was unprepared, and while it might be impressive to mention at dinner parties that I have skied down the backside of a mountain in virgin snow in the Swiss Alps, I would be embarrassed to admit as much, and more importantly, I am convinced it was not worth the risk. It wasn’t fun either.

When I told Erica she could take Alleke for a walk, I got ahead of myself. I was thinking about what would happen after everything went well and about how I would to be the kind of person who could say we had friends in the neighborhood and trusted them with our kids. I pictured my family walking into the bread shop where Erica works and everyone knowing our names.

What I didn’t realize was I actually had to leave Alleke with a stranger first before any of this could happen. I sat there on the couch, glaring at the clock, and thinking about all the things I didn’t know about Erica, and all the things she might not know about herself, especially when it came to caring for children.

Erica called an hour later. She must have known I was sitting there on the couch because she said she was calling to let me know that Alleke was doing fine and hadn’t cried yet. They were kicking a ball around in the plaza just down the street, and they had taken some cute photos together that she would show me when I picked Alleke up.

I felt much better, like someone coming out of their house after a hurricane to find that the shutters were still on the windows. The howling winds of worry had quieted, and I was left with the simple realization that I was an irresponsible parent.

Alleke is her own person, but at her age, she depends on me to protect her and keep her safe. It’s one thing for me to take a risk, knowing there may be consequences, but hoping for the best. It’s another thing to put Alleke at risk when she doesn’t know better. She doesn’t know strangers can be strange. She doesn’t know what I know, which is that if something terrible happens to her, she would have to live with the consequences, not me.

Here’s more stories from our friends at the bread shop.

This morning I ran into Erica on the street. She was dressed in her normal clothes, not her uniform from the bread shop.

“I just got off work,” she said, anticipating my first question. “I’m just running home to get a quick bite to eat.”

She looked up the street.

“Do you live near here?”

“Just around the corner,” I said.

“How about you?”

“Two streets down.”

I nodded.

“Oh, by the way,” she said, as if remembering something important to tell me, “Your daughter is so beautiful.” She said this like it was a new revelation, and not something tells me from behind the cash register every time I go to buy bread.

We began to walk, and she grinned for a while, probably thinking about our little girl with pigtails roaming around the bread shop offering her half-eaten croissant to the customers.

“I would love to take your daughter for a walk sometime,” she said with a sigh, still daydreaming.

I smiled.

“Okay,” I said.

She stopped and looked at me.

“Really?” she asked, concerned.

“Sure, you can take her for a walk,” I said. “She loves going for walks.”

She looked at me a while longer.

“Okay,” she said.

We decided on Sunday afternoon, and she took down my phone number.

“I’ll give you a call,” she said.

Then she thought for a moment.

“You should really ask your wife about this.”

I laughed and nodded.

“Okay, I’ll ask my wife.”

To find out if Erica actually babysits Alleke on Sunday, read the rest of the story…