Such Great Heights

by Sydney Logan

  The office is decorated with deep reds and golds. A leather sofa and chair rest on a large area rug in the center of the room, and the walls are lined with shelves full of books. A wide mahogany desk sits in front of the window.

  And in the tall executive chair sits the most handsome man I’ve ever seen, wearing a suit and tie. With his dark hair, scruffy beard, and crystal blue eyes, I’m momentarily stunned by the realization that my best friend has such a gorgeous brother that I’ve never met.

  Just another reason to kill her. The list is becoming long.

  “Jackson, this is Olivia Stuart.”

  Swallowing down my nervousness, I step closer to his desk and offer him my hand.

  Big mistake. He’s even cuter up close.

  Mr. Healey firmly shakes my hand. “Are you okay, Miss Stuart? You look a little flustered.”

  Snap out of it, Olivia.

  “I’m fine. And please, call me Olivia.”

  “Please have a seat. You’ll meet Ryder shortly.”

  I glance back at Hazel who’s trying hard to hide her smile. She gives me a thumbs-up before closing the door behind her.

  “Thank you.” I take a seat across from him and try to get my nerves under control. I have to get it together before he questions Dana’s glowing recommendation. “And thank you for the opportunity, Mr. Healey. I look forward to doing everything I can to help you and your son.”

  “Well, that would be refreshing. It would be especially refreshing if I hadn't heard the same promise from the other nannies.”

  Crap.

  “I understand the last few months have been a challenge.”

  “A challenge. Yes, you could say that.” Mr. Healey stands and walks toward his window, gazing out at the Nashville skyline. “I don’t normally hire my sister’s friends for . . . well, any position. But Dana speaks very highly of you. You’re twenty-four years old and just graduated in May from Belmont?”

  “That’s right.”

  “And yet, you couldn’t manage to find a teaching job.”

  My stomach flips.

  “Not yet, no. There were too many applicants and not enough positions.”

  “Hmm. Perhaps you didn’t try hard enough.”

  Huh?

  “There were nearly one thousand applicants in the Metro Nashville area, Mr. Healey.”

  “Job candidates must find a way to set themselves apart. Make themselves invaluable to perspective employers. Maybe you weren't persuasive enough.”

  Mr. Healey sits back down in his chair and gazes at me with his penetrating eyes. I’m just about to tell him he can take his nanny job and shove it when I realize that’s exactly what he wants. He’s testing me. After all, if I can’t handle the father, how will I ever deal with the son?

  I smile tightly.

  “Mr. Healey, I graduated Magna Cum Laude. I have impressive letters of recommendations from my advisors and professors—all of which I will happily share with you. I am a licensed teacher and overqualified to play nanny to your son, and yet, here I am, because I’m a hard worker, and I need a job. I would appreciate the chance to prove how invaluable I can be to your son . . . and to you. I’ll even volunteer my services this first week. After seven days, if you aren’t happy with my job performance, fire me. And you won’t owe me a dime.”

  Mr. Healey seems a little dazed by my rant, but I can see the slight smirk at the corner of his mouth. That simple smile transforms his entire face.

  So pretty.

  I shake my head.

  “Very good, Miss Stuart. We have a deal.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Healey. And I would prefer you call me Olivia . . . sir.”

  “Well, Olivia,” Mr. Healey says as he rises from his chair, “you've handled this interview like a pro. I think it's time to see if you can handle my son. Are you ready?”

  I stand up and square my shoulders, hoping I look braver than I actually feel.

  “Yes, sir. I’m ready.”

  Mr. Healey leads me through the living room.

  “I trust Hazel is helping you get settled in your room?”

  “Yes, sir. She’s been very kind.”

  He nods. “By the way, if you insist I call you Olivia, I would prefer you didn’t call me sir. That’s my father.”

  I grin slightly. Did he just sort of make a joke?

  “Yes, Mr. Healey.”

  We continue down the hallway, until he stops at the room right next to mine. He gently knocks on the door.

  “Come in,” a little voice calls out.

  Mr. Healey opens the door, and from the moment I walk in, I feel my stomach fall to the floor. Ryder’s bedroom looks just like the rest of the house.

  White. Cold. Unwelcoming.

  There are toys, and they’re all stuffed in gigantic toy boxes that line the walls. There are books—all nice and neat and arranged by author's last name on the bookshelf. I’m all for keeping a room neat and organized, but this? This is nuts. The room is completely void of color. Even the comforter on his bed is black. Solid black with white pillows.

  But nestled against the pillows on that bed is the cutest five year old I've ever seen.

  “Who are you?”

  Ryder’s little voice is pained and hateful. I nervously glance at Mr. Healey, who nods in encouragement.

  “I'm Olivia. I'm your new nanny.”

  Ryder stares at me for a few moments, sizing me up.

  “Go away,” he spits angrily, pulling one of the pillows out from under his body and throwing it at my head. I dodge, but there’s really no need. The kid’s aim is terrible.

  “Go away!”

  I hold his gaze while he glares at me with his dad’s bright blue eyes. Daring me to say something. Just waiting for me to turn tail and run.

  This is Ryder’s test.

  Not a chance, kid.

  I square my shoulders and glance at Mr. Healey. He’s watching me expectantly, waiting for me to work my magic. To make myself invaluable.

  Kneeling down, I pick up the pillow and gently toss it back onto the bed.

  “Rule number one, Ryder—we don’t throw things, unless they are things that can’t hurt others.”

  His eyes brighten. This piques his interest, excited at the prospect that he’s allowed to throw something.

  “Like what things?”

  I step closer to the bed. “Soft things.”

  “Like . . . popcorn? Or feathers?”

  “Popcorn and feathers are soft. But they can be messy. We’d have to promise Hazel that we’ll clean it up.”

  An excited Ryder climbs to his knees. I can feel Mr. Healey’s eyes on me.

  “Pillows have feathers.”

  I smile.

  “That’s true. But feel this?” I run my fingers along the seam of the pillow. “Pillows can have hard edges. We have to be careful not to hit someone too hard. But yeah, I think pillows are okay, as long as we aren’t trying to hurt someone. Pillow fights can be a lot of fun.”

  Intrigued, Ryder slides his tiny finger along the pillow’s seam.

  “So what’s rule number one?” I ask.

  “Don’t throw hard things.”

  “Good job.”

  I hold my breath and pray this rule doesn’t come back to bite me.

  Mr. Healey clears his throat. “Ryder, Mrs. Langham will be here soon for your piano lesson. Please wash your hands and head to the living room. Olivia and I will be there in a few minutes.”

  “Okay.” Ryder climbs down from his bed and walks toward his adjoining bathroom. He quietly closes the door behind him.

  “Can he reach the sink?”

  “He has a step stool.”

  I nod.

  “That was . . . interesting to watch. That’s the longest conversation I’ve ever heard between my son and his nanny.”

  “Really?” I’m surprised. I mean, what was that? A minute? Maybe two?

  “He’s sometimes a handful for his piano teacher. Maybe you’ll have a calming effect on him. A
nd if not, you’ll have the chance to witness your first meltdown.”

  With a nod, I follow Mr. Healey toward the living room. Mrs. Langham is already there—flipping through her sheet music and looking like she’d rather be anywhere else but here.

  “Good afternoon, Mrs. Langham. I’d like you to meet Olivia. She’s the new nanny.”

  The woman eyes me up and down. “Another one?”

  Mr. Healey sighs. “Yes, another one.”

  Mrs. Langham sadly shakes her head but says nothing. I say hello and sit down on the couch just as Ryder walks into the room. After helping his son onto the piano bench, Mr. Healey joins me.

  Without prompting, Ryder begins to play. It’s a haunting melody, with what sounds like complicated scales and chord transitions. I’m sure I should recognize the song, but all I can think about is the fact that I am apparently the nanny to a musical prodigy.

  And he’s smiling.

  Suddenly, Ryder hits a wrong note, and the room grows eerily quiet.

  Mrs. Langham nods toward the keys. “That transition is tricky. Let me show you.”

  The teacher places her fingers on the piano.

  Ryder’s smile fades, and I watch in horror as he angrily pulls the hinged cover down over the keys and smashes the piano teacher’s fingers. Mr. Healey jumps to his feet as the woman’s piercing scream sends a chill down my spine.

  Then Ryder turns his big blue eyes toward me.

  And he laughs.

  I can’t help but admire the speed at which Mrs. Langham runs out the door. She doesn’t even take her purse. I vaguely hear Mr. Healey ask Hazel to have it delivered to the woman’s home and to assure her that he’ll take care of any medical bills.

  That’s considerate. No doubt the poor woman has a broken finger or two.

  What have I gotten myself into?

  Ryder’s still seated at the piano, his fingers drifting along the keys as he plays. He seems calm and very unconcerned . . . as if what just happened was nothing out of the ordinary.

  Mr. Healey sits down next to me and buries his head in his hands.

  “So, Olivia Stuart, with your degree in elementary education, what do you suggest?”

  “Honestly? A child psychologist.”

  He winces as if I’ve slapped him across the face.

  “I’m sorry to be so blunt. But . . . he’s violent, Mr. Healey.”

  “I know. The violence . . . it’s new. I mean, he threw some things at the other nannies—like when he flung the pillow at you—but those were just tantrums for the most part.”

  “How did you punish him?”

  Mr. Healey laughs bitterly. “Punish him? Natasha would never let me punish him. And now that I’m trying to set some boundaries—”

  “He’s rebelling.”

  Ryder finishes the song and transitions right into a new piece. I’m not familiar with this one, either, but that doesn’t keep me from being in complete awe of his talent.

  “He's a prodigy, you realize.”

  Mr. Healey smiles softly. “He is quite good, isn't he? If only everything was as easy as piano.”

  The defeated look on his face nearly breaks my heart. The man is clearly at the end of his rope. I wish I had an answer, but what do I know about disciplining a child? I learned during my student teaching that how I would discipline and how a parent disciplines could be two very different things.

  “What have you tried since your wife's . . . absence?”

  “Time-out, which is completely ridiculous. He kicks and screams, and I have no idea how to handle it. After a few minutes, I end up pulling him into my lap and rocking him until he falls asleep. It’s not effective at all . . . or maybe, it’s me who’s ineffective.”

  “Mr. Healey, I’m obviously not a parent, but in my classes, they emphasized consistency. Boundaries. Ryder’s never had to follow the rules—”

  “Oh, there were rules. Natasha had a mile-long list of them. Keep all the toys in the toy box. Alphabetize the bedtime stories on the bookshelf. Eat organic food. Go to bed promptly at eight. No finger-paints. No candy. No cartoons.”

  “No fun.”

  Mr. Healey shakes his head. “Fun wasn’t encouraged at all. That would have required my wife to actually spend time with her child. Ryder did have play dates, however. Every Saturday at 1:00.”

  “Well, that's something, at least.”

  “Play dates were at the park, and Hazel took him.”

  “Oh.”

  “Yeah.” He tugs on his tie, loosening it. “So, he needs to be punished for hurting Mrs. Langham. Don't you agree?”

  “Most definitely. I don't think time out is the answer, though.”

  “I know what my dad would’ve done to me.”

  “Mine, too.” I wasn’t spanked much as a child, but it did happen occasionally. “But I don’t think that’s appropriate here. You don’t hit someone to punish them for hitting someone else. That’s hypocritical, I think.”

  Mr. Healey nods thoughtfully while Ryder continues to play. This time, the familiar notes of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star flow from the piano. The stark contrast between the classical piece he was playing earlier and this simple kids’ song tugs at my heartstrings. Somewhere deep inside the little monster is a child who’s missing his mom and in desperate need of just being a kid. But he also needs to learn that hurting another person is wrong, and it’s a lesson he needs to learn immediately.

  “Does Ryder have a favorite activity? Something he'd miss if it was taken away?”

  Mr. Healey's eyes search mine. The answer is ridiculously simple, but is the emotional outburst worth it? We both nod in unison, and I steel myself for the tantrum that’s sure to come. Very slowly, we both walk over to the piano. Mr. Healey gently removes Ryder’s hands from the piano and holds them tightly while I slowly pull the cover down over the keys.

  “Hey!”

  “No more piano,” Mr. Healey says calmly.

  “Why not?” The little boy’s heartbroken voice pierces my soul. Then suddenly, his furious gaze locks on me. “You did this! I’m mad at you!”

  During my student teaching, I’d been yelled at by some of the rowdiest kids I’ve ever met. This little blue-eyed boy can’t scare me.

  Much.

  “Tell him why he’s being punished, Mr. Healey.”

  He clears his throat. “You hurt Mrs. Langham, and you did it on purpose. No more piano for . . . ”

  Mr. Healey searches my face for a number.

  “Seven days.”

  I don’t know why I chose a week. Anything less doesn’t seem like enough. I mean, the kid probably broke the woman’s fingers. He has to be punished.

  “Seven days. Ryder, do you understand?”

  Ryder ignores his dad as he struggles to lift the piano cover. I firmly hold it down, and in a fit of frustration, the kid starts to kick me.

  “Stop, Ryder.” I’m glad my voice sounds firm and brave because I’m anything but. While I’ve been yelled at, I can’t remember a kid actually kicking me.

  “That’s enough!”

  Mr. Healey lifts his son off the bench and carries him—kicking and screaming—to his bedroom. I jump out of my skin when the door slams shut.

  I bury my face in my hands.

  That’s it. I am soooo out of here.

  “You did very well, Olivia.”

  I look up to find Hazel standing next to the couch. With a heavy sigh, I sit down on the piano bench. She must sense I’m in need of a hug, because she joins me and wraps her arm around my shoulder.

  “The violent tendencies are new. Neither Jackson nor I are very good at handling them. You were very good with him.”

  “I don’t think I’m cut out for this, Hazel.”

  “There’s no shame in that. As you know, many have tried.” She smiles sadly and gives my shoulder a squeeze. “He’s never been violent toward me, and for that, I’m grateful. But who knows if it will last. I know it’s hard to imagine, but he really is a sweet boy.”
<
br />   “But he has to follow rules or face the consequences. Otherwise—”

  “He’ll be a juvenile delinquent someday. I know.” Hazel sighs softly. “Mrs. Healey had rules, but none that were age appropriate, if that makes sense. As long as he was in his room, with his toys in the box and his books alphabetized, she was happy to ignore everything else. She expected him to be this little adult. Mrs. Healey wasn’t the best mother, but she was still his mother, and now she’s gone. He doesn’t know why and has no idea how to handle it. It doesn’t help that strangers are coming in and out of his life, and he’s running them off before they’ve barely had the chance to unpack.”

  “I’m not running.”

  Yet.

  Hazel smiles. “I’m glad. You’re already my favorite nanny.”

  I laugh lightly. “That’s not really saying much.”

  “Oh, but it is. You’re so patient, Olivia. That’s a quality the other nannies didn’t have. I don’t blame them for leaving. I just wish they’d tried a little harder. But maybe there’s a reason the others didn’t work out. I see a lot of potential in you. You could be so good for Ryder . . . and for Jackson. He’s lost, too, and he needs help. He needs a friend.”

  She speaks of Mr. Healey with so much love that I have to ask.

  “Did you really used to change his diapers?”

  Hazel chuckles. “I did. I’ve been with Mr. Healey’s family since before he was born. I was their housekeeper, and eventually, Jackson’s nanny. When he turned twenty-one, he inherited his trust fund. The very next day, he announced that he was buying this penthouse and taking me with him. I didn’t mind. We’d grown incredibly close, as you can imagine. Don’t tell his sister, but Jackson was always my favorite. I love Dana, but she’s a little—”

  “Opinionated. Foul mouthed.”

  “Your words, not mine.” Hazel laughs. “So, Jackson took his money and bought this place. The rest is history.”

  My eyes sweep the room, and I can’t help but laugh at the absurdity. I have a studio apartment about a mile off campus. Jackson Healey’s college housing had been this amazing penthouse.

  “And he's a lawyer?”

  She nods. “He was always very focused and determined. Honors student. Graduated from high school when he was seventeen and was accepted at Vandy. Finished law school when he was twenty-four. He started working at his father’s firm the day after graduation.”