by JB Salsbury
“It’s like a goddamn Maggie shrine in here.”
My words hit their target, and he pushes up from his chair to take two steps toward me. I chuckle, partly because it’s nice to see the good pastor still has some fire in him, and also because I might very well get him to smother me with a pillow and bring me the sweet fucking relief of death if I keep this shit up.
“She’d be proud to see you doing so well without her. I bet…” I brace to fight off a wave of nausea and clear my throat. “I bet you still have all her clothes. Maybe your next wife will wear them and you can pretend she’s—”
“That’s enough.”
“No, it’s not.” I chuckle. “I’m not even warmed up yet.”
“That’s the drugs talking, you’re not yourself—”
I burst out laughing because he has no fucking idea who I am or what myself sounds like. “Stop being a little bitch and get over your dead wife already.”
He spins toward the door and grips the handle, but he mumbles, “I’ll be praying for you, Jesiah.” Then he walks out.
I smile. That was easy enough. I should have him killing me or kicking me out in no time. My eyes lift to a photo of Maggie on the bedside table. There’s nothing special about her. She looks like an average girl on an average day. I never knew Maggie. I met her briefly when I went to my brother’s wedding but ended up leaving early because the paparazzi got wind and crashed the party.
Fine by me. The booze was cheap and the bridesmaids were all Bible-bangers. Maggie seemed like an okay chick though. Perfectly blah and normal, just like my brother.
Three years later, Dave pulled me out of a recording session to let me know Maggie had died of some weird shit that happened giving birth to my brother’s kid. I should’ve probably reached out, but I knew I was the last person he’d want to hear from and there was nothing I could say to make him feel better.
Yep. I don’t need him and he never needed me.
I flip the photo down so I don’t have to stare at Maggie’s disapproving face. “Family. So fucking overrated. You should know that by now, Maggie.”
My eyes focus across the room. I blink to clear the haze of fever-sweats. The chair. A blanket has been thrown over the back of it, but I’d recognize the carved pattern anywhere. How many times were my palms marked by that fucking pattern?
Why does my brother have it?
A violent heave wracks my body, and I cough and spit over the side of the bed, praying for death to come.
Bethany
The bus stops a block from Pastor Langley’s house on Palo Verde Road. Mid-March and its almost ninety degrees at seven o’clock in the morning, and my shoulder under my purse strap is wet with sweat. I’m grateful for the tiny breeze cooling my skin. Every year summer in the desert is as hot as I imagine hell to be, and I’ve made no move to relocate.
Because of Wyatt.
No, not because of Wyatt!
I have my friends here—okay, my one friend. My church… ninety percent of the congregation is twenty to thirty years older than me. My parents live only an hour away. And come on, what’s not to love about Surprise, Arizona? Even the name is fun.
I’m scrolling through Wyatt’s IG page, tapping on old photos to see if there are any new comments, but find nothing. Maybe he’s still—I spot a navy pickup truck in the driveway, next to the pastor’s minivan that’s parked over the huge chalk rainbow drawn on the concrete. I shove my phone in my pocket and knock twice on the door before the lock clicks open.
A man with dirty-blond hair, who I’ve never seen before, answers. “Hey, you must be the nanny.”
“Bethany.” I respond to his kind smile with one of my own.
“Come in.” He swings open the door, his free hand firmly wrapped around one of the pastor’s coffee mugs that has THE SERMONATOR written on it. “Coffee’s fresh.”
He walks past me to the kitchen as if he’s lived here all his life, which is really weird. I’ve been Elliot’s nanny for two years and never seen another soul in this house.
“I’m sorry, but who…”
“Oh.” He holds out a hand to shake mine. “I’m Pete, RN.”
“RN?” I realize now that Pete RN is wearing blue scrub pants with a matching shirt. My gaze darts to the hallway that leads to the bedrooms. “Is Pastor Langley all right?”
“He’s fine.” He turns toward the cupboards and grabs a mug. “Coffee?”
“Uh… sure.”
“Cream and sugar?”
“Yeah, that’s great, thanks.”
Elliot must still be sleeping. I’ve never been here this early. Usually when I come at nine o’clock, she’s already at the table, eating cereal.
“Nice shirt.” He eyes the logo on my left boob and lingers a little too long before grinning at me. “You work there?”
No, dumb dumb, I just like wearing a Pies and Pancakes uniform shirt. “I do.”
“You have my favorite pie.” He hands me my coffee with a smirk that makes my skin feel hot. “French silk.”
“Oh, yeah.” I accept the coffee. “It’s one of our most popular flavors.”
I move to the living room to avoid whatever it is he’s doing that feels an awful lot like flirting. I set my purse on the couch and notice a pillow and folded blanket placed at the end. Is Pete RN sleeping over at Pastor Langley’s house? None of your business, Nosey Nancy.
A door slams and I startle, spilling hot coffee on my hand. I lick it off before it drips to the floor just as Pastor Langley comes down the hallway. His hands are in his hair, his elbows high so that his T-shirt sleeves slide down to showcase his larger-than-pastor-sized biceps. He makes eye contact with Pete and frowns. Whatever non-spoken conversation they have doesn’t seem like good news.
I turn my back to give them privacy, but then I hear someone coughing violently. I spin around as the RN springs into action and races down the hall. What the hell was that?
“Bethany, hey,” Pastor Langley says on an exhale, heavy with relief.
Oh wow, he is wearing sweatpants. Ashleigh’s going to kill me because there’s no way I’m pulling out my phone to snap a pic.
He drops his hands from his head and motions to the dining table. “Have a seat?”
“Oh, sure.” I scurry over and can’t help but let my eyes travel down the hallway.
He grabs himself a cup of coffee and takes the seat across from me. His cropped brown hair is a mess and his eyes droop a little bit, as though he’s in desperate need of a good night’s sleep. “Thank you for coming early.” He runs a hand over his head. “There have been some changes around here, and they may affect your willingness to continue work as Elliot’s nanny.”
I wonder if it has anything to do with the sick man in the pastor’s room. I sip my coffee, trying to remain calm, even though it sounds as though I’m about to get fired. I can’t get fired. I need this job. “Oh?”
“Are you familiar with…” He sets his intense green eyes on me, and it’s hard to hold his gaze. “My background?”
“Um… not really. I only know about Elliot’s mom…” I allow my words to trail off because neither of us need to hear me say “dying.”
“Right.” He frowns, and I hate the look on him. “Very few people know that I have a brother and he’s… well, he’s a huge pain in the ass.”
I chuckle at the pastor saying ass. Seriously, how cool is he?
“We were estranged until a few days ago when his manager called, telling me my little brother needed my help. There was no way I could say no, even though, between us, it was really tempting.”
I nod, afraid to say the wrong thing, but did he say manager? I’m guessing he’s not talking about the blue-Walmart-vest-with-a-gold-nametag kind of manager. I know his brother can’t be Pete RN—they look nothing alike—which means—
“So, uh… my brother has been staying with me. He’s staying in my room because he’s pretty sick.”
Ah-ha! How sick? Cancer?
“But…” Hi
s face scrunches up as he looks at me. “He’s getting better. Stronger every day, and I guess what I’m saying is, he’s going to be here for a while. Three months, to be exact.”
“Forgive me, but what does this have to do with me?”
He reaches over to the bookshelf to his left and I do not notice the straining muscles in his arms. Nope. No, I do not.
He slides a piece of paper in front of me. “I hate to ask you to do this. I hope you know I trust you implicitly, but the big boys in LA have their own rules and if you don’t sign this, then you’ll no longer be able to nanny for Elliot and that will really suck.”
I blink at the sheet of paper. The header is the name of a law firm printed in a fancy font on pretentious cream-colored paper. The subject of the document: Non-Disclosure Agreement. I allow my eyes to follow along, line for line, the strings of ten-dollar lawyer words I don’t understand.
Then I get to a name.
One name I’ve seen plastered on every gossip magazine headline, every entertainment news show, and every awards show in the history of Hollywood—or at least in the last five years.
“Jesse Lee?” I swallow back my reflex to choke. Nervousness has always made me nauseated. I set my eyes on Pastor Langley. “Your little brother is Jesse Lee?”
He nods solemnly.
My gaze slides down the hallway to the bedroom. “Jesse Lee is in this house?”
“He is.” Pastor Langley slides a pen across the table. “And if you want to stay employed by me, and I pray you do because I’d be lost without your help, I’ll need you to sign.” He dips his chin toward the document. “I’m sorry, I know this isn’t cool, but everything happened so fast and—”
“It’s okay.” Is it? Is it okay? There’s a world-renowned recording artist a stone’s throw from where I’m sitting. Jesse Lee, the rock-n-roll bad boy, the Coast-to-Coast Casanova, the guy who recorded a song with the sound of him pleasuring himself in the background until he… he… until completion!
“If you’re at all uncomfortable with this, I understand. If you’re a fan of my brother’s music, I think it’s best if you don’t sign it.”
“I’m not a fan.” No way. Gross. I mean, his music is all right if you can get over the fact that he’s a worldly, self-indulgent heathen. “Not at all.”
“I figured as much.” He grins. It’s small, but it’s enough to stick in my craw.
Why would he figure I’m not a Jesse Lee fan? I like music. I like all kinds of music.
Pete RN comes out of the bedroom, closing the door softly as if trying not to wake the person inside. The front of his shirt is wet and he has a small towel in his left hand. He makes eye contact with Pastor Langley but doesn’t speak. Both men’s eyes come back to me.
Right. I go back to reading the document. If I sign this, I’m not allowed to speak about what I see inside this house to anyone.
I’m not allowed to speak to the press. Well, duh! Who would do that?
No photos. No videos. No autographs.
All infringements upon this contract will constitute legal action.
This is ridiculous.
I scribble my name on the dotted line and slide the paper back across the table. The pastor exhales long and hard, and I sense the relief pouring off of him.
“It’ll be fine, Pastor.”
“Please, I’ve told you before, you can call me Ben.”
“Right… okay.”
He scoots back in his chair and takes a photo of the document before hitting some buttons on his phone. I assume he’s sending it to the powers that be.
“Welcome aboard, nanny.” Pete squeezes my shoulder then tugs my ponytail playfully.
“Uh… thanks?”
I don’t really see how things will be all that different with the infamous Jesse Lee in the house. I’ll still show up every day and sit with Elliot until we hop on the bus to go to preschool at noon. Then I’ll scurry off to work at the diner like I do every day of the week. Surely adding a multi-millionaire, triple-platinum-selling, Grammy-award-winning man-slut to mine and Elliot’s mornings won’t be too disruptive. Hopefully he and Pete RN will stay in that back bedroom.
Pastor… er… Ben sets down his phone and looks at me in a way that feels like the sincerest of apologies.
“I’m going to be fine, Ben.” Wow, it feels weird calling him by his name. “I’m here for Elliot. I’d never turn my back on her, you know that.”
“I appreciate that, I do. But, uh, there’s one more thing that’s not in the contract, but I’m asking as a friend, as your pastor.”
“What is it?”
“Please don’t tell anyone Jesse’s my brother.”
“Oh, okay. Sure.” I make a zipping motion on my lips and toss away the key.
He smiles with a full mouth of straight, white teeth and I can see it now. Add a sexy smirk, a head full of X-rated thoughts, a few dozen tattoos, and a little more height but less muscle… yeah, I can see how Pastor Langley and Jesse Lee could be brothers.
I wonder why all the secrecy.
4
Bethany
The rest of the week is completely uneventful. I show up at the Langleys’ at nine o’clock sharp as Ben gathers his things to head to the church. Pete RN stays in the bedroom with the superstar—I assume watching him sleep or whatever else nurses do with sick famous people. A flash of Pete RN giving Jesse Lee a sponge bath flickers through my mind, but I push it out of my head.
Elliot and I eat cereal and watch cartoons before I bathe her and dress her for school. I make her lunch while she practices her colors at the dining room table, and we’re out the door to catch the bus. The week runs like clockwork.
So when I show up at Pastor Langley’s on Friday, I expect much of the same.
The door swings open before I’m even across the yard, and Ben comes spilling out with one arm full of books and the other hand holding a huge travel mug. “I’m late for a meeting with the elder board. Go on in, Elliot’s watching TV.”
He gets to his minivan without dropping anything, which is impressive considering he looks as though he hasn’t slept in a month.
“Okay. Have a great day!” I wave as I jog up the couple steps to the front door.
“Thank you!” His car fires to life, and I watch him pull out cautiously.
When I get inside, Elliot’s in her rainbow PJs, holding her stuffed tomato and watching Veggie Tales.
“Good morning!”
She turns around, her dark eyes settling on mine for a second before she smiles. “I’m watching Silly Songs with Larry!” She points at the television and turns back as the animated cucumber sings in a slightly annoying voice.
I drop my purse on the couch and squat next to her, kissing her head before pushing her dark curls away from her face. “Did you eat?”
Her mouth is open and she smells like Honey Nut Cheerios.
“I’m going to take that as a yes.” I cross to the kitchen, where I can keep an eye on her as I clean up the breakfast dishes, and freeze when I see a sink full of plates. “Looks like someone’s feeling well enough to eat again.”
I haven’t asked what’s wrong with the celebrity locked in the back room, but I’m practically a PhD after Googling every symptom I’ve heard whispered around the house. Chills, vomiting, hallucinations, no appetite… my guess is flu or stomach bug. I can’t imagine Ben allowing anyone in the house who might be contagious, but that might be why Mr. MTV is quarantined in the bedroom.
I keep that in mind while I rinse the dishes and put them in the dishwasher. I run the machine immediately and make sure to wash my hands and sanitize the sink when I’m through. When I hear footsteps in the hallway, I look up to see Pete RN making his way toward me.
“Mornin’, Beth-nanny.” He tosses a newspaper in the garbage and sets two coffee mugs in the sink.
One of those probably had Jesse Lee’s lips all over it. I wonder how much something like that would sell for on eBay? I heard a waitress put Justin Bieb
er’s dirty milk glass on eBay for $75,000! Of course, this mug could be carrying a highly contagious disease so…
“Hey, Pete. You’re hilarious.” I rinse the coffee mugs, kissing a potential seventy-five Gs goodbye. “Charlie Sheen.”
“Nope.”
Over the last few days, I’ve learned a little more about the playful nurse, like the fact that he lives in Phoenix and works in private care catering to the rich and famous. The problem is he refuses to disclose who he’s worked for, but swears if I guess right, he’ll let me know. So far, all my guesses have been wrong.
I wipe my hands and hang up the towel, waiting for him to speak. His posture indicates he has something to say.
“I need to run out for a bit.”
“Um, what?” I try to remain calm by closing my eyes and attempting to lock down my suddenly racing heart. “You’re leaving?”
“Don’t sound so scared.” He winks which, despite his handsomeness, makes him a little skeevy if I’m being honest. “I’ll be back.”
Is it okay for him to leave?
He laughs. “You’re cute when you’re confused.”
I’ll ignore that. “Are you sure you should leave? I mean, what if he falls or, like, needs something?”
“First off, he won’t fall. Second, I won’t even be gone for an hour.”
My eyes dart over his shoulder to the hallway. “So he’s feeling better then?”
He seems to mull something over for a second, as if he’s trying to choose his words wisely. “There’s no concern for any immediate health risks.”
I wring my hands and lean over the breakfast bar to make sure Elliot is still happily involved in her show. “He’s not contagious, is he?”
His eyebrows pinch together. “No.” A slow smile pulls his lips. “He’s not contagious.”
“Phew… great. I feel better.”
He blinks a few times then shrugs. “Right, so I’m going to take off.”
“Maybe I should call Ben and let him know.” I pat my pockets for my phone before remembering it’s in my purse.
“No need.” Pete snags his keys from the bookshelf. “He already knows.” He holds up his cell. “I texted him.”