by Mia Carson
Remy leaned into her mom’s hand. “If you’d given me another hour, I would’ve given you the good news, but I guess I’ll tell you now.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I have a phone interview in twenty minutes for a new job—a nanny position, live-in.”
“Around here still?”
“A little outside of Hartford, but yes, still close to home without being at home, so you and Dad can stop worrying about me,” she promised. “Maybe once I see how this next job goes, I’ll actually move out on my own—officially.”
Abby hugged her close, kissing the top of her head. “That’s all we want for you.”
“I know, and a husband and kids,” she added, laughing with her mom. “Sorry you got stuck with the slow kid.”
Abbey shrugged. “I’ll live. Besides, I don’t think I’m ready for someone to call me grandma yet.”
Remy had to agree. Her mom fell pregnant with her when she was sixteen. Abbey and George had had a whirlwind romance as teenagers, and when Remy came along, George stayed by her side through it all. Times were tough, they said, in the beginning, and a few times, Abbey said they were both ready to give up on each other. Their parents had been unsupportive of their decisions, but somehow, they made it through. Now, George was the owner of one of the best restaurants in town, and Abbey ran the local greenhouse, growing fresh produce for the restaurant. They were a great team, and Remy never dreamed of having any other parents.
“The interview is soon,” Remy told her mom. “I have to go get ready.”
“And I have to head to the greenhouse. The sprinkler system malfunctioned again. Tell me all about it when I get back.”
“I will, promise,” Remy said and hurried out of the shed and up to her old bedroom.
Though it was a phone interview, she freshened up and tugged on a clean pair of jeans and a blouse so she at least felt more professional. Usually, she did interviews in person, but the e-mail she received that morning from the temp agency said they were only doing phone interviews first. If they liked her, they would hire her on a trial basis, but they needed to find someone today. Remy asked why the rush, but the agency said they didn’t have that information.
She held her phone in her hand and sat on the window ledge in her room, gazing out over the town. When she was little, she used to sit in this spot and stare up at the stars, wondering what great adventures her life would take her on when she was older. She might not have left the state, but she was happy with her life and how it turned out.
For the most part, anyway. Her cheeks warmed remembering walking in on Callie and Matt going at it again yesterday morning. She told her friend she was stopping by to pick up some canvases she’d stored there, only to find them splayed out on the kitchen table. She closed the door quickly and left, texting her friend that she would get them later. But what she saw stirred some deep, hidden longing inside her to have a relationship. She dated here and there, but no one clicked with her quirky personality. She was either too bubbly, or they saw her artwork and assumed she was some goth chick who happened to like pink.
The phone rang and she cleared her throat and sat up straighter before she answered. “Hello?”
“Is this Ms. Remy Reagan?” a woman asked on the other end.
“Yes, this is she.”
“Oh, good. This is Stephanie Hollens from the Wellington estate. Is now a good time to speak with you about the nanny position?”
“Yes, it’s a perfect time. I’m very much looking forward to working with a new family.”
Stephanie laughed, the undertone was sarcastic, and Remy’s curiosity spiked as to what type of family she was possibly going to work for. “That’s good to hear. This family is a bit…different, I suppose you would say. I see here you worked with the Guttenbergs and the Trentons?”
“Both at the same time. Great kids. I was in charge of their morning routines when their parents had to go into work early. I stayed at the house when they were out of town and worked with them after school and in the evenings when need be.”
“They gave you wonderful recommendations, even offered you a chance to move with them out of state. May I ask why you decided to stay behind?”
“Connecticut is my home,” she replied simply. “I love it here, and there are always families looking for a good nanny or someone to take care of an older relative.”
“Ah, yes, the Bayard family. I am very sorry for your loss.”
Remy choked back the pain of losing such a nice, gentle old man. “Thank you. His family was so close they practically were my family.”
Stephanie asked a few more questions about what Remy would require if she moved in and explained what was expected of her if she accepted the position. She mentioned the trial basis but didn’t give any reason why they needed to hire someone today or why there was emphasis on the trial period being successful. Remy answered every question honestly, and when Stephanie finished telling her about the boy, Remy sensed she had the job.
“Well, those are all the questions I needed to ask. Do you have a few more minutes?”
“I believe so, yes,” Remy replied.
“Good. Mr. Wellington is here and would like to speak with you briefly. I expect to see you first thing tomorrow morning—ten sharp. We’ll get you settled in and the real job will start Monday.”
“Isn’t Louis there now?” Remy asked, confused.
“I believe Mr. Wellington will explain. Hold on for a moment if you please.”
Remy paced from the window to the door in her room, wondering what would need explaining. She hoped the parents weren’t divorced. She’d never worked with a family with that particular hurdle before, but she’d spoken with other nannies who said it was never pretty. The fighting over the kids and money was terrible to watch. Most nannies tried to avoid it, and Remy decided she would do the same if that’s what it came down to.
“Ms. Reagan?” a man’s deep voice said through the line. “I’m Stanford Wellington. Pleasure to meet you.”
“You as well,” she replied.
“Before you decide to accept this job offer, I want to be sure you understood the current situation.”
“Of course,” she said slowly, unsure.
“My situation is a little odd. I have recently been informed that I have a son of ten years who, until two weeks ago, I knew nothing about,” he started. “His mother died recently and named me as guardian. Louis will come to stay with me for a period of six months, during which time I must show that I am capable of taking him in permanently.”
Remy’s feet paused and her mouth fell open as his words raced around her mind. “That’s definitely not what I expected you to say,” she said without thinking.
Mr. Wellington’s laughter was deep and exhausted. “Two weeks ago, I said the same thing when this boy walked into my life. I’m still working at getting over the shock. I need someone who can help me transition from my current situation to one with a child.”
“I will do my best, Mr. Wellington,” she said confidently. “Whatever you need.”
“Good, I’m very glad to hear it. Stephanie said we will see you tomorrow morning?”
“Ten o’clock sharp,” she repeated the time.
“Good. Until then, Ms. Reagan. Enjoy the rest of your Friday.”
He hung up before she could say anything else, staring at the phone in her hand. “Until then.”
She pondered this man’s predicament, sitting in her room and wondering what mess she was walking into. This was worse than divorced parents. This was a father trying to figure out how to be one with a son he hadn’t known about until two weeks ago. Louis had to be going through a pretty tough time, losing his mom and going to live with a dad he probably assumed didn’t want him to begin with. Remy passed by the mirror over her dresser and stared at the uncertainty in her eyes.
“You can do this,” she told herself firmly. “It’s just like any other nanny job. You be there for the kid and you help
where you can. Don’t get involved in anything else.”
How she would do that and not get involved, she had no idea.
Later that night, when she sat down with her parents to share her new job starting that following morning, the looks on their faces said it all.
“Are you sure you want to walk into this situation?” George asked before taking a large bite of his steak. “I mean, you have no idea what that kid’s been through, or what type of man this Wellington guy is.”
“He sounded like a nice guy who was a little out of sorts,” Remy said, pushing her salad around on her plate. “I couldn’t say no.”
“But living there? You’re going to be around this guy twenty-four seven, alone in a mansion.”
“His son will be there, too, remember?”
“It doesn’t make me feel any better. You still have that pepper spray I bought you, right?”
Remy rolled her eyes as Abbey laughed quietly. “Dad, I think you’re overreacting just a tad.”
“No, I am not. You’ll be living with a rich bachelor who probably has women over twenty-four-seven and might even expect…well, you know,” he grunted.
“No, I don’t,” Remy said, watching her dad struggle to say what was on his mind.
“Yes, you do. You know perfectly well what I mean.”
“George, just say it,” Abbey ordered, her eyes glittering with laughter. His lips were pressed firmly shut until Abbey flicked a piece of lettuce at his face.
“Oh, all right, he might want special favors.”
“Favors, Dad?” Remy asked, knowing full well what this was leading to but loving watching her dad’s face turn three shades of red.
“Sex. He might want sex,” he hissed quickly. “I can’t believe I said that.”
Remy and Abbey erupted in fits of giggles as he grumbled down at his plate.
“Dad, I think I can handle myself. It’s called saying no or quitting. I’ll be fine, promise.”
He harrumphed but dropped it. Abbey asked her if she had everything she needed packed and ready to go and where they needed to drop her off.
“Actually, they’re sending a car,” she said. “Stephanie sent me a text after my interview.”
“Sending a car,” George uttered. “Lord, you will be living it up.”
“The other families were wealthy, too,” she pointed out.
“They never sent a car for you, though. You sure he even has a kid?”
“George, for the love of God, do you want your shed back or not?”
Remy choked on her mouthful of food. She knew her dad loved his shed and only offered it to her to use so Abbey would stop throwing fits about paint in various places of the house. Anytime she moved out to live with a family, George reclaimed the space as his workshop, and though he told Remy time and again he didn’t mind her taking it back when she moved home, she knew he did.
“You have a point,” he said, and Remy smirked. “But if you feel uncomfortable at all with this man, I want you to move right back home. We’ll negotiate on who gets the shed.”
Remy patted his arm. “You’re something else, Dad. I hope you know that.”
“Damn straight I do. Why do you think your mother sticks around?” he teased, winking at Abbey.
“Be still my beating heart,” Abbey replied wistfully, placing a dramatic hand over her chest.
Remy spent the remainder of the evening packing what she could of her current art projects and tucking them away until she knew if she would have space to bring them with her. Leaving it all felt like leaving a limb behind, but not every house had a place for her messy hobby. When she turned the light off in the shed before going to bed, she glanced at the sculpture piece covered in plastic.
“I’ll finish you eventually,” she told it. “Maybe I’ll have some better inspiration.”
The light clicked off and she walked to the house, her thoughts turning towards tomorrow and how she would deal with a family newly come together under such tragic circumstances.
4
Stan stared out the front window, waiting for the car to arrive with the new nanny. She sounded pleasant on the phone, this Remy Reagan woman, but anyone could fake nice over the phone. He didn’t even know how old she was, but from her voice, she wasn’t an old biddy like the nanny he grew up with.
“Stanford!” Stephanie hollered, and Stan flinched in his chair.
“What did I do this time?” he muttered to himself as he rolled back into the entryway. “What?”
“You’re kidding me, right? You didn’t get his room set up yet? It’s Saturday.”
“They’re not coming back until Monday,” he reminded her. “Calm down.”
“Have you even seen the upstairs of your house? Or the kitchen? You promised me you would bring in help to clean. I was gone four days this week and everything looks exactly the same.” She gripped the stair railing so tight in her hands, he saw her knuckles turn white from the ground floor. “What did you do all week?”
He tried not to look guilty. “I took care of what I could get to.”
“You could have gotten up here, too.”
He shot a glare at the electric chair lift on the staircase. “I’m not using that thing. It’s for old people.”
“And people with disabilities.”
He stiffened at her words. “It can’t be that bad up there, can it?” he said, hoping to change the subject. “Stephanie?”
“I quit,” she snapped.
Stan swore he didn’t hear her right. “What?”
“I said I quit. You let your damn pride get in the way every time, and I am not going to watch you fail at raising your son. I won’t! I quit—finished, done, and you can keep my damn bonus!” She stomped down the stairs, rushing past him in his chair as he followed her to the front door. She snatched up her purse and handed him a key. “Here, this is yours.”
“Stephanie, please,” he begged, but she shook her head.
“No. You told me you would get it done and you didn’t, just like all the other times. I can’t deal with you and your crappy attitude any longer.” She yanked open the door as a black car pulled up out front. “Damn rich men and their egos always getting in the way.”
Stan eyed the driver as he stepped around and opened the back door for the passenger to step out. “Can you at least help me get her settled in?”
Stephanie grabbed the strap of her purse hard as she leaned down so she was eye level. “For once, help yourself, Stanford. Goodbye.”
Stan watched her go, waving stiffly towards the woman with long, chestnut-colored hair trailing over her shoulders, and walked to her car. She swerved as she floored it down the long drive and disappeared from sight. The woman Stan assumed was the nanny eyed the spectacle for a moment, her brow furrowed, then squared her shoulders and walked towards him.
“Hi,” she said and held out a hand to him, not reacting to him in a wheelchair. “You must be Mr. Wellington? I’m Remy Reagan, the nanny.”
Shaking himself from his realization that Stephanie had actually quit, he took Remy’s hand and shook it. “You can call me Stan if you’d like.”
“Stan, then. A pleasure to meet you. Did I…uh, interrupt something?” she asked quietly, gesturing over her shoulder down the drive.
“No, you came in at the tail end of it. That was Stephanie, my old housekeeper.”
“Old housekeeper?”
“Yes,” he said with an aggravated sigh. “She just quit, and now, I have half a house that still needs to be made ready for my son. Come along. I’ll show you the house and we can talk more.”
Remy grabbed her suitcase and a duffel from the trunk of the car and carried them inside, setting them down where he directed by the staircase. “So far, your house looks ready to go for a kid,” she said politely, peeking into the sitting room.
Stan nodded, studying her closely. He’d expected some sort of reaction from her when she saw him in a wheelchair. A pitying glance, a look of disgust as some women show
ed him more often than not. Even questions about what happened, but instead, she took it in stride, not staring and not bringing up the subject at all.
“Yes, well, Louis will stay upstairs and I’m afraid it’s not yet clean enough.”
“I can take care of it for you,” she offered. “Cleaning’s really not that big a deal for me.”
“I hired you to be the nanny, not the maid,” he said firmly. “I’ll hire someone to take care of it.”
“Didn’t you say he’s coming on Monday?”
Stan cursed. “It will be taken care of. That is not for you to concern yourself with. This is a large house, too much for one person to clean on her own. Now, how about a tour? And maybe you can tell me more about yourself.”
As he pushed his chair and she walked beside him, her black slacks clinging to her legs and showing off her curves, her admiring eyes stared everywhere but at him. “There’s not much to tell, really. What would you like to know?”
“What’s your family like?” He stopped when they reached the kitchen, giving her a chance to explore a little.
“Tiny… very tiny,” she told him. “This pantry is huge! You could have a party in it.”
He smiled for a brief moment at her comment before his face settled back into a passive stare.
“I’m an only child. I do have two cousins, but they live in Canada and really don’t talk to my grandparents much. My parents are kind of the black sheep of their families.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Is there a good reason why?” He was close to everyone in his family and couldn’t imagine not keeping in touch with everyone he shared blood with.
“My dad got my mom pregnant at sixteen and they had me,” she shared easily.
A strange pang of anger shot through him. “And that’s why their parents don’t want anything to do with them or you?”
She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing. “I guess so. They wanted my parents to give me up for adoption, but they didn’t. Both parents graduated high school and worked their butts off to support their tiny family. They married the second they turned eighteen.”