Nanny Needed

by Georgina Cross

  My mother. Collette.

  The beautiful woman. Chanel No. 5 and creamy red lipstick.

  Bedtime stories snuggled up with her in the castle bed. My father, Alex Bird, kissing me on the forehead.

  And then it’s me and my mother lying in bed. She’s stroking my hair and humming another song.

  Patty and Collette.

  Mother and daughter.

  I am Patty.

  Collette is my mother.

  I see her now. Collette is walking toward me. She’s coming up from behind Stephen and entering the foyer. She’s no longer crying but holding something in her hands. A plate with a slice of cake. She’s smiling and looking at me lovingly, a glazed expression taking over her face. She clutches candles too.

  I can’t breathe. Can’t move. She places one candle after another into the cake, the candles sliding through the frosting, strawberry, the flavor that had been my favorite when I was a child.

  I count the candles. But there are only four. She’s not adding any others.

  Collette pulls a lighter from her pocket. She lights each candle, the cake plate balanced carefully in one hand, the glow from the candles lighting up her beautiful face.

  She calls to me, softly. “Come here, Patty. Come close to Mommy.” Holding the plate, she says, “It’s time to make a wish. Blow out your candles.”

  Every muscle in my body locks tight.

  My mother is here before me—my actual mother—except everything is messed up. Collette is still locked in time.

  The four candles. The glazed look. She’s unable to see me as a grown woman, even now.

  “Happy fourth birthday,” Collette tells me.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

  Pauline is handcuffed and led out of the Birds’ apartment to a patrol car below. She’s confessed everything to us and the police officers are wanting to interrogate her.

  The rest of us sit, shell-shocked. We’ve moved into the family room, the door to the dining room and the silent carousel closing behind us.

  A pair of police detectives sit across from us and ask a litany of questions. Mr. Bird does most of the answering, and I find myself turning away every time he so much as looks in my direction. The detectives ask me several questions too, but I struggle with what to say. Stephen takes over and fills in the gaps.

  “We had no idea,” Stephen tells them.

  And Collette? She’s in a chair in a corner of the room, still smiling that strange smile of hers. I want her to stop—it’s unnerving. Yet part of me is fighting the urge to run toward her and place my head in her lap.

  Freddie hands her a cup of tea. But we lock eyes for a second before he disappears back into the kitchen. He knew about Aunt Clara, about her dying. Did he come to the funeral like Stephen suspected? Is that why he acted so odd toward me when we were introduced, did he recognize me?

  But I don’t get a chance to ask Freddie any of these things—not yet—because the door to the kitchen swings closed and he’s leaving me with these people. These people I don’t know, whom I don’t trust.

  Collette in the corner, smiling eerily and thanking her lucky stars she’s reclaimed her long-lost daughter.

  She is…my long-lost mother.

  I’ve been in her presence for two months. Playing board games on the floor. Watching movies on the couch. Taking “Patty” to the playground and caring for the ghost of her child when that ghost had been right in front of her the entire time.

  It’s unimaginable—a scenario beyond Jonathan’s worst suspicions. If only I could tell him what’s happened.

  Mr. Bird can’t stop staring. He’s answering the detectives’ questions but steering clear of the cocaine incident in Jonathan’s locker, I notice, and my blood boils. How the man continues to lie and dodge bullets is beyond my comprehension.

  His face is a whirlwind of conflicted emotions too. He’s terrified of me, but he also wants to beg my forgiveness. Will I ever be able to call him Dad? When the dust settles, what will we say to each other?

  I feel as if my soul has been separated from my body. My brain too. The conversations swirl around me. Collette stares maniacally—and I tell myself this isn’t happening. It’s someone else’s mess now since I’m leaving. Patty’s birthday party is over and I can go soon.

  But Stephen’s and Mr. Bird’s eyes are shifting to me every few seconds and I have the doomed, sinking feeling that I will never be able to go—unless there’s something I can do about it.

  I have parents now. A brother. I have money.

  All of this is mine.

  But I don’t want any of it.

  My mother is insane. My father and brother are manipulative assholes. Stephen knew exactly what he was doing, especially when the DNA results came back. So why act like such a monster? Why threaten me into silence and talk about me and Jonathan in such a horrible way? That last-ditch attempt at rescuing me from Patty’s bed, a little too late.

  If that was his way of trying to get back on my good side, of keeping me around, of having his little sister return to his life, he’s royally screwed in the head. He knew how vindictive his father could be, how threatening, and he didn’t do anything to stop him. They never defended Jonathan.

  But in Collette’s messed-up way, she meant well. She cared for me and was terrified I would leave, but she cared for me nonetheless. Especially after Jonathan died. But she wasn’t someone I could depend on, her emotions were too erratic.

  She thought she could depend on Pauline—the whole family did. And look how terribly that turned out.

  She could have killed me. She tried to kill me before as Collette’s daughter.

  She killed my fiancé. She also killed Therese.

  If I’d stayed as the nanny, she would have tried to get rid of me too.

  Oh, in the beginning, how I’d thought this was going to be an easy gig. If only I could go back to that day two months ago and throw out that flyer. If only I had never seen it, if someone else had taken it from the bulletin board instead.

  Would Stephen have returned to the apartment and posted another flyer until he finally got my attention? Probably.

  His selfish plan for bringing me back into the house has cost me so much. Sure, he regained his sister, and perhaps one day Collette can be made well again. But what about me? I lost Jonathan. I’m not sure how I feel about Aunt Clara—that one hurts. Not to mention finding out I belong to this crazy family.

  I wish I’d carried on working at Hearth instead of coming to this place. We could have made ends meet, Jonathan and me. We would have struggled, but we would have found a way.

  I should have tossed that flyer in the trash and never spent a single moment wondering about this family. I never should have assumed their world would be so much better than mine.

  The family that warned, Special conditions apply. Their need for utmost discretion. They’d meant it, and I’d fallen for it.

  Alex Bird is walking toward me now. He’s crossing the living room and sitting beside me as the detectives turn their attention to Collette. She’s still sipping her tea in the corner and hasn’t spoken much, unable to peel her eyes away from me.

  I want to push Mr. Bird to one side. Shove him to the floor. He let his wife carry on like this for far too long. He bullied Jonathan and planted drugs in his locker. He blamed me for every misstep.

  I jerk my body away from his, but his voice is soft. Low, like he’s trying to be tender, or maybe just pretending—I don’t know anymore, don’t care, still have no idea who to trust—as he stretches his hand toward me and says, “I’m so sorry, Patty…” I flinch. “Sarah,” he corrects himself.

  He pulls back his hand. It’s too soon for hugs or consoling, for any sort of father-daughter relationship. I’m not sure if that can ever be possible. He leans forward instead.

  “Sarah
, I realize this has been a lot—”

  I glare at him.

  “It’s a lot for us too…” His voice breaks. “Finding out who you are. What Pauline has done…all of it. It’s overwhelming.”

  I grit my teeth but keep my voice to a whisper. “I want nothing to do with any of you.”

  He shakes and then tries to recover. “Your mother?” He nudges his chin toward Collette. “She needs you.”

  “She doesn’t see me,” I tell him. “She only sees Patty, age four.”

  “We’ll help her.”

  “You’ve done a shit job of that already.”

  “We’ll provide for you and your mother for the rest of your lives.”

  “More money?” I twist away again, willing him to leave, not wanting to feel his breath close to my skin. “I don’t need anything more from you.”

  “Don’t say that,” he pleads. “We’re family. You’re our family.”

  “I’m fine on my own.”

  I stand abruptly. There’s enough jerk in my stance to catch the detectives’ attention, and they pull their eyes from Collette to study me. Both are giving me a wary look as they try to guess my next move. Am I about to jump off the deep end?

  Maybe I am.

  Staring hard at the detectives, I point to Collette and say, “This woman needs help.”

  The detectives don’t move an inch.

  “She needs serious medical attention.” I hiccup, the tears flowing from my eyes now—dammit, Collette—at the hurt and anguish my mother has gone through. What she’s done to herself. What no one has been able to give her until now. I wipe at my eyes. “There’s no way she’s going to get better if these people remain involved. She needs to see a doctor.” I gesture at Alex and Stephen. “They’ve never been able to properly take care of her.”

  Mr. Bird protests, but I wave my arm to silence him.

  “These men, what I could tell you,” I continue. “The threats they’ve made against me. The drugs they stashed in my fiancé’s locker. Their culpability when they stood by and let that woman”—I shudder thinking about Pauline—“how they let that woman do what she did right under their noses. Twenty years ago she tried to hurt me and she would do it again now.”

  One of the detectives cracks a smile, and it’s not one of those mocking grins where he’s undermining me. Where he’s going to get paid off by Alex Bird to drop my accusations. No, he’s smiling because he’s realizing the ammo I’m sitting on. The details I’m willing to spill about the uber-wealthy Mr. Bird and his glass castle. How I’m willing to shatter it and let everyone see this family for who they truly are. The other detective, I’m not so certain.

  I cross the room until I’m standing before the detectives. “This isn’t the kind of family I want to belong to,” I tell them. “I’m not staying with these people a second longer. I’ll tell you everything.”

  The other detective, the one who’s more cautious, darts his eyes from me to the Bird family as he asks, “Are you sure, Ms. Larsen?”

  “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  But behind me, and so eerily out of touch with what’s happening, with reality, is Collette’s voice. The words send a chill over my body as I hear her announce wholeheartedly, “That’s my girl.”

  And I turn to her, expecting to see the familiar glazed-over look in her eyes, the confusion, but there’s something else. The flicker of wheels turning, her eyes locked on me—is that recognition?—but I can’t be sure because the light in her face only lasts half a second. It was there briefly, and now it’s gone.

  But I think I see Collette. And more important, for the first time, I think she sees me. And something stretches between us, over time and space and every year we were separated. The understanding that only a mother and daughter can feel. We’ve made a connection.

  I walk straight out of that room and leave the Birds, the detectives too. Slamming the front door, I head for the elevator, all the while wondering if that was my mother’s way of telling me to move on, her way of saying goodbye.

  Her way of telling me that while she’s still trapped in her cage, I need to get the hell out of there.

  Dedicated to Nicole Angeleen,

  who without your friendship and insight,

  Nanny Needed wouldn’t be the book it is today.

  Thank you.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  When my sister lived in the East Village, we walked everywhere. To me, it’s one of the best ways to see New York City and explore every neighborhood. I’d sometimes find myself on the Upper West Side looking up at the buildings, particularly the penthouses, and trying to imagine what these families are like and what their apartments looked like. Is everything wonderful? Do they love their lives? But what if everything isn’t wonderful? What if the family is hiding something? And on the street, looking up, my imagination would run wild thinking about some of the tragic stories that could be going on behind those walls.

  That was the spark behind the idea for Nanny Needed, and for that, I am appreciative to my sister and our parents for every one of our long walks through Manhattan. We saw a lot! And you never know when a story idea will hit.

  I’m most thankful to Nicole Angeleen, who I befriended through our mutual agent, Rachel Beck. Nanny Needed is dedicated to you for your support and your drive for reading the first version of this manuscript and coming back with the exact comments I needed to hear. Nicole, you made me turn this book around in more ways than one with your honest feedback and suggestions. I still laugh about the comment bubbles you left, your track changes, and how we killed off an entire POV. Because of you we made this book what it is today.

  I am super appreciative of my agent, Rachel Beck, who has been championing me and loving this book since the first time I told her about it. After your first read, your excitement was electrifying, and your passion for this project is what helped sell Nanny Needed to Bantam, Penguin Random House, in less than a month. How thrilling! And literally the same week you gave birth to your second child! Rachel, you are an amazing agent and I’m so glad we are working together. I’m also super appreciative of Liza Dawson and the entire team at Liza Dawson Associates for your help with this book.

  Huge thanks to my editor, Anne Speyer, at Ballantine Books. I still remember our first phone call and how your excitement for this book shone as you described the storyline as Gossip Girl meets Rebecca. When I heard that, I was hooked and knew you were the editor I wanted to work with. Thank you for your reviews and careful guidance as we explored each relationship Sarah encounters, particularly the emotional tug-of-war she feels toward the tragically flawed Collette. You have taught me so much about my writing—sometimes less is more!—and I am honored to continue working with you.

  Thank you to my friends, readers, and all the authors I’ve come to know along the way of publication and promotion. You’ve been sharing and loving my work since my debut, The Stepdaughter, and then my second book, The Missing Woman. Thank you for reading my subsequent work and for cheering me on with Nanny Needed. Your support means so much to me as I continue writing and sharing my news with you. Readers and friends, you are everything.

  To my family. Wow, do you remember when I first told you I wanted to start writing again? Remember all those weekends when I locked myself in my room or asked you to babysit the kids so I could work? To my parents and sister, who never doubted me, thank you. You let me talk endlessly about my writing and listened while I rambled about everything I was working on. You always told me to keep trying. To my sons, who have been so patient and will leave me alone so they can make their own waffles in the mornings, thank you. Boys, I love you. Thank you to my stepsons, who listen to me at dinner when I talk about my writing. You guys are so fun and supportive. And to my husband, who has been the biggest champion I could ever ask for, my biggest confidant. You continue to give me the space and time,
the support and love for every book I’m writing, for every part of this journey. You are my number one fan, and I am yours. I love you.

  BY GEORGINA CROSS

  The Stepdaughter

  The Missing Woman

  Nanny Needed

  PHOTO: © HEATHER EDSTROM PHOTOGRAPHY

  The author of The Stepdaughter and The Missing Woman, Georgina Cross worked in television news and then spent nine years in business development for an aerospace and defense contractor before joining the local chamber of commerce as the workforce director. She now writes full-time and lives in Alabama with her husband and their combined family of four sons.

  georgina-cross-author.com

  Facebook.com/​GeorginaCrossAuthor

  Twitter: @GCrossAuthor

  Instagram: @georginacrossauthor

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