Nanny Needed

by Georgina Cross

  What have I done?

  I suddenly want to run. Grab my things. Go straight to the police.

  I rush for the nearest corridor, the one that will take me to the front door and the elevator beyond. I won’t stop to say goodbye to Collette. I won’t explain myself to Pauline—I just need to go.

  But I hear someone behind me and I freeze.

  It’s Mr. Bird. He’s in the hallway, the two of us locking eyes.

  “Where are you going?” he asks simply.

  For whatever reason, I don’t answer, only backtrack, my feet slowly inching across the floor.

  He watches me carefully, his eyes intense, but then turning soft. “If you’re thinking about leaving, please don’t.” And he clasps his hands together, almost pleading. “Please don’t go. We really want you with us.”

  I look down, avoiding his gaze.

  “I know this is a difficult time for you…I can’t imagine. But you being here, it’s helping Collette so much, you must see that. You must know she’s thriving being able to care for you.” Our eyes meet again and a tremble of emotion fills the back of my throat. “You’re giving her purpose.”

  He pauses on the word purpose.

  I think about everything Freddie told me, the questions lingering between us. What he’s seen in this house and what he thinks is happening again. And what Mr. Bird is implying now, that by suffering in my own grief, I’m giving Collette something to focus on.

  “I have to leave at some point,” I tell Mr. Bird. “I can’t stay forever.”

  “No, of course not,” he says, his eyes flickering with an understanding that all but disappeared the last time we spoke. He’d been slamming his fists on a desktop and accusing me of allowing Collette to spin out of control in a toy store. “You’ll be strong again soon. You’ll be able to move on.”

  “But until then…?” I say.

  “It will be best if you stay here. It’s good for you, we can be here for you. And,” he adds, “Collette needs you too.”

  “And then I’m leaving,” I say firmly.

  He nods, a little slowly I notice, but at least it’s a yes. “Until Patty’s birthday,” he says. “She’ll want you here to enjoy the big day.”

  I nod, hoping every word of this is true. But then he adds, “Because if you leave too soon, she’ll fall apart.” He steps away. “And we won’t want you bearing that guilt for the rest of your life, now will we?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  Collette knows something is bothering me. I’ve barely spoken the last two days and have been hiding in my room until she tells me Patty is begging for me to come out and play.

  I cover my ears with my hands as Collette calls through the door. “Patty misses her sissy. Won’t you come out for one more game?”

  Collette is getting too dependent on me. The longer I stay here, the more she wants me to indulge in her fantasy of living and staying with Patty.

  I’m getting too dependent on her too.

  But I’m worried. Like Mr. Bird warned, what will happen to her if I leave early? And after I leave the birthday party, will they send her away?

  But she calls. She doesn’t give up. And the following morning, she knocks on my door. “I think it’s time we get you outdoors. All of us,” she says, smiling. She means Patty too.

  I don’t want to, but she practically pulls me from the bed, helping me brush the knots from my hair and telling me to change clothes. I slip on a pair of jeans and a blue blouse she places for me on the chair.

  Pauline stays behind in the apartment. It’s just Collette and myself. And Patty.

  She hands me a pair of sunglasses as soon as we step outside, and I’m grateful. The fresh air and bright sun hit me like a shock wave, but I must admit, it feels good to finally be leaving this place, this wretched apartment, even if it’s only for a short while.

  I haven’t been sleeping. After Jonathan died, I’d slept for hours. But now I lie awake, fearful, desperate to leave.

  I’ve been staring at the ceiling instead. Thinking about Jonathan. Missing our apartment and wanting to go back, to be surrounded by our things again, to clutch his pillow, which I’m hoping still has his smell.

  And yet, I haven’t left. I still need Collette. Every time I push her away, I find I’m falling back to her again.

  We’re walking and Collette is holding my hand. She’s not swinging it, thank goodness, but gripping it. After so many days kept inside, she knows this is a big outing for me. She directs us to Central Park and calls ahead for Patty to slow down, but never once does she let go of my hand.

  I don’t fight it, just keep walking. I hadn’t realized until now how much I needed a walk in the sun.

  “I was thinking about lunch today, the three of us,” Collette says. “There’s a beautiful place in the park, the Loeb Boathouse. Have you been?”

  I shake my head. I’ve seen it from a distance on summer walks through the park but never sat inside.

  “The restaurant is lovely too,” Collette says. “We love going there.” She gives me a hopeful look. “Do you think you could handle that today?”

  I nod, and she looks happier than she has in days.

  We walk to the boathouse slowly. It’s been a long time since I’ve stretched my legs and traveled farther than the Birds’ hallway.

  We stop several times to admire the flower beds filled with lavender and white pansies, and I miss walking the park with Jonathan. I want to be holding his hand, not hers. Collette means well, she wants to see me get better, but I’d rather feel the warmth of Jonathan’s fingers against mine, his hand moving to my lower back.

  I hate the idea I’ll never be able to walk with him again…see him again…

  The tears threaten to spill, but I swallow them back. I must keep walking. One foot in front of the other. I don’t want to lose it out here.

  Collette tugs my arm gently and insists we move to the other side of the path, which overlooks a grassy area. We watch a small girl chase her dog. Collette calls to Patty to run and play too and the other girl stops and stares, confused about whom Collette is speaking to. But before the girl can say anything, we’re off, and moving farther along the path.

  I’m exhausted, and when I see the boathouse, I feel relieved. It’s a beautiful place. The only venue set on a Manhattan lake with a stone, brick, and wood structure, and white-columned patio seating with views of the Central Park West skyline. Iconic rowboats float nearby. A gentle breeze rustles through the trees. It will be nice to sit down.

  I’d walked by this place a half dozen times with Jonathan, but we never made time to stop and eat here. Now I wish we had.

  The hostess leads us to a table outside, and as I’m admiring the rows of white tablecloths and glistening water beyond the balcony, something hits me. The strongest sensation of déjà vu that I’ve been here before. Sat in this very dining area. But I know I haven’t.

  Collette looks at me curiously. “Are you all right?”

  I don’t answer.

  We order our food and eat in silence. Collette tries making small talk. She brings up the weather but I’m not interested.

  Mostly, I stare at my food. The pond. The boats. The sun glistening off the surface of the water.

  The way people are walking nearby, enjoying their afternoon. Everything in their lives seemingly perfect. Lovers holding hands. Families placing boats in the water. Children playing and scampering in the grass.

  On the table, Patty’s spaghetti and meatballs goes cold.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  We plan Patty’s birthday party. The caterer is booked, the cake ordered. Everything, to Collette’s excitement, is coming together nicely.

  She thinks keeping me busy will help me through my grief. She says it will do me good to have something to look forward to, although Jonathan is constan
tly on my mind.

  I hear Pauline on the phone with the kids’ entertainment center in Boston, where the carousel will be coming from.

  “We can’t have everything delivered at one time,” she tells them. “It must arrive in stages.” She’s silent before continuing, “That’s right. Spread the delivery out over the course of two weeks. Everything needs to come up the service elevator. You’ll have access to the back of the building.” More silence. “Yes, thank you so much for your understanding. We look forward to receiving it.”

  She and I share a knowing look and she clicks her teeth. None of us need the neighbors looking on and speculating. We need this to be discreet.

  “We have a big day ahead,” Collette tells me. “We need to start thinking about who to invite to Patty’s party.”

  I raise my eyebrows. Yes, that one detail I haven’t been able to wrap my head around.

  “I really want to give the guests enough time to prepare,” Collette says. “Make sure they can attend since it’s the most special day of the year.”

  I wait for Collette to bring out a list. A group of kids from the building or a list of kids she’s remembering from way back when. But those children would be in their twenties by now. Some of them may even have kids of their own.

  She doesn’t provide such a list, though, only looks at me expectantly. A minute passes and her stare takes on a more serious expression as I return it, not knowing what else to do. But then I realize with a start what she’s getting at, and the top half of my body straightens like a rod. She means for me to figure it out on my own.

  But we don’t know any kids.

  “I’m sure you will take care of this,” she says, getting up from the sofa. “Those playdates Patty’s been having…” What playdates? “The group of children she loves spending time with…” There are no kids. “I’d like Patty to have her best friends join us on this day.”

  I want to pull the hair from my head. What children?

  I can’t go down the street and knock on doors, recruiting kids from the neighborhood. The parents would look at me like I was crazy. So many living on the Upper West Side know the Bird family and may even know Patty is gone. They’d start talking, the rumor mill building. No one within a twenty-block radius would send their children to a party when they know the Bird girl is no longer alive. The story would spread like wildfire.

  I think about the party planning we’ve done so far, the steps we’ve taken. The cake and snacks and decorations that have been ordered.

  Is it possible to order child actors? An off-Broadway performance group that we can pay?

  But my shoulders slump—that would never work. Those people wouldn’t be capable of keeping their mouths shut. The party will be too bizarre and too deliciously full of gossip. People would be saying how Collette should be locked away in an asylum.

  I must bring in people who won’t talk. But how? And where?

  How have the other nannies pulled this off?

  “Okay…” I say slowly, but my mind is racing. I look to Pauline for any guidance. Suggestions on where to get some kids.

  But Pauline lifts our coffee mugs and heads for the kitchen.

  “We’ll need invitations,” Collette says. “I know the perfect place.” She eyes me carefully. “You up for another outing? We can head to the invitation store.”

  Henry drives us, and there, among the invitations, I keep asking Collette questions. I need her to give me some idea of what her expectations are. Who do I address them to? Where should I find these children?

  After all, she’s hosted this party every year for twenty years—surely, she can tell me what she’s done in the past. Who she’s brought to the penthouse on West Seventy-eighth and forced to sit around a table and sing “Happy Birthday.” It couldn’t have been only Collette, Pauline, and the nanny.

  Unless—it’s make-believe kids. Collette will imagine their presence. She’ll think we mailed the invitations, when really, they’ll have gone in the trash.

  Collette is flipping through books of card stock and talking excitedly about patterns and layouts, admiring watercolors and drawings from each artist.

  “These children need to come with their parents,” she tells me. “They can’t be dropped off like last time. I need someone escorting the children up to the apartment and back down again.”

  I temper my worried look—imaginary parents too?

  “And the children need to be dressed nicely,” she adds. “We’ll have the carousel for them to play on, but they need to look handsome. Their Easter best.” She gives me a smile. “You think you can handle that for me, sweetie?”

  I stammer but nothing comes out.

  She browses another row of card stock. “I don’t want you doing what Anna did last time, that silly girl. No one showed up—can you believe that?” Her hand rushes to her throat. “I mean, no one came, Sarah. I could have killed her. She said she’d sent out invitations and then she asked if I could see the kids, when there wasn’t anybody there. She kept pointing and saying, ‘But they’re right there. Can’t you see?’ But there were no children. It was so confusing. We had to make up something to Patty about the party being rescheduled or else she would have been devastated.”

  So, there it is. Anna’s mistake had almost become my own. I’m going to have to find real kids at a real playground. I’m going to have to convince their mothers to show up. How in the world am I going to get this done?

  I open Google Maps on my phone and scroll thirty, then forty blocks north of West Seventy-eighth Street. Soon, I’m hovering above 125th Street in Harlem.

  Collette holds out one of the sample books with a design for an invitation card. It’s pastel with a train circling the track, lions and zebras waving from the open compartments. Hanging from the caboose is a smiling clown. And stenciled above the train, the words You’re Invited!

  I take one look at the card.

  The floor shakes and an unsteady feeling rushes over me. A violent heave in my stomach.

  I throw up.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  “What’s happening?” Collette steps back, looking in shock at the vomit-splattered book, which she immediately throws from her hands, the rest of my vomit dripping to the floor. A small amount smears across my cheek.

  The saleswoman comes running, hands clamped across her mouth when she spots me—the disgusting mess and stench—and spins on her heel, disappearing to the back, presumably to fetch a washcloth or paper towels. I survey what I’ve done. She’s going to need a janitor-size bucket and mop.

  I hunch my shoulders to keep the vomit from dripping onto my clothes—Collette’s clothes—a cashmere sweater I’m thinking she’ll never want back.

  “I’m so sorry…” I say, the stench flaring my nostrils.

  I have no idea where that came from; the nausea hit me so violently. I’d felt fine up until point-five seconds before I projectile-spewed across the invitation design Collette had been showing me. The train with its smiling animals, now ruined.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeat, embarrassed. I haven’t thrown up in public in years and certainly not in a fancy shop with lush, padded carpet and Brahms Symphony no. 4 playing on the sound system. To my horror, splatters of croissant and raspberry jam, remnants of our breakfast, have landed within inches of Collette’s designer boots.

  The saleswoman returns. She’s rushing with a stack of paper towels, the expression on her face between a scowl and frown of concern. The smell is revolting. Her precious stationery book isn’t salvageable. The carpet will have to be shampooed. More than likely, she’ll need to close up shop for the rest of the afternoon.

  Collette moves fast too, fawning over me with paper towels and doing her best to clean me up. She begs the saleswoman for a bathroom, and the woman points. Collette walks me in the direction carefully, gingerly wrapping her arm a
round my shoulders.

  “Are you all right, Sarah?” she asks as soon as she shuts the door. “What’s happening? Food poisoning? The stomach bug? Do you need to see a doctor?”

  “I’ll be fine.” I lean forward to splash water on my face. Next, I rinse my mouth and spit in the sink.

  “You poor, poor thing. I’m so sorry you don’t feel well.” She plucks several tissues from her bag and looks at me in the mirror. “You’re so pale.”

  I stare at my reflection too. My eyes are sunken, the color drained from my cheeks, and I’m clammy, my forehead prickling with sweat.

  “Let’s get you to a doctor.” She pats my back. “I’ll take you.”

  Within minutes, we’re walking out the door with Collette calling to the woman to invoice her for everything that’s ruined. “We’ll take care of the cleaning bill.”

  Outside, we wait for Henry to pull up. I feel faint and my body wobbles. I sway forward until I’m tipping back, then lean my hips against Collette for support.

  I’m sleep deprived, that must be it. Except for the croissant Collette forced me to have this morning, I’ve barely been eating either.

  Inside the car, I lean my head against the cool glass, doing my best to shut out the throbbing in my head.

  The car stops. We haven’t traveled far before Collette is shuffling me out again. A nurse appears, and I’m vaguely aware of them placing me in a wheelchair and guiding me into a building. We’re rolling down a hall.

  My head lolls to one side, I’m so damn tired. The nausea has subsided, but if I could only stop the pounding in my head…

  “Where are we?” I ask, but my voice is muddled, my mouth filled with marbles. My tongue, thick and limp against the back of my throat.

  “The doctor,” Collette says. She walks by my side, the nurse pushing me in the wheelchair as we pass a series of closed doors.