Nanny Needed

by Georgina Cross

She glowers at me. “Don’t go near him!” she says. “Don’t trust him. You think he’s so good…” She shakes the blades, a frightening curl at her lips. “But he’s not.” My heart drops to my stomach and her voice lowers to a peculiar whisper. “Don’t trust him, Sarah…” she repeats. “Don’t believe a word he says.” I take a step toward the door.

  “That’s enough,” Stephen tells her.

  “Get away from him,” she says again, her eyes hardening. “Get away from Alex too. From me—from all of us. You shouldn’t be here!”

  She lunges once more, screaming, “Leave, Sarah!” And that’s all I need to hear.

  I bolt down the hall and run as fast as I can from West Seventy-eighth Street.

  * * *

  —

  By midafternoon Sunday, I’ve received three bouquets of flowers, one cookie cake, a box of chocolate-covered strawberries, an Uber Eats delivery of surf and turf from one of the more expensive steakhouses in town, a certificate for a full-day spa treatment, and my own bottle of Chanel No. 5—the full ounce size. The onslaught of gifts is maniacal.

  I know I shouldn’t accept them. But the gifts keep coming, deliveries arriving each hour until it’s nearly predictable. Another sharp buzz punctuates the quiet as another delivery worker presses our downstairs call button, and my stomach fills with half dread, half curiosity to see what’s arrived next.

  I picture Collette sitting at the computer, gripping the mouse, clicking on one order after another, every charge sent to her credit card, hoping her gifts will make up for what she’s done.

  But she’s the one who told me to get out.

  I hailed a cab last night in my Oscar de la Renta gown and didn’t take a full breath until I knew we’d safely rounded the corner and were barreling down Columbus. I pretended to be asleep when Jonathan arrived home, but now my fiancé is staring at me as our apartment fills with deliveries.

  “Does she think it’s your birthday or something?” he asks jokingly. But there’s a seriousness in his eyes too. The stockpile of gifts is over-the-top and I’m worrying about how much longer I can keep hiding the truth.

  What could I possibly tell him that would make him understand? My new boss lost her shit again but this time she lunged at me with scissors?

  Jonathan is picking at another cookie, the floral arrangements crowding our one and only table. “It’s a little much, don’t you think? I mean, I know you’re good. Her daughter must be in love with you, but all this too?” He lifts the box of chocolate-covered strawberries.

  Jonathan pops one of the strawberries in his mouth as my phone pings. My eyes shoot to the screen.

  Please forgive me, the message reads.

  It’s Collette.

  The phone dings again. I was out of my mind. I won’t do that again, I promise.

  I don’t answer, only stare blankly at the screen.

  Please come back.

  Please, Sarah. Please.

  The messages keep coming. Ten in all.

  I drop my phone.

  An hour later, Jonathan and I are consuming the surf and turf—damned if we’re going to let good food go to waste—when the door buzzer sounds once more.

  Jonathan starts to get up, but I stop him. “It’s my turn.” And I leave the door open a crack as I take the stairs.

  Blond hair through the window. Oversize shades. This is no delivery person but the woman herself. Collette is cupping her hands against the window and she smiles the moment she spots me taking the final stair. A knot forms in my stomach.

  She’s wearing a gorgeous Easter egg blue trench coat with a matching hat and standing on the pavement in long sleeves and pants—the outfit chosen, I’m sure, to cover the slash marks I know are hidden underneath.

  I halt. The only thing separating us is the glass door of my apartment lobby. I’m not sure I’m ready to face what waits for me on the other side of that glass.

  I look to see what she’s carrying, paranoid she’s still brandishing a pair of scissors and could slice at the air as soon as I open the door. But there is nothing in her hands.

  Against all instincts, I open the door. She’s whimpering. But it’s time to tell her I’m quitting. I’ll hate to leave her alone in that apartment at the mercy of her controlling family, but I can’t do this anymore. I need to find a way out of that contract and she’ll need to understand.

  I study Collette. Behind her, a driver, not the one she hired earlier in the week, is sitting behind the steering wheel, the engine left running. She’s bribed someone else this time.

  I keep my foot barricaded against the door.

  “You shouldn’t be here,” I tell her.

  Her eyes round. “I’m so afraid you’re going to quit.”

  “I need to, Collette.”

  “Please, you can’t!” Her voice rises. “Let me apologize. What I did last night, that wasn’t me—it’s this new medication they put me on.” I let out my breath—so many excuses. “I shouldn’t have been drinking. The doctor, these new meds. They made me crazy.” She pulls the sunglasses from her face, her eyes searching mine and threatening to spill fresh tears. “You have to believe me. I’m so sorry.” She reaches for my hand, but I instinctively pull back. She lets her hand fall to her waist, her face crumpling.

  “Please forgive me,” she cries.

  I have to be firm. “This isn’t working, Mrs. Bird. I’m so sorry. I’m turning in my notice—”

  “No! Please don’t do that!”

  “I can’t do this. I tried, but I can’t. Last night was—”

  “I’m switching to a new prescription. I won’t drink again. Alex says he’ll never host another dinner party. I can be better, Sarah, I know I can. Last night was rock-bottom and it really woke me up, the thought of losing you. I hate that you had to see it, you and Stephen both. No one should have to go through something like that. Alex hasn’t stopped yelling at me.”

  I’m wondering if Stephen has been hollering at her too—he’d been inches from the end of pointed scissors, just like I had.

  “It scared me and I know it scared you too. For that, I’m sorry.”

  I hear a shake in my voice. “You could have hurt one of us. You were hurting yourself. You need help, more than I can give you.”

  She looks down and rubs her arms self-consciously. I can only imagine what she looks like underneath. Under that gorgeous trench coat must be strips of bandages.

  “You’ve already been helping me so much. The thought of what I did, how much that impacted you, I’m more resolved than ever.” She stands taller. “I’m changing my ways and getting healthy again. I can get better. But I can’t lose you, I just can’t.” She lifts her hands again, but this time lets them drop. “Please don’t quit, Sarah. Please give me—us—another chance. We can make this right again. Patty needs you after all. She’ll be devastated.”

  Patty.

  I can already imagine the torture Collette’s putting herself through thinking of how she’s going to tell Patty another nanny has left them.

  I move to shut the door. “I have to go.”

  But her arm shoots out and she braces herself against the metal frame. “Please, Sarah!” Her desperation increases. “They’ll send me away if I don’t get better. They’ll get rid of me, I know they will.”

  “They only want to help.”

  “It’s not help,” she shrieks. “It’s another prison. A horrible, cold prison. I don’t want to go there anymore.”

  “The hospital—”

  “It’s not a hospital. That’s what they call it but it’s not. It’s a horrible place. So cruel.” This time, she grabs my arm and I freeze, my feet locked to the ground.

  Stephen told me psychiatric wards. Private clinics. There should be a trained medical staff. A supportive environment. With their kind of money, only the best fac
ilities and state-of-the-art care for Collette Bird. Not some run-down institution. Not a place Collette would describe as a prison.

  “I heard them today,” she wails. “Stephen talking to Alex. Alex was consulting with someone on the phone.” Her eyes fill with tears. “It’s coming, I know it is.” She swivels her head as if at any moment someone is going to sneak up on the sidewalk and grab her by the arms. With her kicking and screaming, they’ll haul her away.

  An image pops into my mind of two rough orderlies strapping Collette to a chair. Her head hanging limp, lips and chin trembling, bare legs freezing beneath a paper-thin gown. Left alone in a room where no one is caring for her. Freezing temperature. The wonderful facilities the Birds say they’re placing her in nothing but holding cells.

  Is that why she hasn’t gotten any better?

  Collette’s fingers hold tight to my arm. And I can’t stop staring—the look of terror on her face. Pure fear.

  “Please don’t let them do this to me, Sarah,” she pleads. “Don’t let them take me there.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  I show up to the Birds’ the next day at 10:00 a.m., the nerves in my stomach unrelenting, as Collette’s face bursts into a smile the moment she sees me. Her elation is palpable. But so is her relief. Whatever fate I’ve saved her from, Collette was genuinely terrified of it.

  “I’m so glad you’re here.” Her cheeks blush red, there’s a sob she tries to swallow away.

  She sneaks a glance behind her as if frightened by something, or someone, lurking in the corner; she doesn’t feel safe and in the clear just yet. And I can’t help but look too, my own fears ticking up a notch.

  But there’s no one in the corner. No orderlies. No Stephen or Alex Bird.

  I follow her to the family room, and she presents a tray of croissants, sliced melon, and two mugs, and without asking, pours me a cup of coffee. Her hands tremble, but she adds the cream and sugar anyway as if wanting so much for everything to return to normal.

  What I notice first: She’s already breaking her habit. No grapefruit halves at the breakfast table.

  I wait for Collette to speak first. But before she gets a chance, she’s interrupted by Stephen entering the room.

  “Hello, Sarah,” he says, an apologetic tone in his voice. “Thank you for being so”—he struggles to find his next word—“understanding.”

  I hold his look.

  “Saturday night was quite a shock. For all of us.” He stares steadily. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes,” I tell him, but find that I’m leaning away when he sits beside me on the couch.

  “Collette has made several promises,” he informs me. “We had the doctor return and switch out her medication. She is not to drink again.” He shoots her a look. “And she promises to never act that way again—my father won’t stand for it. Me either.” I see Collette running her hand along one arm, the bandages that are poking out beneath her sleeve.

  “We won’t be sending her away either,” he adds, and Collette sucks in her breath. He registers the sound with a tightening of his lips. “We’re hoping we can move forward with your help.”

  Glancing at Collette, I suggest, “What if we relaxed some of the rules a bit?”

  His mouth twitches.

  “Hear me out,” I add, revealing the plan that’s been circling in my head since last night. “What if we ease Collette out of the apartment some more? Small trips. Little excursions. She enjoys it so much and I think it would do her some good.” Beside me, Collette’s chin lifts. She is stirring in her seat, her hands clasping together as she listens.

  But Stephen appears alarmed. “More outings?”

  “Yes.” I choose my words carefully, finding it odd to be talking about my boss when she is sitting inches away. “She needs more normalcy. More human interaction—more fun. So she doesn’t feel trapped here.”

  “She’s not trapped.”

  “Confined to the twelfth floor,” I remind him.

  He returns my stare coolly.

  “I think it would help a lot,” Collette speaks up. Her voice is throaty but she’s hopeful. “You can trust me not to drink in public, Stephen. Sarah and I have so much fun together and it would be nice to get out more.” She presses one of her fingers hard on top of her hand. “I won’t feel like I’m sneaking out either. You would know where I am at all times.”

  “And Patty?” Stephen asks, his gaze focusing solely on me.

  I return his look. “I’ll be there every step of the way. Patty will remain by my side.”

  He studies Collette, studies me. A bob rises and falls in his throat as he contemplates our suggestion. The possible pitfalls too. My ability to contain her. Collette’s ability to contain herself. Her last few public outings have been rocky at best.

  But with the two of us staring, pleading, he is willing to try something new.

  Finally, he says two words, “All right.” But he doesn’t look happy.

  The exhale from Collette’s mouth releases as she stands and claps happily. She swings her arms as she scurries down the hall. “Wait until I tell Patty.”

  Stephen gives me a stern look of warning. He locks in on my face. “Don’t mess this up.”

  * * *

  —

  We take it slow. Our first outing that afternoon is to a bakery called Delish within walking distance of the apartment. Stephen begrudgingly gives his approval.

  Collette is giddy, her hand scooping into the crook of my elbow as she propels us along. She’s changed into a new outfit, as if the relaxed pantsuit she’d been wearing earlier was unworthy of such an occasion, and is now sporting satin high-waisted trousers and a long-sleeved eyelet blouse; a glamorous black-on-black ensemble. I don’t have the heart to point out we’re simply going to a café.

  But I also know what else the high-necked blouse is affording her—complete coverage of the cuts she’s made to herself.

  Dozens of people fill the café and Collette appears unfazed by the noise. In fact, she’s downright elated, attracted by the commotion of people around her. She’s already pointing out desserts Patty will enjoy.

  We find a table in the corner and I order a blueberry scone while Collette asks the server for a Danish and a pot of English tea. She is sure to include a jam tart and chocolate éclair for Patty.

  “Your favorites, aren’t they, sweetheart?” She motions to the empty chair beside her. The server gives her an odd look before glancing over at me, and I tense for a moment, but then he only shrugs and turns away, marking our order on his pad.

  Minutes later, he brings a pot of tea and three cups, not asking who the extra one is for and I breathe another sigh of relief. Collette reaches to pour the tea. She hands me the blueberry scone and, on the extra plate, places the chocolate éclair for Patty. “Don’t make a mess,” she tells her before eating her Danish with a fork.

  Collette looks around the café, delighted at the hubbub of customers and the tinkling of the bell above the door every time someone new walks in. The excitement of this approved outing shines in her eyes. This is something she knows she won’t get into trouble for later, and I sit back, marveling at her transformation. In my hand, my phone in case Stephen calls.

  Collette says, “I’m so glad you were able to meet Alex. It was wonderful of you to join us at the party.” She takes another bite of her Danish and implores me with a look. “I love him. I know he can seem tough, controlling even. But he’s a good man. He wants what’s best for our family.”

  I pick gently at my scone.

  “Four years, can you believe it?” she says. “He made me wait four years before we got married.” She laughs. “Silly man. And now we’re coming up on our ninth wedding anniversary. I wonder what we’ll do to celebrate…” She takes a sip of her tea.

  And I catch her words—ninth anniversary. But the
Birds have been married much longer than that. The time loop is still there.

  “His mother is the one who pushed us to get married. She wanted a huge, over-the-top event even though my family could hardly pay a thing. But that didn’t stop her. She took care of every expense.” She shakes her head. “But it made me a guest at my own wedding. She took over everything. But after the wedding, we were happy. Really happy. Alex and I, together in our beautiful apartment and traveling to Venice and Paris, wherever we wanted to go. And we were always on the go. Go, go, go…” she repeats, a faraway look taking shape in her eyes. She gazes steadily out the window as her teacup rests in her hand. The extra cup for Patty is cooling too.

  “We always wanted a big family. Lots of kids to chase after because lots of kids would mean plenty of grandkids too.” She gives a faint smile. “When Patty came into our lives, it was the most wonderful day.” She reaches over to pinch the imaginary girl. “I’ve never seen Alex so happy. He admits he wasn’t around much for Stephen, but with Patty, he’s very hands-on, isn’t he?” Another smile at her daughter. “He loves his Patty Cakes. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, don’t you, sweetie?” She giggles. “Our baby girl…”

  Moving the tea to one side, Collette pulls something from her purse and slips it into my hand. The softness of the item presses against my skin, the braided softness. Human hair.

  I stare for the longest time.

  Blond hair tied with a pink ribbon. Patty’s hair.

  My heart seizes.

  We’re in public, so even though she’s once again produced something from her dead child’s body and placed it in my hands, I can’t react. I can’t freak out, even though what I want to do is drop it fast, like I did when she showed me the Patty doll. Or push away from the table and run screaming, but I can’t do that here, not when we’re in a public setting. Not when we just convinced Stephen to let Collette venture out more.

  This is part of the deal. She’s going to be like this, I must expect it. I must learn how to work with her.