by Ford, Mia
“That’s your worry?” Jason asks incredulously. “Look, sir, some people are naturally good with kids.”
“She knows exactly what she’s doing,” I say, glaring at him. “She’s fumbled once, on the very first day, and that was only because I didn’t give her certain information because I needed her! Since then, she’s read Alicia like a book, disciplined her effectively and even gotten her to spend time with her. Yet all the professional, highly experienced nannies I hired before her couldn’t do the same? How can Zoe do something that a professional nanny couldn’t?”
“Maybe that’s the difference,” Jason points out. “All the other nannies approached this professionally, like it’s a job. They probably treated it like a job, too, and Alicia ran rings around them as a result. Since Zoe isn’t a professional, she’s probably treating this in the way she should be; as someone who is there to look after Alicia and teach her if possible. Maybe instead of professionally, she’s treating this job personally?”
I furrow my brow, thinking about this. After watching Zoe and Alicia interact that Saturday, I had come to the same conclusion. Zoe didn’t treat Alicia with the same distant, professionalism that most of the other nannies used. Instead, she treated Alicia like a child who needed to be scolded when she did something wrong, and rewarded when she did something right. She spoke gently but firmly to Alicia, and made her expectations of Alicia’s behavior clear.
“It’s still too good to be true,” I decide. “According to Zoe, her only experience with children is looking after her own siblings. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Just ask Zoe if it’s concerning you,” Jason says, rolling his eyes and turning away, making it clear that he thinks I’m being ridiculous. “This doesn’t have to be some big, mysterious espionage drama, you know. If you think she’s lied to you, then just ask her straight up and get it out of the way.”
I frown as he leaves. I know that Jason’s logic is the most sensible course of action. If I ask Zoe about it, she’ll likely tell me the answer. But if she’s lied to me, will she admit it so readily?
In a distant corner of my mind, it occurs to me that there’s part of me that’s trying to find something wrong with Zoe. I need her, so I don’t want her to leave, but it seems strange that she could be so perfect when I’ve spent so long searching for someone that could at least keep Alicia in line for a few hours a day.
Maybe, if I discover what’s wrong with Zoe, these damn feelings that crop up every time I see her will finally go away.
Alright, asking Zoe is out of the question; I can’t take the chance that I will overlook anything awful she tells me just because she’s looking at me with her beautiful eyes. But how do I go about discovering the truth? I haven’t had much time to speak to her one-on-one, since I’m always working and it’s late when I return home, but I do know some things, at this point.
For example, Zoe grew up in Minnesota with her parents and her siblings. She only left five years ago, when she came to Boston, leaving her family behind, because she hoped different scenery would help her grow as an artist. She went to Boston College and did a major in art. She loves animals. Her best friend is a woman named Katherine, who she has known since they went to college together. She loves gardening.
No large secrets, of course, but I know enough, now, to track her down.
I pick up the phone. I need to get to the bottom of this mystery. Part of me feels a little guilty, as though I’m doing something I shouldn’t be doing.
But Alicia’s safety comes first. I need to know about the woman that I employ to look after my daughter, and I need to know why she’s lied to me, for whatever reason.
If a tiny voice in the back of my mind whispers that I’m doing this less because I need to know and more because I want to know…then I ignore it as I dial a number.
* * *
Tracking Zoe Jones is not as easy a task as I thought it would be. Knowing that she grew up and went to school in Minnesota was a start, but it didn’t give me the advantage that I thought it would. There are a large number of schools, both public and private, in Minnesota, it seems.
Tracking her at Boston College was a little easier, but it didn’t lead me anywhere, in the end. There are two Zoe Jones who have graduated with an art degree at Boston College in the last five years, and I have no way of knowing which Zoe I want.
I wrack my mind, trying to think of any other piece of information that Zoe gave me that could help. But there’s nothing.
With a sigh, I put down the phone and glumly click around the school website. I phoned four schools before I realized just what a large job it was, and how foolish I was to think that it would be easy to find Zoe. How long ago has it been since she graduated school, anyway? I try to remember the birth date on her resume. It must have been at least ten years ago. Who would remember Zoe Jones after all that time?
Then a picture catches my attention.
I am clicking around a website for one of the larger public schools in the area; my internet searches, so far, have proved just as useless as the phone search, though I had quickly scanned several websites by this point.
The page I have brought up is some sort of “Hall of Fame”, designed to talk about the achievements, past and present, of the students at the school in the hopes of convincing parents to send their children there. I don’t remember clicking on the link; by this point, I’m just mindlessly traveling around the website, more than ready to give up and admit that Jason was right.
But there is a picture on this page, and I sit up straight, my eyes wide. The picture is quite old, of a young girl holding up a certificate. She’s at least ten years younger, but I recognize Zoe’s smile.
“Huh,” I say, reading the caption underneath the picture.
Zoe Jones (senior) receives a commendation for her art project, which she entered in the 2010 James and Audrey Foster Prize competition
It’s funny; Zoe has told me, on numerous occasions, that she’s an artist. I can see the evidence of that around my house. Her sketches are skillful, and I remember thinking, just the other day, that the way she uses color in paints is extraordinary.
Yet, it isn’t until right at this moment, as I look at a young Zoe who has entered one of the largest art competitions in Boston, and received a commendation for having done so, that it strikes me that Zoe is actually serious about calling herself an artist. I stare for long seconds, and then shake myself, as I suddenly realize something else; I have found the school that Zoe attended.
Now…to make some more inquiries.
* * *
Later that night, I make my way home, my head spinning as I think about what I learned. Despite my earlier thoughts, the school did remember Zoe, and had fully supported her entry into an art degree at Boston College, proud as they were of an up-and-coming artist at their school.
They also remembered her family, and I was able to track them down from the information the school gave me.
Slowly, I open the front door. I can hear movement in the living room, where Zoe is no doubt waiting for me. I pause in the hallway, though, suddenly not wanting to face her; I have invaded her privacy and learned her secrets, all because I couldn’t handle not knowing.
In the end, I feel foolish, because I didn’t discover anything horrendous. I didn’t even discover a lie. Instead, I find out that I just didn’t ask the right questions.
Zoe doesn’t have any official childcare experience. But that doesn’t matter, because she has four younger siblings, with the oldest of them being twelve years younger than her.
It turns out that Zoe’s mother had been a teenage mother; she had made a mistake in her youth, which had led to her having a child alone. Zoe’s father’s name isn’t even on the birth certificate.
Nearly ten years after Zoe was born, her mother remarried, and the couple began having children of their own. Zoe had just turned twelve when she suddenly received a younger sibling. The next child was born when she was fifteen, the next o
ne when she was seventeen, and the youngest child was born when she was eighteen. Between the ages of twelve and eighteen, she played big sister and babysitter for her younger siblings, and the school, in particular, fondly remembered the amount of times Zoe would rush in at the last second, having taken her siblings to school first because her mother and step-father were working.
So, no, Zoe didn’t have any professional experience with children. But she has a hell of a lot of personal experience, it seems. In her interview, she had told me this, but I had dismissed it, unsure how having family experience with babysitting her siblings could possibly lead to her being a good nanny for my daughter.
I’ve certainly been shown how wrong I was about that.
I nudge open the living room door. Zoe is sitting on the couch, watching a cartoon of some sort. I take a moment to watch her without her knowledge.
Part of me had hoped to find something that I could use to convince myself that Zoe isn’t so great, anyway. Instead, my respect for her is shooting upwards, and it’s harder than ever to convince myself that she’s anything less than perfect.
But I have to. Because…
“Seth?”
I start at the sound of her voice. She’s turned around and seen me, and she looks confused at my quiet entry.
“Hi, Zoe,” I say with a weak smile.
“Is everything okay?” Zoe asks, standing.
“No, it’s fine,” I say with a dismissive wave of my hand. “I was really busy today, so I’m pretty tired.”
“That’s fine,” Zoe says. The sight of her warm smile makes heat pool in my stomach, and I curse myself. “There’s dinner for you if you want to eat.”
“That sounds great,” I say. “What did you guys make?”
“Alicia got to pick the dish,” Zoe says, grinning. “So, of course, we made…”
“Mac and cheese,” I finish with a groan. “Of course. She would live off that if I let her.”
“She was really good today, so I figured I would reward her,” Zoe says. She winks at me, and I have to look away. “We need to encourage this good behavior, right?”
Personally, I’m starting to think that Zoe’s presence is all the encouragement Alicia needs to behave well, because, suddenly, she’s found a nanny she doesn’t want to lose. I don’t say this, however, and just nod.
“She’s already improved so much in a short space of time,” I say to her.
“I’m not sure remembering her manners is classed as an ‘improvement’,” Zoe says wryly. She perks up. “We did do some letters today, though; she’s very excited to show you how she can write her name.”
I smile, imagining how pleased Alicia must be. I have spent some time with her, doing letters and numbers, but I only have a single day of the week to do that with her. One of my requirements of the nannies has been that they will educate my daughter and teach her what she needs to know before she attends school, but that, so far, has been impossible with her refusing to listen to any of them.
“That’s wonderful,” I say.
Zoe smiles as we enter the kitchen, and makes her way to a small pot on the kitchen. I can smell the cheese as she takes the lid off. It makes my stomach rumble.
“Smells good,” I comment.
She laughs as I come up behind her, and reaches for a plate that she has left on the counter for me. As she does so, her shirt rides up a little.
My mouth goes dry, because I’m unprepared for the smooth, exposed skin of her back. My fingers twitch, aching to touch, as she bends over a little, and it’s hard to not notice, suddenly, the way her pants cling to her legs.
Then reason hits me, and I clear my throat loudly, making her jump, as I take several, hurried steps backward.
“Sorry,” I say, embarrassed.
I’m not quick enough to remove my gaze, though; she seems to notice the direction my eyes are looking, and I’m mortified. She’s a nanny under my employment, and the last thing I need is to be accused of harassment.
On the other hand, she doesn’t seem to mind. A slow smile, one that makes my breath catch, forms on her lips, and then she winks at me.
“It’s fine,” she says.
Very carefully, I put the table between us and smile weakly at her. It’s bad enough that I’m having trouble staying away from Zoe. The last thing I need is for my mind to tell me that she’s interested, too.
It’s a bad idea, I forcefully remind myself. Think of Alicia.
I just need to remember all the reasons that it would be a bad idea to sleep with Zoe. Zoe is amazing. I can’t afford to lose her as my nanny if things go bad.
If only I could convince my body of this.
Chapter Ten
Zoe
I wave Seth off as he hurries out the door, smiling at his retreating back as I remember the night before. He hasn’t treated me any differently this morning, but it’s difficult not to remember how his eyes had lingered on me, and how he had shoved his hands in his pockets as though to remind himself that touching is bad.
Nothing happened, of course. I was starting to wonder if anything would happen. But it’s little moments like that which give me some hope that he has some interest in me.
“Zoe?”
I look up the stairs. Alicia is yawning as she comes down them, still in her pajamas. Seth apologized on his way out, explaining that he couldn’t get Alicia up and, as such, she hasn’t had breakfast.
I’m not worried. Alicia and I had spent several hours running around the yard, chasing one another, so it isn’t a surprise that she’s exhausted today. Maybe, if I’m lucky, that means we’ll have a quiet day today; my legs are still aching from yesterday’s activities. It’s been so long that I’ve forgotten just how much energy children have.
“Morning, Alicia,” I say with a smile.
“Where’s Daddy?” Alicia asks, clutching her doll.
“Sorry, Alicia, he had to go to work,” I say, putting my hand on her head gently. “He said you were pretty sleepy this morning. Do you remember him coming in to say ‘bye’?”
Alicia thinks for a moment and then yawns. She still looks tired, which is likely why she isn’t overly upset not to see much of her father this morning. She and I are getting along a lot better than we did last week, but I don’t think for a moment that all her issues regarding how little she sees Seth are gone completely.
“Breakfast?” I ask, holding out my hand.
Alicia’s stomach rumbles and she takes my hand, allowing me to lead her to the kitchen and sit her at the table. I throw some pieces of bread in the toaster.
“What would you like to do today?” I ask Alicia.
“Painting!” Alicia says, sitting up straighter. “Can we, Zoe?”
“Of course,” I say. “I left some paints here the other day, so we can use those again.”
“Can we use the big board?” Alicia asks hopefully.
It takes me a moment to realize what she’s asking for. I haven’t brought around a canvas since that first day, but Alicia has remembered us drawing on it together.
“I don’t have one today,” I apologize. “I need to buy some more.”
“We’ll go to the store,” Alicia decides. Then she pauses. “Please?”
I laugh and ruffle her hair, pleased. One week ago, she simply demanded everything. She’s still demanding, but it’s progress that she managed to tag a “please” on the end.
“I think that will be okay,” I say, and she grins at me. “Are you happy to walk there?”
“Where’s your car?” Alicia asks with a frown.
“I, uh… don’t own one,” I say sheepishly.
Alicia’s frown deepens.
“Can you drive?” she presses.
“Yes, definitely,” I assure her. “But cars are a bit expensive and I can’t afford one.”
Alicia looks a little lost at this concept. This amuses me; this little girl has so much money, and has everything provided for her, that she simply couldn’t comprehend not havi
ng something I want because it costs too much.
“It’s fine, I don’t need a car,” I smile. “Everything is really close, so I can just walk. I don’t even need to drive here because I live right next door!”
Zoe giggles at this.
“Can we visit your house some time?” she asks. “Please?”
“We can arrange that,” I say.
I imagine bringing Seth back to my house. Then I force the thought away, not wanting to get caught up in a fantasy while I’m looking after Alicia.
“Let’s have breakfast and get you dressed, then we’ll go down to the store to buy a canvas,” I decide.
Lighting up at the prospect, Alicia eats her breakfast quickly; crumbs going everywhere and ripped-up crusts dropping to the plate. As soon as I nod that she’s done, she jumps off her chair and races out of the room, thundering up the stairs seconds later.
Chuckling, I leave the mess behind, resolving to clean it up later, and follow her up the stairs. When I enter her room, I withhold a laugh as I see her struggling to tug a pretty, purple dress over her head the right way.
“Hold on, Alicia, I’ll help,” I say.
Together, the two of us manage to get the dress on properly, and then we hunt down a pair of white shoes that Alicia absolutely won’t leave the house without. When we find them, the little girl grabs a tiny, cat-shaped purse and slings it over her shoulder.
“I’m ready to go, now,” she says importantly, like she’s royalty.
“Very good,” I say with a grin. “Let me just get my bag and shoes, and we’ll go.”
My bag and shoes are still in the hallway, where I left them. As soon as I have them on, Alicia throws open the front door, almost bouncing in her excitement.
“Do you get to go shopping much?” I ask as we walk down the garden path, Alicia’s hand sliding into mine.
“No,” Alicia says with a shrug, as though this is unimportant. “Daddy and I stay home a lot. Then I stay home with the nannies.”
