Nanny Needed

by Georgina Cross

  The family doctor—the one Collette hates so much? She wouldn’t.

  I want to ask, but I don’t. My head droops and my eyes close again. The wheelchair comes to a stop and the door closes. The nurse lifts me to a table so I can lie down, and immediately, the lights dim. The women’s voices disappear into an echo. The last thing I remember is Collette squeezing my hand, and thinking of Jonathan, I wait for the second squeeze. The one that will tell me he’s thinking of me. But it never comes.

  * * *

  —

  When I wake up, I’m in a darkened room, but it’s no longer the doctor’s office. I’m surrounded by soft sheets, a large comforter. Silk printed paper on the walls and flowing drapes.

  I’ve returned to the Birds’ apartment but I’m not in the guest room. Something is off, I can feel it. Something’s different.

  I’m lying in Patty’s castle bed.

  I try sitting up, but pain ricochets through my head, nails hammering into my brain, and I cry out, wincing. I look around. The curtains have been pulled—Patty’s pink curtains. A single lamp is left on in the corner. A scattering of toys, figurines, baby dolls, and princesses line the shelves.

  I roll to one side, hoping I can prop myself on my elbow and lower my feet to the floor, but my head screams the moment I shift my weight. Dizziness swirls in my eyes, stars burst, and I lie back, my arms and legs deadweight.

  I blink several times to will the pain away. The room is empty, the apartment quiet. With the curtains drawn, it’s hard to tell what time it is. How long have I been sleeping? Is it still the same day or have I slept until the next morning?

  I look down—I’m no longer in the cashmere sweater. The pants Collette loaned me are also gone. I’m in a nightgown, an old-fashioned thing that’s buttoned right up to my throat with long sleeves cinched at the wrists and embroidery across the bodice. Under the covers, flowing white cotton rests at my ankles.

  She’s put me in a nightgown—the style, of a child’s nightdress, going back decades.

  Collette doesn’t come. Pauline doesn’t either. The minutes tick by until I’m dozing off again, and when I wake, I’m almost positive night has fallen. The room seems darker. Additional hours have slipped by without me knowing it.

  I fumble again, wishing I could get out of this bed and remove the nightgown. Find my way down the hall.

  The door opens.

  Light ripples into the room, causing my eyes to slam shut. The brightness is blinding.

  Someone is walking toward the bed—I can’t make out who it is at first. They’re one big shadow.

  It’s Mr. Bird—and I flinch. I want to kick at him, tell him to back off. He’s walking in here to threaten me. To tell me about Jonathan—

  But the shadow stops moving, and I blink again to adjust my eyes to the light. A face forms. The outline of a jaw. Square shoulders.

  It’s not Mr. Bird—it’s Stephen.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

  What does he want?

  I pull my leg back. If he gets too close, I’ll knee him where it hurts. I won’t let him touch me, won’t let him grab my arms. But my leg is stiff and I’m not sure if I can kick anything.

  Stephen doesn’t yell. Instead, he lays a hand to my forehead. He checks for a temperature and pulls back.

  “You’re going to be fine,” he says.

  I scoot as far away as I can. But he throws aside the comforter and pushes an arm beneath my shoulders. Tucking his other arm beneath my legs, he whispers, “I’m getting you out of here.”

  My heart skips a beat. Alarm sounds in his voice. The way he’s holding me close, almost protectively.

  “Stevie?” I whisper. “Stephen,” I say, correcting myself. “What’s happening?”

  He keeps moving but holds me close. It’s unlike any way he’s ever acted toward me before—well, if you don’t count the first time we met and he’d been so kind. But that was before I knew what he was made of, before I knew what his family was all about.

  But something is different—this Stephen is different. What am I missing here?

  My eyes strain against the light. Dizziness shakes me as I’m yanked from the bed, but I have no choice but to let him carry me. He’s not taking no for an answer and I press my head against his chest, feeling weak, as Stephen carries me out of the room.

  We move slowly, the hall stretching a mile long. Another harsh strip of light attacks my eyes as we cross into the foyer. The front door, and freedom, only a few steps away.

  He reaches for the doorknob, but fumbles, his hand trapped beneath my legs. He pauses. He doesn’t want to let go and have me fall, but there’s no choice, and I shift my weight, drumming up the strength to stand. Pushing against his chest, I force my legs to drop until I’m on my own two feet, wobbly, but upright for now.

  Stephen checks the hall for anyone who might be coming, but no one is. He turns to me.

  “I can get you in a cab. You can stay at my place.”

  “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

  “Why not? You can’t stay here anymore.”

  I give him a look. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m helping you get out.”

  “Why?”

  “Because something’s not right. Something’s making you sick.”

  “What’s happening then?” My eyes narrow. “Are you guys poisoning me?”

  His eyes jerk open. “No! We would never do that.”

  “Jonathan,” I tell him. “He didn’t do drugs. He would never touch heroin. And that night when he got fired from his job—” I point a finger at him. “One of you planted it in his locker.”

  Stephen looks cautiously down the hall. He lowers his voice. “I didn’t have anything to do with that. Putting that in his locker, that was my dad’s idea. We couldn’t have him poking around and asking questions. He was calling up the firm, Sarah.”

  My mouth drops open. I want to scream.

  “He was calling up people and asking questions about Patty, for Christ’s sake. Half the people who work there don’t know there was a child twenty years ago. And I told you from the beginning—you have to understand how discreet we need to be.”

  Heat races to my neck. “Jonathan didn’t trust any of you people. He was so right! And now look what you’ve done. You killed Jonathan…” My voice wobbles and trails off. The images are still haunting my mind. The needle in his arm. The lonely, dark alley where the police found his body. He’d been all alone.

  But Stephen pleads. “That’s not what happened, Sarah. Please believe me. My dad wanted to frighten him, not hurt him. We would never take it that far.”

  “You really think I’m going to believe you? Please.” I push to get far away from him. “You’re as guilty as your dad. You did this to Jonathan.”

  Stephen recoils. “No, that’s not what happened. You have to believe me.”

  But I can only stare at him—the damn good actor. Of course he is. The whole family has been practicing their lines for years. They’re professionals at this point, every one of them.

  A noise comes from down the hall and it makes us jump. Our eyes race to see what it is. Someone’s coming.

  Is it Pauline? Collette?

  Mr. Bird?

  Whoever it is, they’re moving fast and it’s too late for me to escape.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  Stephen reaches for the door again, and my heart hammers in my throat. If it’s Mr. Bird, he’s here to stop us. He won’t let me leave, even if Stephen says he’s taking me to his own apartment.

  But it’s Collette—she’s leaping in front of us like a wild woman, surprising us both until we’re staggering back, her arms holding steady against the doorframe and barricading our only exit. Her breath is ragged, her eyes flashing a look I’ve never seen before. Her chest is heaving as she
says, “Wait!”

  Stephen throws up an arm to shield me, but I shove it away. I don’t want his help anymore. I’m doing my best to stand on my own and take another step.

  “Get out of the way,” Stephen tells his stepmother, and the tone in his voice confuses me. I’ve never heard him speak to her that way before.

  Collette’s eyes rip in my direction. “Don’t let him take you, Sarah—please. You can’t leave me.”

  “I need to,” I say. “I’ve been here long enough.” I point at the floor-length nightgown to prove my point.

  As I move to the door, I feel dizzy and my knees start to buckle again.

  No, no, no. Don’t let them see I’m weak.

  Stephen turns on Collette. “What are you doing? Forcing her to stay in Patty’s room? Dressing her up like this?”

  “I’m not forcing her to do anything,” Collette says. “I’m taking care of her. I brought her to someone—”

  “What, Dad’s doctor again?”

  Collette looks stunned.

  Turning to me, Stephen explains, “Pauline called. Told me you were a mess, that you got sick at the store, that Collette brought you home and was keeping you in Patty’s room. You’ve been knocked out for hours.” He looks me up and down, then searches my face. “Has anyone given you anything? Do you remember what the doctor gave you?”

  I try to think. Everything after the store, the ride to the doctor’s office, how I ended up in Patty’s room, is a blank haze.

  He turns once more to Collette. “Have you been drugging her?”

  Her eyes bulge. “What? How can you say something like that?”

  I’m confused too—how can he say that about Collette?

  “Did you give her some of your pills?” he asks.

  “What?” she shrieks. “Why would I do that?” She’s staring at us both, waving her hands. “Sarah,” she says, grasping my arm. “I’m not slipping you anything, trust me.” She glances at Stephen too. “I promise.”

  “Then what is happening?” I ask, dizzy again. A hand clutches my stomach. “And this nightgown.” I lift the material. “Patty’s room. Why am I in there?”

  “Pauline was stripping the sheets from your bed. We wanted to get everything cleaned. Your clothes too.” She shrugs. “Patty said she doesn’t mind.”

  I stare blankly at her.

  Collette looks at Stephen. “You’re under a lot of pressure, I know you don’t mean what you said. I might not know everything that’s going on, but something is different in this house and I think you can feel it. Things are changing. They’ve been changing for months.” She glances at the rest of the apartment and shivers.

  I want to shiver too.

  “Who would want to hurt Sarah?” she asks. “Pauline adores her. And your father would never do such a thing.”

  If she only knew what her husband said to me…

  “Sarah,” she says, her eyes turning soft. “Come back to bed. You must rest. There’s no one back at your apartment to take care of you.” And she steps forward, caressing my cheek, her hand smooth and warm to the touch. My knees buckle. “But I’m here. I will always be here for you.”

  Stephen tries again. “Let her rest at my place.”

  But Collette waves him off. “She must stay here.” She holds my hand in her own. “With me. I’ll protect her. She’s too weak to be out there alone.”

  I close my eyes to her singsong voice, my mind growing hazy. I’m so tired. So, so tired…

  I’m sick and I know I must get better. Collette is the only one who can take care of me. And if I leave, what will happen to Collette? She needs me, like Mr. Bird said. I must help her with the birthday party or she’ll fall apart.

  I press my hand against the wall. I’m too tired to do anything else but sleep…

  And I turn toward the room—my guest room and not Patty’s—wanting more than anything to lie down and get some rest. By tomorrow, I hope, I’ll be good as new, and within days, we’ll have Patty’s party and I can cut ties with these people. It will be for the best for Collette and me to separate.

  She holds my hand and walks me back to my room.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  By the next day, I feel better. The day after that, stronger still.

  No more vomiting since that incident at the invitation store. No more aches or feeling dizzy. And most important, no more seeing or hearing Patty. The only time I go in the playroom is when Collette tells me to, and as soon as I can, I find reasons to head back out again.

  After I’m fully recovered I spend the next few days helping Collette with final party planning. Hours are expended on arranging and rearranging decorations. Elephant plush toys mixed with giraffes and bears. Miniature wooden train cars and streamers and banners strung together. Children’s place settings and juice cups arranged on the table.

  I keep a notepad in my hands and scribble down everything Collette tells me, last-minute instructions and phone numbers for the caterer and florist and bakery. Numbers Collette wants me to call the day before to confirm everyone’s delivery time.

  When the invitations arrive, Collette says, “Now you need to invite ten children.”

  I manage to find six children and their mothers at a playground in a quaint section of Harlem on the corner of Lenox and West 140th Street. I’ve never been here before. Collette and I have visited multiple playgrounds but never this far north.

  And now, here I am, sitting on a park bench beside the jungle gym and the mothers are staring and laughing at me. They ask if I’m crazy. They wait for me to tell them it’s a joke.

  I hand them some forms. “All you have to do is sign this.”

  Of course, I don’t call it a gag order. I don’t want to scare them with the severity of the confidentiality clause, but I also don’t want them to arrive unprepared. I’m sure as hell not going to risk these women coming in blind the way I did. The Birds misled me, but I won’t do the same to these women. They will need to be prepared, and they might also need to prepare their children. We can’t have anyone freaking out that day.

  But the guilt—it’s hard ridding myself of it.

  I explain to the women they can’t share this information with anyone. They are not to tell a soul, not even their friends.

  It’s a long shot, I know, but then I bring out the money. Five hundred dollars apiece. I promise another five hundred a week later—I’ll be long gone by then, but they don’t know that. Stephen will send out their payments, but he doesn’t know that part yet either. He’s given me cash to pay for most of the party services, not wanting credit card transactions to show any evidence of the Birds throwing a child’s birthday party. I’m using the extra money to pay each mother and child to attend.

  The women stare at the cash in their hands. They consider the promise of more money to come—the offer, tempting. I watch them review the single-page document in their hands, the write-up I thought would be the simplest way to explain.

  I let the women know the event will last less than two hours and ask them to arrive by 3:00 p.m. They will need to wear their Sunday best, especially the children. I remind them Collette will be imagining a birthday girl who isn’t there and their kids will need to ignore anything strange the hostess says. It will be confusing, I admit, but if everyone does their best, we’ll get through this together.

  Finally, after an interminable wait, and to my relief, the women agree one by one. Money has once again spoken. They sign the form and promise to arrive.

  But it’s only six children and not ten as Collette wanted. I tell myself that’s good enough.

  CHAPTER FIFTY

  With the guest list secured, a flurry of activity follows. T minus two days until the party.

  We order balloons from the store on Columbus. Select cookies from a bakery on West Eighty-first, and remind the caterer to
bring macaroni and cheese and toast points as well as petits fours and tea for the mothers.

  And the hammering—did I mention that?

  Carousel pieces have been arriving by the truckload. A team of men clang metal and use drills with the parts taking up most of the dining hall: brightly colored posts and animals whose heads are topped with red caps.

  When finished, the carousel is spectacular. The workers complete their task with just enough time to turn on the lights and let it whirl several rotations before deeming it good to go. They pack up their tools and leave, wishing Collette a wonderful party but never once asking why they didn’t meet the birthday girl.

  After they depart, Collette is nearly drunk with happiness. She watches the carousel as it plays a fun, melodic tune, the animals moving up and down and in a circle, lights blinking overhead. On the platform are a horse, a unicorn, a bear, and a tiger. A gold post in the center leads to a circus tent roof displaying a painted mural of angels surrounded by roses and stars. Each animal has a handsome saddle. The horse and unicorn show off colorful manes. The bear wears a crown; the tiger, a friendly smile.

  The hairstylist, Bridget, had been right to suggest such a wonder. And Collette is the only person I know who could pull off this feat in her dining room.

  She stares at the carousel, her eyes glowing as she insists Patty go for a spin.

  “Which one do you think Patty should ride?”

  I shrug. “How about the bear?” I suggest.

  Transfixed, she sways to the music herself, a dreamy smile spreading across her face. “The bear is a wonderful choice,” she says. “But they all are, don’t you think? Or the unicorn.” She winks. “Looks like fun…”

  Collette waits for me to move toward the carousel, but I don’t. She wants me to ride with Patty, but I’m not in the mood. The thought of riding alone while Collette stares is unnerving.

  She clucks her tongue and spins on her heel before walking away.