Nanny Needed

by Georgina Cross

  “She’s not here,” Mr. Bird says again.

  “Yes, she is!” She points a second time. “Patty, tell Daddy you’re right there. Jump into his arms. Tell him he’s being silly.” She clicks her teeth. “I don’t know why he’s acting this way but I’m sure he’ll snap out of it.” She levels a steady gaze at her husband. “I’m sure he’s just had a long day and doesn’t mean what he’s saying. He’s going to apologize.”

  “You’ve got to stop doing that.”

  “What? Talking to our daughter?”

  “That’s not your daughter.”

  “You’re being cruel.”

  “Look, Collette.” He motions at the floor. “Look at the space you’re pointing to. It’s empty—don’t you see? There’s no one there.”

  Her voice rises to a shrill. “Have you gone crazy? Dammit, Alex. Open your eyes!”

  “Patty is dead!”

  And Collette shrieks.

  Pauline shrieks too, her knees buckling.

  Alex Bird grabs his wife’s arms. She’s falling toward him, but then realizing who she’s falling toward, she rears back to strike him. He holds her close in a bear hug, preparing for her to kick and thrash and scream, which she does.

  “Patty is gone,” he says, but this time, he says the words more gently. She’s writhing but he’s not letting her pull away. “Don’t you remember? All those years ago?” He closes his eyes while Collette looks as if her own eyes have been peeled wide open. She’s turned stiff—shocked beyond anything. The man she loves is gripping her in an embrace that’s more like a wrestling move and he’s whispering such terrible things to her.

  “It was such a long time ago,” Mr. Bird says. “She got sick. There was nothing we could do. It broke our hearts.”

  “Stop saying that,” Collette whispers.

  But she doesn’t blink. Her electric blue eyes stare at something on the wall. The color drains from her face.

  Mr. Bird squeezes her to his chest, but she resists.

  “She was sick but then she got better,” Collette tells him.

  “No, she died, and we buried her, and it was a terrible, terrible thing.” He cries softly now. “But you wouldn’t believe it. You kept insisting that you could see her. You refused to accept that she died. You’ve been doing this for years.”

  “No, I haven’t. You’re lying.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  She doesn’t answer. He’s rocking her.

  A single tear drops from her eyes. I can’t tell if she’s finally comprehending the harsh reality or just terrified of the horrendous things Alex is saying.

  “I don’t believe you,” she whispers. “You’ve done this before. Telling me Patty is gone.” And this time, she breaks free. “Oh, you don’t think I remember? You told me that Patty wasn’t here anymore, that she wasn’t in her room even though I could see her and Therese could see her. You said I was crazy. Why, Alex? Why would you say something like that about our daughter?” Another tear drops, and then another. “What kind of a father would do such a thing?”

  “Because it’s the truth. Patty died twenty years ago—you have to come to terms with this. No more pretending. She didn’t make it to her fourth birthday. We buried her on a Sunday. You’ve been making her up in your head ever since.”

  He looks around the room. “And now it’s gone too far. You’ve been hosting a party like this every year, except one thing never changes.” He looks at her. “She’s always turning four. She doesn’t get older. Haven’t you noticed that? Every year, even with a new nanny, our daughter remains four years old. The rest of us get older but Patty doesn’t. I mean, look at Stephen.” She spins to fix her eyes on him. “He’s not a kid anymore. He was twelve when she died and now he’s a grown man. Everyone has been moving on, but not Patty. Come on, Collette. How do you explain that?”

  She steps away, her hands covering her mouth.

  “Today was too much.” Alex Bird glares at me next. He also stares at Pauline. “People came to our home and saw all of this.” He swings his eyes back to Collette. “And now they know about you, about your sickness—”

  “I don’t have a sickness!” she screams.

  “Yes, honey, you do. You’re very sick.” And he says this with such sadness even my heart breaks. “You’ve been sick for a long time, but we thought we were helping you. We’ve worked so hard to protect you from the truth and now”—he shakes his head—“I can’t do this anymore—none of us can. This has gone on for far too long. It has to stop.”

  Collette backs away. “No…” Her eyes well with tears. “I don’t want to hear this. I don’t believe you. You’re making it up.” She points a finger. “How could you?”

  “I only did this because I love you.”

  “Shut up!” she screams. “Shut up!”

  “It was the only way we knew how,” Mr. Bird continues. “But it’s our fault. We messed up but now it’s over. You have to understand.” He looks around at the table and balloons, the silent carousel. “There is no child here. No Patty.” He looks to the rest of us. “None of them see Patty either.”

  “Yes, they do!” She rushes to Pauline. She desperately grips the housekeeper’s arms. “Tell him you see her, Pauline. Tell him you see Patty.”

  But the housekeeper is crying, her chin wobbling. She looks to Mr. Bird, then back at Collette, not knowing what to do, what to say. “I…I don’t know…”

  Collette shakes her. “What? Dammit, Pauline! Tell them you see her.”

  “No…I’m sorry…” The housekeeper’s shoulders crumple.

  Collette grabs my arms next, her breath inches from my face. “Sarah, what about you?” Tears stream down her cheeks. “Tell me you see my Patty. Tell me you see my little girl.”

  She points at an empty space, and my shoulders slump like Pauline’s. “I don’t see her, Mrs. Bird. I’m sorry.”

  She hurtles toward her stepson. “Stephen!” she screams. “Please tell me you’re not falling for this shit. You see your sister, don’t you? You see Patty.” She holds his head in her hands, her fingers splayed on either side of his jaw, and looks deep into his eyes, willing him to say the words she wants to hear.

  But he can’t do it. He can’t speak. He’s shaking too, tears flowing from his eyes.

  “Stephen?” she whispers. “Tell me you see Patty…”

  He starts to say something but stops. She squeezes his face tighter, begging him with every ounce of her being.

  He nods.

  And I gasp.

  He nods.

  “I see her,” he tells Collette. “I see Patty.”

  She drops her hands and whirls toward Mr. Bird. “You see? Whatever this is, whatever you think you’re doing, you’re wrong.”

  Alex Bird stares at his son. “Stephen,” he warns him. “Tell her the truth.”

  Stephen wipes at his nose. He’s staring at the floor.

  “Stephen!” Mr. Bird shouts. “Tell her you don’t see Patty. That she’s dead. We lost her a long time—”

  “I won’t,” Stephen says, his eyes jerking up. “I won’t do that, Dad.”

  “Why not? Dammit, Son. Tell her the truth!”

  “I am!” he cries. “I am telling her the truth. I do see Patty.” And he points a steady finger.

  At me.

  I shrink back. What’s he getting at? What does he mean?

  But he doesn’t drop his hand, only continues staring at me, tears pooling at the corners of his eyes.

  “Patty’s right there.” And he looks at his parents, a pleading, desperate look, before sliding his eyes back to me. “She’s been right here. Right in front of our faces. She’s been with us this entire time.”

  CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE

  I press my back against the wall.

  He’s delusional—he’s go
t it wrong. Or else he’s still trying to preserve the lie for Collette’s sake. He doesn’t think she can handle this.

  But Stephen keeps staring, his eyes not dropping from my face. He holds his gaze until my neck and cheeks are burning.

  Pauline steps away, shocked. Collette and Mr. Bird stare too.

  “What are you talking about?” Collette asks.

  “That’s Patty,” Stephen tells her.

  “Don’t say that!” she screams. “Your sister is only four. Stop making things up.”

  “I’m not making it up.” He turns to his father. “Patty didn’t die twenty years ago. She lived. She grew up.” He points at me again. “I’m telling you, that’s Patty.”

  No one moves. No one knows what to say, but Mr. Bird speaks up. “Stephen, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  Pauline steps closer again. She’s the first one to stare at me up close. “It can’t be.” She shakes her head. “That’s impossible.”

  But Stephen repeats, “It’s her. I know it is. Sarah is Patty.”

  My heart wants to explode inside my ribs.

  Mr. Bird and Collette won’t stop staring.

  Impossible.

  You’re all batshit crazy.

  No way in hell.

  That’s what I want to tell Stephen—what I want to tell all of them. They’ve got it wrong and I need to get out of here.

  Stephen’s eyes are red. The saddest expression grips his face. But through his tears there is also hope. The tiniest of smiles. He’s pointing and staring and believing his words are true.

  But he’s wrong, I keep repeating.

  He must be.

  I’m not Patty.

  Their daughter is dead. They buried her. There was a coffin and a funeral.

  A closed casket…

  And something in my heart turns over.

  They never got to say goodbye. They weren’t allowed to see her body…

  But that’s impossible.

  I back away, but there’s nowhere to go since I’m already pressed against the wall. Pauline is sandwiched next to me, her mouth gaping, trying to understand what this means.

  Two months ago, I’d never heard of the Birds. We’d never crossed paths.

  I saw a flyer, a job posting. Stephen put it there, but he posted flyers in other buildings too. They interviewed several nannies—right?

  I stare at Stephen. Of everyone he spoke to, did he pick me on purpose?

  But Patty is dead, I repeat. I’ve got to get a grip. Stephen is just as delusional as his stepmother. He doesn’t want to believe it either; he wants so much to believe his sister is alive. All these years of pretending have gone to his head too.

  “I found an email to Freddie several years ago,” Stephen says.

  Freddie? I think about the chef, the man who’d barely spoken to me until a few days ago.

  “He was in the kitchen. He walked out to get something but left his computer logged in. I was nosy,” Stephen says. “Saw an email about a funeral and I remembered him asking for time off to travel somewhere. I wondered if that was what it was for.” He looks at me again. “The funeral was for a woman named Clara Larsen.” The sledgehammer in my heart hits deeper. “And when I clicked on the link for the obituary, I saw a picture and it was her. The same nanny from all those years ago. I was just a kid, but I remember her—Ms. Fontaine. Except she’d changed her name to Larsen, just like Sarah’s, and was living in Virginia Beach.”

  I shake my head. “No…”

  But Stephen keeps going. “Freddie was here when Patty died. He knew Ms. Fontaine. He must have kept in touch with her after she left.”

  Beside me, Pauline is whispering to herself.

  “He knew about her funeral. He knew she had been caring for a child, a child who is now about the age Patty would’ve been if she had lived.”

  Alex Bird breaks in. “What are you saying? How could Freddie…how could Ms. Fontaine…?”

  “Turns out, after we were told Patty died, Ms. Fontaine moved to Virginia Beach with a girl. She raised her as her own, claiming she was the girl’s aunt and was caring for her after her parents died. She changed her name.”

  I don’t think I’m breathing anymore, the air is locked inside my throat.

  Ms. Fontaine.

  Clara Larsen.

  Aunt Clara?

  Aunt Clara had lived in New York City. But she told me she worked for an insurance company. We moved to Virginia after my parents died. We moved there…twenty years ago…

  I find my voice. “This doesn’t make sense,” I say, every word trembling. “If Patty didn’t die, she would be twenty-three, turning twenty-four.” I stare at him. “I’ll be twenty-six soon. How do you explain that?”

  “She forged a new birth certificate for you,” Stephen explains. “She made up a fake birthday and fake parents.” He points at Mr. Bird and Collette. “Those are your parents.”

  Collette is crying—she’s distraught and confused. Her hands are squeezed tight over her mouth as she sobs. Mr. Bird’s face is pinched and pale. He’s speechless, unable to stop staring at me and simultaneously looking terrified.

  “No,” I tell them. “That’s not right. My parents died in a car crash. Aunt Clara raised me.”

  “Yes, she raised you, but she wasn’t your aunt. I hired a PI. He traveled to Virginia to investigate, but you’d changed so much, we couldn’t tell if you were Patty. But then you moved to New York and I couldn’t believe my luck. I followed you for a while…”

  My eyes grow wide.

  “You seemed to be doing okay, you’d found a good guy.” I wince at the memory of Jonathan. “But you were in horrible debt and struggling to make ends meet. I thought I could help you out financially while finding a way to bring you here so we could get to know you. Find out if you’re really her.” He gives me a look. “I put that flyer in your building for a nanny. We needed a new one after Anna left, and Collette was becoming inconsolable again. I knew we had to do something. You showed up for the interview and I couldn’t believe it, the plan was working out perfectly. I convinced Collette to hire you.” He gives his stepmother a sympathetic look. “I said you were the best candidate and she agreed. She felt like the two of you had a strong connection, and no wonder.” He looks at us both. “You’re mother and daughter.”

  Collette is crying. She reaches out but then pulls away again.

  “Stop!” I slam my hands over my ears. “She’s not my mom!”

  “That first day you sat down with me,” Stephen says. “Do you remember? We had tea. You didn’t want to eat but you had tea and that’s how I got a DNA sample and sent it off to a lab. We matched your DNA to Patty’s lock of hair.” He looks to his dad. “I didn’t want to say anything to you until I knew for sure…” He looks at me again. “The results came back a perfect match. You’re Patty.”

  I’m going to be sick.

  Mr. Bird’s chin is shaking. He’s searching the room for answers, his eyes flicking this way and that. “But how?” he asks. “How on God’s green earth did this happen?”

  “Patty was sick, there’s no doubt about it,” Stephen says. “Ms. Fontaine snuck her out of the building. She must have been working with the doctor—remember how we used to think they were close, and at one point, you thought they were having an affair? I was just a kid, didn’t know enough to pay attention. I just knew Patty was here, the doctor got really worried, and then she was gone.”

  “The closed casket…” Mr. Bird says.

  “He never let us see her. We never got to say goodbye.”

  Mr. Bird blinks, his eyes bulging until they look as if they could pop from his head. “But he told us her condition…” Their conversation is whirling around me. My hands spasm. “We should have asked more questions,” Mr. Bird says. “We should have deman
ded to see her.”

  “You wouldn’t let me!” Collette shrieks. “You said she had to stay in that room!”

  “The doctor told us that!” Mr. Bird says. “How was I supposed to know he was lying? He said she had to be kept separate from us, that we wouldn’t want to remember her that way.”

  “You didn’t let me see her…” Collette whimpers.

  “We didn’t know,” Stephen tells her.

  “And he was working with Ms. Fontaine?” Mr. Bird asks. “He made up this lie and helped her sneak Patty out—but why? Why would he do something like that and lie to us about our daughter dying?” He’s pulling at his face again. “I want to find this doctor. Strangle him with my bare hands. Sue him for every penny he’s got. We’ll make sure he never practices medicine again. I’ll kill him—”

  “Except he’s dead,” Stephen says.

  Mr. Bird stops in his tracks.

  “I had the PI look him up too. He retired and moved out of the city. Died at his home in Connecticut.”

  “Fuck!” Mr. Bird bellows. He looks wildly at Stephen. “And Ms. Fontaine is dead too.”

  “Ms. Fontaine—Clara Larsen,” Stephen says. “Yes, she’s dead too.”

  I’m still trembling.

  Aunt Clara…I think again. This can’t be true.

  She worked for the Birds? She wasn’t employed by an insurance company but was a live-in nanny?

  She stole me? She took me to Virginia Beach?

  Why would she do something like that?

  She told me about her love affair, the man she’d left behind in New York. Was he the doctor? Pauline thought the nanny had been up to something with Mr. Bird, that they were the ones having an affair, but she had it all wrong. The affair had been with the doctor. The man who helped Aunt Clara remove a child from this home.

  My head is spinning, the last twenty years of my life coming into question. Everything I know, a lie. All those memories: Aunt Clara caring for me, teaching me to ride a bike, helping me with Girl Scouts, soccer, studying for my SATs…

  She told me my parents were dead. She was the only family I had and she loved me. She cared for me with all her heart.