by Tia Siren
“Hey. How are you?” I asked, giving her a hug. I glanced at the Budweiser clock on the wall above the door. It was nearly midnight. “Are you just getting off work?”
“I’m fine and I am,” she said, holding up a dollar between two fingers. “How are you doing?”
I plucked the dollar from her fingers and went around the counter to ring her up. I held out her change and she told me to drop it in the March of Dimes bucket on the counter. She broke off a block of the Hershey’s bar and handed it to me.
“I’m doing fine. So, what you brings you by?” I asked. I bit off a corner of the candy and waited for the lecture I always got when Gail stopped by the store.
You shouldn’t be working here.
It’s dangerous.
What if Randy comes in?
You should be in school studying.
Blah, blah, blah.
I agreed with everything she said, but I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.
Life had dealt me these cards, and I had to play them until the next hand came around. And when that would happen was anyone’s guess.
“Do you remember that awful car crash out on the interstate a couple of years back?” she asked. “Woman lost control of her car and hit a tree? There was a man with her who was also killed. The woman was pregnant. They saved the baby but couldn’t save her.”
“I vaguely remember hearing about it,” I said with a shrug. “I was kind of dealing with my own problems back then.”
She gave me a sympathetic smile. “Well, the baby is now two years old and doing well. She was in neonatal ICU for almost six months but is now a thriving, healthy toddler.”
“That’s awesome,” I said, wondering what any of this had to do with me. “And?”
She smiled. “And, I’ve kept in touch with her father because I was her nurse for those six months. His name is Jackson Ritter. He’s a famous writer. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”
I rolled my eyes at the tabloid rack next to the counter. “Unless he writes for the Enquirer, I’ve probably never heard of him.”
“Well, it just so happens that Mr. Ritter called me this afternoon. He is looking for a full-time nanny for his little girl. And I immediately thought of you.”
The hand holding the piece of chocolate froze at my mouth. “Me? Gail, I don’t know anything about being a nanny. Jesus, I can’t even keep a plant alive. There’s no way I could take care of a toddler.”
“Believe it or not, kids are easier to keep alive than plants,” she said with a smile. “You don’t have to remember to water a kid.”
“No, but you do have to remember to feed them and bathe them and take them outside to pee.” I grinned at her. “I appreciate you thinking of me, but really, I don’t think I’d be a very good nanny.”
She narrowed her dark eyes at me.
“You like kids, don’t you?”
“Well, sure, but…”
“You know how to fill a bowl with cereal and make a grilled cheese sandwich, don’t you?”
“Yes, but…”
“You know how to run a tub with water and bathe a small human without drowning them?”
I grinned at her. “Okay, I get the point. But why would he hire me? I mean, surely he can find someone with experience. Doesn’t he have any family or friends who can help him out?”
Her eyes took on a sad glow. She shook her head. “Neither he nor his wife have family nearby, and as far as I know, he doesn’t have many friends.”
“That’s sad,” I said.
Gail lowered her voice, as if she were afraid of being overheard even though we were alone. “His wife was killed in that wreck because she was arguing with her lover and lost control of the car. Her lover was also killed. He was Jackson’s best friend. And she was seven months pregnant.”
“That’s awful,” I said. “How could they do that to him?”
“Who knows why people do the things they do,” she said. “I was there when they brought her into the ER. I helped the doctor take the baby right before she died. I remember seeing Jackson standing in the hallway outside the window with a horrified look on his face. It was just so sad to watch. His whole life changed that day. Thank God the baby lived. It was touch and go for a while, but she’s perfectly healthy now. And she needs someone sweet and wonderful to take care of her, because I don’t think he’s doing a very good job.”
I frowned at her. “What does that mean?”
“It means he’s overwhelmed, sweetie,” Gail said. She reached across the counter and patted my arm. “He’s a single father trying to save his career and raise a baby. And deal with all the demons that were let out of the box when he discovered that his wife and best friend were sleeping together behind his back. He needs help, and so do you.”
I frowned at her. “And what does that mean?”
“That means you need to get the heck out of this place and do something with your life.”
“I am doing something with my life.”
“Doing something and doing something meaningful are two completely different things.”
Gail reached into the pocket of her green scrub shirt and brought out a card. She set the card on the counter and slid it toward me.
“That’s his name and address,” she said, tapping a finger to the card. “He’s expecting you tomorrow at noon for an interview.”
“Interview…tomorrow?”
“He’s looking for someone full time. You would move into his house and he would pay you a salary, along with room and board. You could literally save every penny he pays you and put that toward going back to school.”
“Move into his house? You mean live there?”
“Yes, sweetie. That’s what move in means. And I promise, his house is a world away from that crappy apartment you’re living in.”
I picked up the card and chewed on my bottom lip as I read the words printed there. “I don’t know, Gail…”
She put a finger under my chin and lifted it up so I would look her in the eye. She said, “Do you remember what you said to me the night you came into the ER with a broken jaw, all covered in cuts and bruises?”
“No…”
Her eyes softened. She gave me a small smile. “You asked me to please help you, and I did. Now I’m asking you to pass on that favor. This man needs your help, Amy Lynne. Without it, well, I’m just not sure what he’ll do.”
CHAPTER FOUR: Jackson
I knew Bethany was cheating on me even before the wreck proved it to be true. I had known for a long time. I had no solid proof, but I felt it in my gut. The way you would feel a knife blade stabbing into your flesh and making mincemeat out of your insides.
I could have hired a private detective to follow her around and bring me back tawdry pictures as confirmation of an affair, but I never bothered.
Like I said, I knew she was cheating on me.
I could feel it in my bones like a cancer chewing at my marrow.
And I didn’t do a damn thing to stop it.
I self-medicated with alcohol and just let it eat at me from the inside out.
Our marriage had always been tumultuous. And expensive.
I was the moody writer and she was the gregarious socialite who liked throwing lavish parties and hosting expensive dinners.
She had to have the big house in Rosewood Point and the finest furniture to fill it and the finest art to hang on the walls.
She had to have the best cars and closets filled with designer clothes and expensive jewelry and exotic trips with her friends.
She spent money as fast as I could make it, and that was fine with me because all that kept her entertained so I didn’t have to bother. I just wanted to hole up in my study with my computer and a bottle of Jack Daniels and the voices in my head.
I considered myself to be a tragic writer in the mold of Hemingway and Poe. I thought pain and anger bred brilliance. Turned out I was simply fooling myself.
My books sold well, but at the cost of my so
ul and our marriage.
We almost split up several times, but I somehow developed this silly notion that a baby would fix everything. I should have known better. My folks had eight kids and still died hating one another.
Bethany said a baby wouldn’t fix what was broken between us. There was too much carnage left in the wake of my drinking and her spending.
Still, we agreed to try.
She got pregnant and I went to Alcoholics Anonymous.
I guess we should have added a third caveat: she would not fuck my best friend, Ernie. Or any guy, for that matter.
I knew she wasn’t happy.
Shit, I wasn’t happy either, but that was the bed we’d made.
My first two books had both been best sellers and the pressure was on for a third hit. I couldn’t focus. I was hard to live with. I was struggling to kick the booze. I ignored her. I didn’t even remember the last time we’d had sex.
Fine, I wasn’t giving her what she needed, but did she have to fuck my best friend?
She was a gorgeous woman.
She could have had any man she wanted, even at seven months pregnant.
Did she have to fuck Ernie?
Or was that the point?
Maybe fucking Ernie was the ultimate fuck me.
Ernie had been my best friend since college. He was a partner in a big law firm downtown and handled all my legal affairs. He was also a swinging dick who loved to brag about all the women in Rosewood he’d fucked. I never would have imagined that my wife would be one of them.
I had even confided in Ernie when I first suspected that Bethany was cheating on me. She wouldn’t do that, he said. She loves you. The booze is making you paranoid. Clean yourself up and work on making her happy. You can’t afford a divorce. She’ll take everything you’ve got.
Thanks for the advice, Ernie old pal.
You cock-sucking son of a bitch.
It was a good thing you were killed in the wreck.
I would have killed you myself if you had survived.
* * *
I was sitting in front of my computer, staring at a blank page, when the doorbell rang. I glanced over at Lizzie, who was sleeping on the sofa in my office with her blanket—her binkie—tucked under her chin and a thumb in her mouth.
A Barney video was playing on the TV with the sound muted. That didn’t stop that fucking “I Love You” song from looping through my head. God, I hated that song.
We’d been up for hours. Lizzie usually woke up around seven and climbed into bed with me. We would have breakfast, get dressed, and she would play in my office while I tried to write.
I use the word “tried” because so far I hadn’t written a thing, not in two years.
I had two weeks to deliver a full outline for the next book or I’d have to return the ninety-thousand-dollar advance.
I could hear the clock ticking in my head.
I had never tried to write sober before.
I wasn’t sure I could.
Thank God Lizzie was an easy kid most of the time. It was like she knew what was happening with me and wanted to help me along.
I put on a video, gave her some toys to keep her busy, and she pretty much entertained herself.
Trust me, the similarity to how I treated her mother did not escape me.
I often turned away from the computer to watch her play.
Not a care in the world.
No clue that she nearly died before she could be born.
No idea that her mother was a cheating cunt…
No, that wasn’t fair.
A better man would say that her mother was a passionate woman in a shitty marriage who made lousy decisions that ended her life.
And Lizzie looked more and more like her every day.
It was hard to hate a woman who left such an amazing gift behind.
It was hard to forgive her as well.
And Lizzie was mine. There was no doubt.
The DNA test I had the hospital run proved it.
What would I have done if the test had proved that Lizzie wasn’t mine?
Thankfully, that was a bridge I’d never had to cross.
I’d been too full of hate and despair to think about anyone but myself at the time.
Only God knew what I would have done.
Only God.
The doorbell rang again.
I tiptoed out of the room and went to the front door.
CHAPTER FIVE: Amy Lynne
I pulled into the circular drive at 174 Ridgecrest and shut off the engine just as the steam started to roll from beneath the hood. My old Honda had a cracked radiator and sometimes it ran hot. I couldn’t afford to get it fixed, so I always carried several milk jugs of water in the back to fill the radiator once it cooled down.
I sat staring at the humongous house through the cracked windshield, psyching myself up before going to the door.
Jackson Ritter’s house was one of those old stone mansions in Rosewood Point, where the rich Rosewoodians lived. If someone like me was in this neighborhood, they were either lost, delivering pizzas, or looking to break in.
I checked my reflection in the mirror. I never wore much makeup, just a little blush and a touch of eye liner. I had no idea how to dress for an interview like this.
My only references for how to be a nanny were in the books of my childhood: Nanny McPhee and Mary Poppins.
What the heck did a modern-day nanny wear?
I’d decided on a pair of jeans and a casual green top beneath a short black jacket. I had my thick, black curls pulled back into a neat ponytail at the crown of my head. I looked in the mirror. This was as good as it was going to get.
“Okay, here I go…”
I took a deep breath, got out of the car, and walked to the front door before I could change my mind.
A big case of nerves followed closely behind me.
* * *
Jackson Ritter’s front door was four feet wide and ten feet tall. It was made of thick dark wood. There was a brass lion’s head knocker staring back at me, like something out of an old movie.
I could not have been more intimidated if it had been an actual lion giving me the eye. I cautiously reached for the knocker and then noticed the doorbell to my right.
“Nice knockers,” I said as I rang the doorbell and took a step back. I wetted my lips and held my breath. After a minute, I blew out the breath and rang the bell again.
A moment later, the door opened and Jackson Ritter appeared.
He was even more handsome than he’d been in the pictures I’d seen online earlier in the day when I was scoping him out.
He was tall, well over six feet, with a lean frame beneath the wrinkled khakis and the black polo shirt he wore. His hair was dark and longish, with strands of gray at the temples. He wore it pushed back and loose. There was a dark shadow of stubble on his cheeks and chin.
His complexion was pale, probably from being locked in a room writing for years. His eyes were deep blue, but they looked tired, as if he had to force himself to keep them open.
There were dark bags beneath his eyes.
Little lines webbed from the corners of his eyes and mouth when he smiled.
Still, very handsome indeed.
“You must be Amy Lynne,” he said, stepping aside and sweeping a hand through the air. “Please, come in.”
CHAPTER SIX: Jackson
I put my hand on the doorknob and paused to take a deep breath. Be nice, I heard Gail say in my head. Make a good first impression. Don’t scare her off. You know how obnoxious you can be sometimes. Amy Lynne is a nice girl. Be nice to her. Don’t be your usual jerky self.
Jerky self?
Seriously?
Only Gail could call me that and get away with it.
It was amazing how well perfect strangers got to know one another when they spent time together in a hospital room every day for six months. Gail helped save my daughter’s life, and now she was trying to save mine.
I ope
ned the door and mustered a smile to greet Gail’s friend, Amy Lynne something or other. Standing before me was a pretty girl with long black curls and a frightened look in her eyes.
She was tall for a girl, and curvy in all the right places.
She was wearing too many clothes for me to take better stock of her body, but she was round at the hips and full at the breasts, and she made the wolf in me stand up and take notice.
Shit, listen to me.
I even thought like a freakin’ writer.
Let me back up and try again.
The girl standing in my doorway was young and very attractive, and if I had been meeting her under different circumstances, I probably would have turned on what was left of my charm and tried to get her into my bed.
But this wasn’t a singles bar and I wasn’t Ryan Gosling.
This wasn’t a romance novel and I sure as hell wasn’t Nicholas Sparks.
And she wasn’t some girl looking to be taken in and fucked up and fucked over by the likes of me.
This was my house and she was here to interview for a job taking care of my daughter. I mentally screwed the lid down tight on my testosterone jar and invited her to come inside.
“You must be Amy Lynne. Jackson Ritter,” I said, stepping aside to let her enter the foyer. I held out my hand and smiled. “Call me Jackson.”
“Amy Lynne Beck,” she said, giving my hand a limp shake. “Call me Amy or Amy Lynne or whatever.”
She was smiling, but I could tell by her eyes that she was a bundle of nerves. Gail hadn’t told me much about her background other than that she was young, divorced, and struggling to get by.
“Lizzie is asleep in my office, but we can talk in the den.”
I led her into the den and invited her to sit on the sofa while I took the chair across from her. I gave her a moment to get settled and then cleared my throat and tried to remember how to have an adult conversation.
“So, Amy Lynne, tell me a little bit about yourself,” I said, doing my best to be a pleasant host.
“Well, um, I’m twenty-three, divorced. I work at Bud’s Convenience Store on 12th. I’m taking online classes to become a bookkeeper…”