The Summer Nanny

by Holly Chamberlin

  “Yes,” Hayley said. “It is.” She so wished Marisa would leave. She didn’t know how much longer she could fake a normal conversation.

  As if subliminally detecting Hayley’s wish, Marisa looked at her watch. “Oops,” she said. “I’d better get ready for work. I’ll check on the girls while I’m upstairs.”

  Finally, finally Hayley was alone. She held on to the counter for support. She had kissed Ethan in his father’s house. It wasn’t like her to be reckless. How could she have been so . . . But she couldn’t be angry with herself, not entirely. She was in love. For better or worse it had happened. She was in love.

  Chapter 107

  Amy’s mother was making dinner. She is such a good person, Amy thought, slumped in a seat at the little table in the backyard. Even after a long, hard day at work she was always happy to make them a meal and ready to listen to whatever news Amy might need to share. I don’t deserve her, Amy thought, digging a hole in the grass with the toe of her sneaker. But what would I do without her?

  From the pocket of her lightweight jacket Amy removed a small, blue velvet box. The morning after the third odd night spent in the Priors’ house, Cressida had given Amy another gift, this one for being “a star.” It was a silver ring set with what for a split and mind-numbing second Amy had thought was a diamond, but that Cressida explained was a good-quality cubic zirconia. Amy had wanted to ask what Cressida, who by her own admission collected only “important” jewelry, was doing with a fake, but she didn’t. Instead, Cressida offered an explanation that had left Amy feeling humiliated.

  “I ordered it from one of those websites that sell mid-level costume jewelry,” Cressida said. “One day you just might be ready for a real diamond of your own.”

  Later that morning Cressida had vaguely mentioned Amy coming with the Priors to Atlanta, but again she made no reference to a specific job at Prior Ascendancy. Amy was glad. She was not moving to Atlanta no matter how real a job she was offered.

  And maybe it wasn’t a good idea to move to Boston, either. She had allowed herself to be taken advantage of this summer, and that certainly didn’t say much for her maturity. If she did decide to stay in Yorktide come September she would have to let Tracy, Stella, and Megan know as soon as possible so they could start the search for another roommate.

  Amy opened the blue velvet box and stared at the ring inside. The awful thing was that she liked the ring. It was really pretty, but how could she ever wear it knowing from whom it had come and the spirit in which it had been given? Where was her pride? Why couldn’t she throw it away? She felt an overwhelming flood of frustration. She wanted to turn the clock back to the spring, before she had first started thinking about working as a nanny this summer so that none of this craziness would have happened. But that was magical thinking. Magical thinking got you nowhere.

  “Amy!” her mother called from the house. Amy—not Aimee—stuck the ring box into the pocket of her jacket and with a heavy heart went inside for dinner.

  Chapter 108

  Leda couldn’t sleep. All day long she had been thinking about the notion of finding oneself at a crossroads, neither here nor there, betwixt and between. That’s where she was at this moment in her life, at the proverbial crossroads. The truth was that at some moment in everyone’s life a choice had to be made—this path or that path. You chose one and you lived with that choice, whether it turned out to be a good choice or bad.

  Leda stared up at the ceiling fan slowly twirling its way to nowhere. At this moment in time she could either retreat or advance. She could refuse further interviews and requests for articles. She could keep her website small or even let it lapse. She could go on as she always had, reasonably content within a limited scope. Or she could open herself to a wider community of craftspeople and those who appreciated their work.

  But the choice had already been made, hadn’t it? By accepting Phil’s formal gesture of acknowledgment—the party he was giving in her honor—Leda was in effect choosing the path that for her represented more risk, and quite possibly far more rewards. In the past few weeks, Leda had come to understand that there was a reason prizes were awarded and medals were bestowed, apart from the largely self-serving aspect in certain exalted circles. People needed to acknowledge in others talents they didn’t themselves possess. To accept that acknowledgment gratefully and thankfully was okay. It was more than okay.

  Leda turned on her side and tucked her hands under her pillow. She wished her parents could be here with her now to share in this time of celebration. Funny, she thought. No matter how old you were, a part of you still wanted to make your parents proud. And Charlie. Poor Charlie. She would like it if he were by her side now, too. In a way, she supposed he was still with her. Amy was his daughter, and Amy embodied the best of Charlie Latimer.

  It was no use. Sleep would come when it wanted to. Leda tossed the covers aside and went to the little desk in a corner of her room. There, she opened a sketchpad and with sure and rapid strokes she began to sketch a very intriguing idea that was blossoming in her mind.

  Chapter 109

  Hayley was alone but for a few stars and a sliver of a moon. It was ten o’clock. She was sitting on one of the benches in the parking lot at Ogunquit Beach. She didn’t usually venture out at this hour, but her troubled thoughts had propelled her from the small apartment in search of air. In search of space in which to think.

  Ethan. The thrill of their kiss, the ecstasy of having been told she was loved, it had been all too quickly replaced by a flat and certain realization of futility. There was no true romantic future for Ethan Whitby and Hayley Franklin. She had known that earlier in the summer, but she had let that truth be blinded by unruly emotion.

  That Ethan had been telling the truth when he declared his love for her Hayley had no doubt. She also had no doubt that Ethan was in love with a fake. The real Hayley Franklin was unlovable. Who could love someone who had been compelled to physically restrain her own father in an attempt to prevent him from beating her mother? Who would ever believe that she had taken absolutely no pleasure or pride in such an action? Who would ever believe such a person wasn’t forever tainted by such negative experience?

  Hayley pulled the sleeves of her sweatshirt over her hands and crossed her arms over her chest. Alone at the edge of the ocean she realized that she was completely isolated. There was no one in her life to whom she could turn for comfort. Given the circumstances of her home life she had always been somewhat alienated, but to feel now at the tender age of twenty-one that she was completely alone in the world was truly awful. Would it always be this way?

  Yes, Hayley thought. Because her past had made her what she was. Her past had made her a deceiver. And Ethan’s past had informed his character; it had made him noble. Maybe that was an old-fashioned concept, but Hayley believed that nobility of character still meant something in this world. A noble person was a person concerned with the good of others, a person willing to put aside his desires for the sake of another’s happiness or safety. And by not acting on his romantic feelings for Hayley for so long, that was just what Ethan had done. He had been protecting her. And what had she done for him in return? Nothing but consider him someone to use in order to achieve her own selfish ends.

  Even if she were to come clean and admit to Ethan that she had lied and why, even if he were to forgive her and ask her to be his wife, one day he would realize that his love had been sorely misplaced and then he would leave her. Worse, he would stay with her for the sake of their children, and Ethan and Hayley would be prisoners in a loveless, resentful marriage.

  Hayley shivered in the damp night air. Her father had just lost his most recent job. He swore it wasn’t his fault. Her mother was sporting a suspicious bruise on her arm, a bruise she swore was a result of tripping over the living room rug and stumbling into the door frame. Her brother had left yet another drunken voice mail on her phone, asking for money because someone he thought a friend had stolen his last few dollars.
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br />   Would Eddie or Nora or the real Brandon Franklin ever be welcome guests at Jon Whitby’s Italian villa or at the dining room table in their lovely Greenwich home? Would the Franklins and the Whitbys ever be able to engage in civilized, intelligent conversation about politics, or religion, or art, or even about the future education of their grandchildren? The answer to these questions was a resounding no.

  It was better to end things with Ethan now before anything had really begun. It was for his own good. Hayley would tell him the truth about herself. He would probably hate her for lying, but she hoped he would forget her before too long. Hayley knew that she would never forget him, and that would be her proper punishment—a lifetime haunted by the memory of the only man she had ever loved. A good and decent man.

  Wearily, Hayley got up from the bench overlooking the water and headed for her car. Who knew what mess she would find when she got home.

  Chapter 110

  “Why aren’t you wearing the ring I gave you?” Cressida demanded. She was dressed in a racerback running top and leggings that came to just above her calves. Amy knew that “thigh gap” was a coveted thing among models and wealthy women, but this was ridiculous. Amy felt slightly sick to her stomach faced with the skin-and-bones woman before her.

  “I didn’t think it would be a good idea to wear it while I’m working,” Amy said quickly. “In case it got damaged. It’s so pretty.”

  Cressida seemed to accept that explanation. “I need you to watch the children tonight,” she said. “Will and I are dining out.”

  Amy’s stomach tensed. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I can’t. My mother’s celebration party is tonight.”

  Cressida frowned. “Her what?”

  “I told you.” And she had, though Cressida hadn’t seemed the least bit impressed. “She won Best Emerging Talent in a national fiber arts competition. There’s a party tonight at Phil Morse’s house.”

  “Phil Morse?” Cressida waved a hand dismissively. “I don’t know him. Anyway, you’ll just have to show up late. I need you, Amy. Remember, you were hired to watch the children. We’ll be home before nine, and you can pop into the party then.”

  Before Amy could further protest—and she wasn’t sure that she would have had the nerve to—Cressida strode out of the room. A moment later Amy heard the front door open and shut. Amy stood alone in the kitchen. She had a completely unexpected desire to pull every stemmed glass from where they hung over the microwave and throw them to the floor. Her anger frightened her. She took a deep breath and forced herself to calm down. Will. Maybe she could appeal to Will. It would be risking Cressida’s wrath, but . . .

  “What did your mom win?”

  Amy jumped. Jordan had appeared, silently as always.

  Amy managed a smile and told him.

  “Is she nice?” Jordan asked.

  Amy smiled again at the dear little boy. “She’s very nice,” she said. “She makes the most amazing angel food cake, and she used to sing me to sleep when I was little and afraid of thunderstorms.”

  “We’re not allowed to eat cake,” Jordan replied, “but sometimes my dad gets us cupcakes when we’re out.” Suddenly, his eyes grew wide. “Don’t tell my mother, please,” he begged.

  “I won’t say a word,” Amy assured him. She wanted to enfold him in a hug but wasn’t at all sure he would welcome such a gesture.

  As suddenly and as quietly as he had come, Jordan left the kitchen via the door to the patio.

  The moment he was gone, Amy burst into tears. How in the world was she going to break the news to her mother, her wonderful mother, that she would miss a good deal of her victory party? How?

  Chapter 111

  Phil was impeccably turned out as always in a slim tan suit. His pale blue shirt coordinated beautifully with his vibrant blue pocket scarf, and his taupe suede shoes were downright gorgeous.

  Leda glanced around Phil’s backyard. It was tended by a professional landscape company and was always in perfect shape, the lawn thick and even as a carpet, the rhododendron and azalea bushes trimmed, and the large maple tree flourishing. For the evening’s festivities, the granite-topped table and wrought-iron chairs that usually stood on the flagstone patio had been put away and replaced with a long drinks table covered with a smooth white cloth. There were bottles and bottles of wine along with sparkling water and a nonalcoholic fruit punch. In the center of the table sat a tall vase sporting a stunning assortment of yellow and green flowers, Leda’s favorite color combination. Phil had hired waiters to pass platters of hearty appetizers, classics like deviled eggs and shrimp wrapped in bacon, as well as more sophisticated options like tuna tartare on toasts and blinis with caviar and sour cream.

  It was wonderful to see so many friendly faces, Leda thought, like Adelaide Kane and Cindy Bauer of The Busy Bee quilt shop. As fellow fiber art enthusiasts, they had been Leda’s friends through thick and thin. Verity Peterson, a sculptor and instructor at Yorktide Community College, was there as well, along with her fi-ancé, David Wildacre, the head of the English Department at the college, and her daughter Gemma, herself a budding artist. Missy had been one of the first to arrive and already seemed to be the life of the party, circulating expertly.

  The one noticeable absence among the crowd was Amy. She had sent Leda an apologetic text around one o’clock, explaining the situation in which she unexpectedly found herself. She promised to be at the party by nine and offered her mother use of the red velvet shawl and black sequined evening bag. At three and then again at six Amy had called, adding to her initial apology and promising to get to Phil’s as soon as the Priors returned from their engagement.

  It was interesting, Leda thought, watching the guests laughing and raising glasses. Only weeks earlier Amy’s absence at an important event like this would have left Leda feeling devastated. But at this particular moment, her confidence boosted by the attention her work had been receiving as well as by her ability to finally put the past in the form of Lance and Regan Stirling to rest, she was able to take her daughter’s absence somewhat in stride. Sure, she was disappointed that Amy couldn’t be at the party from the start. But Amy was an adult, and she had made a choice, much as Leda was an adult and was now making a choice not to depend so heavily on her daughter’s emotional support. It was a lesson she was learning the hard way, but learning it she was.

  When Leda had first arrived at Phil’s an hour before the festivities were due to begin, he had complimented her on her outfit. Leda had been pleased. Phil did not offer hollow compliments. She had agonized over what to wear that evening. She had spent a full forty-five minutes going through her closet and had finally decided on a black linen sheath dress, over which she wore a long vest of her own design and execution. The bright blues and pale greens of the vest popped against the black of the dress and worked well with the turquoise-and-gold stud earrings Vera had given her for her last birthday. Amy’s offer of the shawl and the bag had been kind, if guilt driven, but both items were far too fancy for an evening in Yorktide.

  Leda suddenly was aware of two new arrivals to the party. She didn’t recognize either the man or the woman. Only when Leda saw them shake hands with Phil did she realize that the bags slung across their shoulders were camera bags. Her stomach fell. When the reporters had gone to the drinks table, Leda dashed over to Phil.

  “Reporters? What are they doing here?” Leda whispered, grasping his arm.

  “I invited them,” Phil said simply. “That’s Bob Hurley from the Yorktide Daily Chronicle and Sue Harris from the Portland Press Herald. You’re a local interest story, Leda.”

  “Phil, you shouldn’t have!” Leda protested.

  “Nonsense. It’s good publicity for the both of us. People will read about you and come flocking to the shop for your work. Well, those who don’t come to you directly for custom work. Remember, when Bob and Sue approach you, be charming and be sure they get the spelling of the shop correctly.”

  Phil moved off to greet more arrivi
ng guests. Well, Leda thought, taking a fortifying sip of wine, she had made the choice to walk along the more public path, hadn’t she? She could handle Mr. Hurley and Ms. Harris. Of course she could.

  Leda accepted a blini from one of the circulating waiters, and as she did she spotted Hayley among the crowd. Though she was nicely dressed in a taupe dress, she looked pained. Leda wondered if her mood had anything to do with the supposed relationship with Ethan. She had heard no further gossip about the two, so maybe if something had indeed begun it had already ended. Hayley suddenly caught sight of Leda and made her way through the throng.

  “Your mother couldn’t come?” Leda asked, though she hadn’t expected to see Nora Franklin.

  “She sends her best,” Hayley told her. “Congratulations again, Mrs. Latimer.”

  Before Leda could thank Hayley, Phil called the guests to attention. He raised his glass and asked everyone to raise their glasses to the woman of honor.

  “Speech! Speech!” Vera cried after Phil’s brief toast.

  “Go on, Mrs. Latimer,” Hayley encouraged.

  Leda cleared her throat. The last time she had spoken in front of a crowd was at one of Amy’s Girl Scout meetings ages and ages ago. “Thank you all for coming,” she said, hoping she was pitching her voice to be heard. “This has been an amazing experience. I especially want to thank Phil Morse for believing in me from the start and for never allowing me to give up, even when I was sorely tempted to do just that. He’s been my friend, my knight in shining armor, my greatest supporter. To Phil!”

  When the applause had died down, Leda found Hayley gone and Vera by her side. Vera was wearing a pair of dark denim flares, a crisp white blouse, and a fitted navy blazer with shiny gold buttons. “I see you and Margot have been chatting,” Leda said.

  “Yeah,” Vera said. “She’s nice. More than nice, really. And she’s cute, don’t you think?” Suddenly, Vera’s expression turned serious. “I don’t know, Leda. Do you think I’d be totally insane to give love another chance?”