by Lexi Ryan
“We’re turning over a new leaf, you little hussies,” I whisper. “No more assholes.”
I slink down into my bed, pulling the comforter to my chin. At some point this week, I need to buy myself new pajamas. I’ll replace the skimpy lace negligees that scream “fuck me” with flannel neck-high full-length nightgowns that’ll get me a jumpstart on my life as an aspiring cat lady.
I squeeze my eyes shut—sleep first—but it’s too late. I’m way too wired to fall back asleep now.
I might as well get up and get a start on this day. I climb out of bed, grab my things, and head to the bathroom across the hall. The Little Mermaid smiles at me from the shower curtain, and my heart squeezes. I have seriously mixed emotions regarding Ethan Jackson. How can the jerk who sneered at me yesterday also be the doting father who decorated his daughter’s bathroom in a Disney theme? Then again, maybe his mother put this together for her. Or maybe his wife before she died?
I finish my shower, pull my wet hair back into a braid, and dress in jeans and a sweater—the other outfit Teagan let me borrow. Teagan’s bustier than me, so the sweater is a little baggy, but it beats running around in a sundress when it’s thirty degrees outside.
After taking my things back to my room, I head downstairs. I didn’t get a formal tour last night—that would have required Ethan to speak to me, and I don’t think he was interested in exchanging any more words with the “easy screw” than necessary. But Lilly showed me around after she finished her dinner. Ethan’s house is a large country-style home with three bedrooms upstairs. Ethan’s room is on the main floor, and there’s an apartment behind the garage, where his mother lives. Lilly didn’t show me her father’s room, but she insisted on showing me every toy in her room as well as the basement, where there’s a big-screen TV, a comfy-looking sectional sofa, and a play kitchen set.
This house definitely has what most people would call “a woman’s touch.” There’s a cute little sign above the coffee pot that says, “But first, coffee!” There are words painted onto the wall in the breakfast nook that say, “Eat Well, Live Fully, Love Completely.” I’m sure Ethan’s capable of doing this kind of decorating, but my instincts tell me these are touches his wife left behind.
I have a couple more hours before I need to wake up Lilly, and since no one’s watching, I take my time as I walk through the living room. I pause at the pictures of Ethan’s wife on the mantel, taking in her dark hair and smiling face. I don’t know how long she’s been gone, but Lilly doesn’t look older than two or three in any of the pictures.
I brush my fingers over an image of Ethan and his wife kissing baby Lilly’s forehead. They look so happy, and my heart aches for them. What did Kathleen say about Lilly’s mother? Elena had her own kind of slow death.
I wonder if she had cancer like Kathleen. That would explain why Ethan’s mother is so set on keeping her disease a secret. I bet Ethan was a happier man before he lost his wife, and knowing about that loss helps me understand the sadness that never leaves his eyes. No one can blame him for grieving. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose your spouse, the mother of your child.
I study another picture of the happy family from when Lilly was a toddler. Ethan’s smiling, but I see the same sadness in his eyes I noted that first night I met him. As surprised as I was to find out he was the doctor I’m supposed to be working for, I somehow wasn’t surprised to learn he was a widower. It just made sense. It explains the hurt he seems to hide behind his quiet demeanor.
But in this picture, that hurt is already there. The sadness is already creeping into his features. And his wife is standing right by his side.
“Every one of your references had nothing but praise for you,” Kathleen says. She’s sitting at Ethan’s kitchen table with a cup of coffee, the newspaper spread out in front of her. I just got back from running Lilly to school.
“I’m glad you were able to reach them so quickly.” I pour myself a cup of coffee—my third for the day, but who’s counting?
“I think they’re all quite jealous we stole you away.”
I smile. “I’ve always been lucky to be placed with kind people.” Until now, I think, but I have no interest in telling Kathleen my opinion of her son.
“Your background check won’t be back until tomorrow,” Kathleen says. “But I don’t have any concerns.”
“Oh.” I’d forgotten she was going to do that. “Good.”
“How’d the morning go?”
“It was smooth.” Since Ethan woke me up so early, I used my extra time to work on a menu for the week and check the kitchen’s inventory. I thought I’d need to go to the grocery store today, but the kitchen is well stocked, so a trip was unnecessary.
I woke up Lilly at the time Kathleen suggested in her notes. Lilly had picked her clothes out for school the night before, and she dressed herself and brushed her teeth without a hassle.
Kathleen didn’t come out of her apartment, and I suspect it was because she wants me to have a chance to go through the morning routine on my own before I really am on my own.
“Lilly is really easy to work with,” I tell the girl’s grandmother. “She’s very independent for a six-year-old.”
“She’s like her father,” Kathleen says. “I always said he was born a self-starter. He never needed me to remind him to do his homework or study for a test, and he always held himself to high standards in everything he did. Lilly takes after her daddy like that.”
“What about her mother?” I ask before I can stop myself.
Kathleen looks down at her newspaper.
My cheeks heat when I realize how personal that question is. “Lilly’s very compassionate. I bet she gets that from her mom.”
“Yes, Elena was compassionate,” Kathleen says softly. “She felt very deeply about all those she cared for.”
“When did she die?” Another personal question, and I hope I’m not overstepping into rudeness, but I feel like I should know more than I do.
“Three years ago this Christmas.”
My breath escapes me in a rush. They lost her at Christmas. “That’s awful.” I shake my head. I can’t imagine what that must have been like for them. I had a tough childhood, and there’s something about the way Christmas is idealized that makes all the tough things hurt even more on what’s supposed to be a magical day. There were always good people who tried to make the day as special for Veronica and me as for other children, but there’s no protecting a child from the heartache of a lost parent.
“It was awful.” Kathleen lifts her head and meets my eyes. I wait for her to tell me more—about Elena or the cause of her death—but she doesn’t.
After the silence grows too intense, I take a breath. “Are you all packed?”
“I think so, but I keep remembering little things I’ll need.” She pushes back from the table, stands, and walks over to me. “I wanted to thank you again before I go. For everything.” She tries to smile, but it wavers, and her eyes fill with tears. “If it weren’t for you . . .”
“You don’t have to do this,” I say softly. “You can tell them the truth. You can stay.”
She wraps her hand around my wrist and squeezes. Her jaw hardens and she pastes on the smile she was struggling to find a moment before. “And miss my chance to see Europe? No thank you.”
I’m not sure what to say, so I just nod. I may not agree with her decision, but it’s not mine to make. Obviously, I don’t know the details of all her family has been through, and all I can do is trust her judgment. “It’s never too late to come home. Just remember that.”
Her smile stiffens, and she releases my wrist. “I have to run some errands and then I’m having lunch with my daughter. Will you be okay without the car until this afternoon?”
“I still have Lilly’s car seat, and I don’t have to return my rental car until tonight, so I’m fine.”
“Did Ethan tell you we’re having family dinner at my house tonight?” She shakes her head. “Well, my son B
rayden’s been living there for a couple of years now, but I still think of it as my own, I suppose. All of my children will be there.”
“I didn’t know that.” I make a mental note to adjust the week’s meals. The chicken and rice dish I had planned can wait until tomorrow. “I’m glad you’re getting together with them before you leave.”
“Me too.” The tears return to her eyes. “I hope you’ll come too. You know Ethan and Jake, but I’d like you to meet my other children. You’ll see them a lot while you’re here.”
“I—” Should I tell her about me and Ethan? Tell her that there’s no need for me to meet everyone since he’s already looking for my replacement? Is that really what she needs to be thinking about as she begins the battle for her life? No. I can’t bring myself to add another worry to her list. “It’s family time. I don’t want to intrude.”
“You know my secrets,” she says. “You’re officially family.”
If I had a family for every time someone promised that, I’d never be alone, but despite a past that should probably leave me jaded, I relish her words. I like this woman. “If Ethan’s okay with it, I’ll come along.”
She shakes her head and squeezes my wrist again. “For one more day, I’m the boss of this family, and I say you come.”
Nicole
The dryer buzzes, and I pull out the laundry and pile it into a basket. I’ve been flitting around the house all day, doing this and that. My first real day on the job and I didn’t need to go grocery shopping or prepare dinner, so I felt a little lost while Lilly was at school. Despite the fact that I know I’m temporary and shouldn’t feel like I have anything to prove, I hate to sit around or even run errands for myself on my very first day, so I cleaned showers that didn’t need cleaning, scrubbed toilets that didn’t need to be scrubbed, and mopped floors that were already sparkling.
Kathleen went with me to get Lilly from school so we could drop off my rental car. When we got home, I was ready to put on my childcare cap, but Lilly wanted to hang out with her nana and I was left to feel unneeded again. I decided to wash the little bit of laundry I’d seen in Ethan’s laundry room and practically paced until I could pull them from the dryer and busy myself again.
I iron Ethan’s dress shirts, fold his T-shirts and athletic shorts, and carry the basket to his bedroom to put away his clothes. In the doorway to his room, I hesitate. This was never on my list of chores. Lilly’s laundry, sure, but not Ethan’s.
At the last house I stayed at, I did everyone’s laundry, so I didn’t even think before tossing his in with the rest. But suddenly it feels like an invasion of privacy to walk into his bedroom and put away his clothes.
I take a breath. I’ve made it this far. Acting weird about it is just going to make it more awkward. I brace myself and flip on the lights.
The bedroom is large, with floor-to-ceiling windows on the far wall. The drapes have been opened—or maybe they always are—and dappled sunlight pours into the space from the big backyard. I take in the walnut bedside tables and the dresser across from the foot of the bed.
I can tell which side of the bed Ethan sleeps on—the covers are turned down from where he got out of bed this morning. A crime novel sits on his bedside table with a little notepad and pencil, as if he makes notes to himself while he’s in bed. On the opposite side of the bed, there’s a self-help book that was popular with the daytime TV hosts when I started college. I walk over and skim my fingers over it. A pencil marks a place inside, and I open it out of curiosity. A feminine scrawl covers the margins. The notes are a seemingly unconnected series of thoughts.
Happiness is a journey.
Tell Ethan you love him every time you see him!!!
We believe the lies we tell ourselves.
Marriages take work.
Love born in a lie is THE WRONG KIND OF LOVE!
I snap the book shut and put it back on the bedside table, feeling like I’ve just eavesdropped on a very personal conversation. I do my best not to analyze her notes—the state of her marriage when she died isn’t my business, and, frankly, it’s irrelevant.
But the book itself is telling—not just its subject or her notes inside, but the fact that Elena’s been gone three years, and the book she was reading when she died is still sitting on the bedside table.
Has he opened it? Does he know what she wrote inside?
I swallow hard and back away. Kathleen didn’t hire my sister to fix her son or help him let go of his wife. I need to mind my own business until Ethan finds my replacement, but the more I learn about this family, the more questions I have.
I put his casual clothes in his dresser, then flip on the lights to the walk-in closet to put away his dress shirts and pants. The lights flicker, and my breath catches when they illuminate the walk-in closet. It’s filled with women’s clothes. I look over to the other side of the dresser and realize there’s another door that must be his, but I can’t look away from all the contents of this closet.
These must be Elena’s. Has Ethan gotten rid of anything of hers? Does he carry on as if his dead wife still lives here?
“What are you doing in here?”
I jump at the sound of Ethan’s voice and drop the pile of his clothes as I spin around. “I’m just putting away clothes.”
He looks from the slacks on the floor to the lit-up closet behind me. “You’re putting my clothes away in my wife’s closet?”
I swallow. Is it any use to pretend I wasn’t snooping? I squat down and scoop up his dress pants. “I’m sorry. I went into the wrong closet at first and then my curiosity got the best of me.” I take a breath. “If you need any help moving that stuff out . . .” I flinch, realizing how callous that sounds. “I just mean if you need any help sorting through it. I’m sure it must be hard to decide what to keep and what to donate. And you’re really busy. You have an important job and a big family, and you probably want to spend as much time as you can with Lilly.” Dear God. I’m rambling. I take a deep breath. “I’m here all day while Lilly’s at school. All I mean is that I’d be happy to help.”
He lifts his chin. “Why don’t you just worry about yourself?”
“Ethan . . .” I step forward, wanting to say sorry but biting back the words. I apologize too frequently. I need to stop apologizing when I haven’t done anything wrong.
He folds his arms. He seemed more accepting of me when he woke me this morning, but now I feel like we’ve taken two steps back. “Why did you really take this job?”
I carry the stack of clothes back to the basket and avoid his gaze while I try to imagine what Veronica would say. “Because it pays well, and it’s a great opportunity to live in a new place.”
“I looked at your résumé. You’re so overqualified it’s ridiculous.”
Veronica is overqualified. I’m just your regular, run-of-the-mill babysitter. I grab the basket and turn back to Ethan. He’s staring at me. “Maybe I’m running away.” I look away as soon as the words come out of my mouth, embarrassed to have confessed something so raw.
“From the mistake,” he says dryly.
“Yes, from the mistake. From a town that thinks it knows me when I don’t even know myself.” I look down at his clothes. I feel too vulnerable when I look in his eyes. What is it about this man that makes me say too much? Maybe I just want him to see me the way I thought he did that first night. But when I lift my gaze back to those sad eyes that seem to have lived a hundred lifetimes, it’s like he doesn’t see me at all. “Surely after all you’ve been through, you understand what it’s like to hurt so much you’d do anything to escape it.”
He grunts. “Life doesn’t work like that. You can’t escape without stomping on the people you’re so desperate to leave.”
I open my mouth to defend myself and then close it. He doesn’t see me, and nothing I say will make him. “I don’t know how to do this.”
He takes the basket from my hands and puts it back on his bed. “I never asked you to do my laundry.”
For a second, I think he softens. His eyes dip to my mouth and down my body. His jaw relaxes and his hands release from fists at his sides. “You’re going to have to try. Nothing can happen between us. I told you that night would become something you’d regret. I told you that I don’t make promises.”
I flinch again. “I never asked for your promises.”
Ethan
The asshole strikes again.
I swallow, and my gaze returns to her lips. I can’t help it—I can’t stop thinking about those lips and can’t stop wishing to have them on me. When I woke her this morning to tell her I had to go, she looked so fucking sexy that I was ready to crawl into bed with her and make a whole new set of rules for how our arrangement was going to work.
Her hair was tousled from sleep and her face scrubbed clean, and she should have looked sweet and innocent, but her nipples were hard through her silky sleep shirt, and it was all I could do to keep my eyes off her body. I spent my day thinking about her, wondering if I overreacted to our situation and considering calling off the new nanny search in favor of having her close. After all, it’s only for three months, and Lilly already adores her.
Then I came home and found her looking in my wife’s closet like she was trying to take inventory. The suggestion that I should be sorting through Elena’s things just rubs me the wrong way. The last woman who tried to remove Elena’s things from my house went so far as to go behind my back and hire a service to come in and do it for me. Just like Nic and her offer to “help,” Kyrstie thought I should be grateful.
Fuck no. I don’t need to make room for anyone in my life but my daughter, and Lilly has everything she needs—including evidence that her father misses her mother every single day.
