The Doctor's Nanny

by Emerson Rose

  “Don’t apologize. It’s not like you forced me. I could have said no to the clubbing, the drinking, and to King, but I didn’t, and that’s on me,” I say, untangling myself from her arms. “Let’s go finish watching Orange is the new black.”

  “You caught that, huh?”

  “Yea. I’m glad nobody started cursing or getting naked while she was standing there.”

  “I would have died laughing,” she says.

  “I don’t feel like laughing.”

  I can just make out the silhouette of Savanna nodding in the dark before she turns to lead the way back to the living room.

  My phone pings, notifying me of another text while I’m snuggling into my spot on the couch.

  “Who’s that?” she asks, and I turn my gaze toward the TV.

  I have to decide how to handle breaking things off with King. Should I read his texts or just delete them and block his number? If I read them, it will make me weak and I’ll feel obligated to reply. And I have a strong suspicion that King will not be ignored. Blocking his number will only prolong the inevitable until he gets home from Miami and searches me out.

  My phone pings again, reminding me of the waiting texts. Ugh, I need time to think and my damn phone is rushing me.

  “You gonna answer that?” she asks.

  “I don’t know what to do. He keeps texting, and I want to answer but I can’t.”

  “I can read them for you,” she offers. That wouldn’t be a bad idea if I weren’t afraid of him saying something about last night.

  “Thanks. I should probably do it though.”

  “Holland, you said earlier that you could have said no to King. Did you mean—”

  “Yeah,” I answer. She may as well know everything—well not everything. I look over, and she’s frozen on the other couch with her mouth hanging open. We were both virgins, and it was always assumed that she would be the first to lose hers. In fact, she teased me that I’d never give it up to anyone because I couldn’t put my violin down long enough.

  “Who are you? I mean, where is the real Holland? I can’t believe this.”

  “I’m not sure who I am anymore either.”

  “Holland, what are you gonna do? I can tell you’re into him, but damn, he’s really a drug dealer? Are you positive? Could that Sebastián person be wrong? What if he’s just trying to scare you off for some reason? I think you should talk to King before you make any decisions.”

  She has a point. I mean, Sebastián didn’t actually say the words, ‘King is a drug dealer,’ and I’ve only known King for less than forty-eight hours.

  “Look at the texts. See what he’s saying.”

  I sigh and cave easily, looking at his first message. When I see it’s pretty tame, I read it out loud to Savannah.

  ‘Thinking of you. Make yourself at home. If you need anything, just ask Sebastián.’

  “He sounds sweet, not like a drug dealer.”

  “What’s a drug dealer sound like?” I ask.

  “Like you know . . . using curse words and being bossy and stuff. I don’t know, not like that though. What’s the next one say?” She wiggles into a more attentive position on her couch and waves at my phone.

  ‘Boarding the jet. I’ll message when I’m in the air. Are you okay?’

  “Boarding the jet? Holy shit, Holland, he has a jet? Maybe he really is a drug dealer.”

  “Just because he’s boarding a jet doesn’t mean he owns it.”

  “Now you’re defending him? A minute ago you were ready to dump him,” she says, narrowing her eyes.

  “I know. I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do. I’ve never had a boyfriend or whatever he is, and I’ve certainly never known a drug dealer, okay?” I yell and toss the phone aside.

  “Okay, okay, sorry. It’s just . . . I dunno. This is so crazy.” She shakes her head.

  “You don’t have to tell me that. I feel like I’m in the middle of a tornado. I don’t know which way is up.”

  “Call him.” She shrugs.

  “What? I can’t just call him, he’s on a business trip.”

  “Okay, then read the rest of his texts at least.” I grab my phone again and scroll to his third text.

  ‘Getting ready to land. You’re quiet, baby. You okay?’

  “He calls you baby? Oh my God, that’s serious.” She’s on her knees now, rubbing her hands on her thighs and practically vibrating with excitement.

  “It’s no big deal.” I lie, because it is to me. I love it when he calls me baby.

  “Okay, next message,” she says with enthusiasm. She’s just not getting that this is serious. It’s not a game. I have strong feelings for this man, and we both have secrets—big secrets. I sigh and look at the next message.

  ‘Call me.’ Short and direct.

  “Well that’s a little bossy—much more like a drug dealer,” she says, nodding her head up and down.

  “You’re not helping, Savannah.”

  “Sorry. Keep going. What else does he say?”

  ‘Call. Me.’ Again? Shit.

  “Uh, I think maybe you should call him.”

  I look with one eye open to see what his last message says, and it makes me sit up straight and drop my phone in my lap.

  “What? Holland, what did he say?” she asks, joining me on my couch. She picks up my phone to read the message herself. I hear her gasp when she reads it aloud.

  ‘I’m having the jet refueled. I’m coming home right now if you don’t call me—pinky swear.’

  “Pinky swear? What’s that mean? Shit, Holland, call him.” She hands me the phone and I take a deep breath before dialing.

  He can’t come home. He can’t find out I’ve been lying to him about my age. He can’t know I live at home with my parents, and I can’t keep seeing a drug dealer, no matter how I feel about him.

  The phone doesn’t even finish ringing one time before I hear his voice.

  “Holland, is everything alright?” he says, and I hear the howl of a jet engine in the background.

  “I’m fine, sorry I didn’t text you back. I guess my phone was on vibrate. You don’t have to come home. Really. Everything’s fine.” I start to think he can’t hear me over the noise of the jet, because he doesn’t respond right away.

  “Something’s wrong. I hear it in your voice. You sound scared.” Shit, now what am I supposed to say? I sound scared because I am, but I can’t tell him I’m scared of him.

  “Uh no, why would I be scared? I just don’t want you to rush back. You have business there, and I’m fine.”

  “Holland, if someone is making you say these things, just say yes right now, okay, baby?”

  “Huh?”

  “If someone is with you that doesn’t want me to come home, and they are holding you against your will, say yes right now.”

  “No, no one is . . . wait, why would anyone be holding me against my will?” I ask, sitting up straighter and bouncing my foot up and down on the floor. Oh my God, am I already in danger from being associated with him?

  I hear him sigh heavily into the phone. “This problem in Miami could be gang related, and I guess I’m just being paranoid where you’re concerned. I’m sorry if I upset you. Sebastián says you left and Brian saw you off. Are you at home?”

  “Yes, sort of. I mean, I’m at Savannah’s spending the night.”

  “Oh good. Okay then. I need to get over to the club if I’m not coming home. You’re positive everything is alright?”

  “Yes, everything is fine.”

  “I miss you already, Holland.” Oh God, his voice is hypnotizing. I can’t think about anything but his mouth forming the words I miss you and his hands all over me. All the drugs and illegal activity in the world can’t stop my body from reacting to that voice.

  “I miss you too,” I answer breathlessly, and Savannah shoves my shoulder, bringing me back to reality.

  “I’ll be home soon. Keep your phone close and turn on the volume, please. I don’t like n
ot being able to reach you.”

  “Okay,” I squeak helplessly. I can’t make myself tell him that I won’t be seeing him again . . . ever.

  “Think of me, Holland. Think about my hands sliding over your silky skin in the water tonight and my lips on your mouth, your neck, your perfect breasts. Think of my hard cock pressing against your back . . . fuck, I might have to get back on this plane. I can’t believe I left you like that. I’m so hard for you it hurts, baby. I can’t wait to get back to you.” His deep, gravelly voice turns me inside out. I can’t breathe. My heart is pounding in my chest so loudly that he can probably hear it in Miami. I close my eyes and think of his hands, the water, the honey . . .

  No one has ever spoken to me that way. I don’t even think I’ve ever heard a man say things like that in a movie. This is so much worse than I thought it would be. I have no idea how I’m going to cut this man out of my life.

  “Speechless?” he says playfully.

  “Uh yeah. Sorry, it’s just . . .”

  “I know. Believe me, I know. I’ll see you tomorrow. Don’t forget to think of me.” The line goes dead, and part of me wishes I were dead too.

  “So? What did he say? For a minute there I thought you were gonna faint.”

  “He knows something’s wrong. He wants me to think of him, and he’s coming home tomorrow. Can we talk about something else? Distract me or something. This is all just too confusing to try and figure out right now.”

  Savannah chews her bottom lip, and after a minute, she jumps up and takes off down the hall. When she returns carrying a violin case, she has an insanely big grin on her face.

  Raising an eyebrow, I reach for the instrument.

  “It’s mine from the fourth grade. It’s a piece of crap. Play. It always makes you feel better.”

  I open the case and discover that she’s right. It’s a piece of crap, but right now I don’t care. She knows me so well. Music has always been my coping mechanism, and Lord knows, right now I’m not coping very well.

  “What are you going to do?” I ask. I can’t imagine how Savannah thinks classical music is boring. She likes her music loud with a pounding beat.

  “I’ll just lay over there and let you play me to sleep,” she teases.

  “Nice, thanks.” I roll my eyes and try to tune her violin. It’s almost impossible, but I get it as close as I can and begin to play Samuel Barber’s Adagio for Strings. It’s one of the saddest pieces of music I know. Savannah is actually familiar with the piece. She has an electronic mixed version on one of her playlists.

  I close my eyes and let the music take me away to the place that feels most comfortable, the place that is home to my soul. I slowly slide my bow across the strings, feeling every fiber of it connecting to make the sounds that will temporarily ease my pain. If I could sit on this couch and play every minute for the rest of my life, I would. My small, comfortable life has been turned upside down by a man I can never have, a love that can never be known. I feel a part of me growing up tonight as I sit and try to figure out my very grown up problems. I’ve always felt more mature than my friends—sometimes even more mature than some adults—but this is something that even the most experienced adult would have trouble dealing with.

  Orange is long past being over, and Savannah is fast asleep on the couch when I finally have to put the violin down because my arms are too weak to play another note. As soon as I do, my real world problems come rushing back. I lay in the dark, swinging back and forth between my heart and my mind. I could easily throw all caution to the wind and tell King I lied about my age and pray that he cares enough about me to overlook it. Or I could avoid him like the plague and go to New York earlier than I had planned. Maybe some distance would help me get on with the life I’ve been dreaming of for as long as I can remember.

  It’s past two in the morning, and I’m exhausted when I finally lay my head down to sleep. King wanted me to think of him, and think of him I do. All night while I sleep, his face plays the leading man in all of my dreams. Some are happily ever after dreams, some are confusing and broken, and others are downright nightmares.

  In the morning, I don’t feel one bit refreshed, even though I sleep until eleven o’clock. Savannah is in the kitchen making grilled cheese and tomato soup. She’s been up for a while. She’s showered and dressed with her ear buds in, listening to something so loud that I can hear it twenty feet away.

  “You’re going to be deaf if you don’t turn that down, you know,” I say, fully aware that she can’t hear me, but she squints, trying to read my lips before pulling one bud out and letting it dangle from her neck.

  “Huh?” she says, and I chuckle and repeat myself.

  “You’re going to be deaf.”

  “It’s not that loud, hush. Here, eat something.”

  I take a seat at the kitchen table and see her glance at the coffee table where my phone is sitting before pouring the hot soup into mugs.

  “He’s been calling. I put it on vibrate so you could sleep.” I sigh and drop my head back.

  “How long does it take to fly from Miami?” I ask the ceiling.

  “About two hours and thirty minutes. Why?”

  “Because he’s probably already home. He said he would come straight home if I didn’t answer his calls.”

  “Shit, does he know where you live? Do you think he will just show up on your doorstep?”

  “Yes, absolutely. I have to call him.”

  “What are you gonna say?”

  “I don’t know, whatever comes out of my mouth I guess. I can’t figure this out, but I know he won’t give up. I’ll have to tell him I lied about my age and that I know what he is.”

  “What if he freaks out?”

  “Then he freaks out,” I say, taking the mug of soup from her.

  “Okay, it’s your funeral,” she says, sitting down next to me. I kick her shin and she yelps.

  “Sorry, bad choice of words. I forgot he’s a drug dealer. But seriously, why don’t you just have that Sebastián guy tell him and avoid the trouble?”

  “I owe it to him to tell him the truth myself. I shouldn’t have lied to him.”

  “He shouldn’t have lied to you either.”

  “It’s more like we both omitted the truth. Neither of us actually lied. I mean, he assumed I was over 21 because I was in his club, and I assumed he was just a club owner because that’s all he told me.”

  She shakes her head and smiles while she dips her sandwich into her soup.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You can rationalize anything, ya know that?”

  “Hush.” We eat in silence until I realize I didn’t hear her mother come in last night.

  “Your mama still out?”

  She takes a bite of her sandwich and looks past me toward the front door. “Yeah. Told ya she doesn’t usually come home when she’s with that guy.” Her voice is laced with disappointment and anger. I feel bad for her. If her mama’s not working, she’s dating. There’s never any time left for Savannah.

  My parents are so different from hers. Everything they do is somehow geared toward getting me to New York so I can fulfill my dreams.

  “Sorry, sore subject. I didn’t mean to bring it up. I just wondered if she was home.”

  “It’s cool. You’d better shower and call him back before your mama comes to get you for practice.” Practice. Shit, that’s right. I have to be there at one o’clock. I need to hurry. Should I call first and shower after, or shower and then call? Shower first, definitely. That will give me some time to think of a way to tell him that we can’t see each other anymore—as if there were any good way to tell him.

  “I’m going to shower,” I say, getting up to put my dishes in the dishwasher.

  “Grab something out of my closet to wear if you want.”

  “Thanks,” I say, picking up my phone. I make my way down the narrow hall to the only bathroom in Savannah’s small house, glancing at her old family photos on the walls. It’s stran
ge how they all stop when her daddy left them, kind of like a representation of the death of her family. I’m so grateful that my parents still love each other and I never had to deal with the heartache and mess of having divorced parents.

  I start the shower in a thoughtful daze and quickly strip down and hop into the hot water. Savannah’s house is always cold, even during the hottest part of the summer. As soon as I’ve stepped under the spray, I hear a commotion coming from the front of the house. God, I’ll bet Savannah’s mama is home and Savannah’s pissed off at her for not calling, the poor thing. Savannah’s shouting gradually becomes louder and closer, and it sounds like she’s fighting with her mama’s boyfriend who kept her out all night. I wince when they’re just outside the bathroom door. I don’t want to be eavesdropping on her family problems, but I’m sort of stuck in here.

  I lean my head back under the spray to block out the noise when the bathroom door bursts open and I hear Savannah yelling at King—not her mama or her boyfriend.

  “Get the fuck out of my house. Holland, get dressed,” she shouts. I’m frozen, paralyzed with my hands still in my soapy hair.

  “Stop pulling at my clothes. Move, damn it!” King yells, and I hear them slapping at each other. Savannah’s a scrapper. She can smack, scratch and pull hair with the best of them.

  The shower curtain is ripped open, and I jump and lose my balance trying to cover myself, but King roughly thrusts his hand in to grab my waist, steadying me.

  “I told him not to come in here, Holland. You need to leave right now. I’m gonna get my daddy’s shotgun,” Savannah screams.

  “Little girl, you had better back off and let me talk to your friend here before I get really angry.” The power behind his voice causes her to stumble back just enough for him to quickly close and lock the door.

  God, this is a nightmare. I squeeze my eyes closed as the shower pelts my back and shampoo runs down my forehead and over my face.

  “Rinse off. We need to talk,” he says, yanking the curtain shut. I step back, trembling from the cooling water and the fury in King’s voice.