And there, awaiting me inside a vehicle that seemed cavernous compared to the other cars I’d ridden in, waited the sweetest little angel I’d ever seen. She was buckled into her car seat, sucking on a Dora sippy cup, peering at me from under long, upswept lashes. Her chestnut-colored waves stuck a little to her car seat from static, and her toddler feet were encased in little lacy socks and Mary Janes. My heart expanded a little just looking at her, and for a second I forgot about Libby’s perfection and Walker’s exhausting buoyancy.
“You must be Zoe,” I told her, extending my hand. “I’m Annie. I’ve been so excited to meet you.”
“My mom and dad alweady told me your name,” she said with this weirdly precise elocution, a kind of adorable thing coming from the mouth of a three-year-old.
“That wasn’t very polite, Zoe,” said Libby. “Please apologize to Annie.”
“Go easy on her, babe,” said Walker. “She’s only three.”
“It’s okay, really,” I started.
“No, Annie, Zoe really needs to learn better manners,” Libby interrupted. “Actually, it’s something I hope you’ll help us work on. Walker, you know how important it is for Zoe to be more polite. Yet she’s still doing things like what she did a moment ago with the horn.”
“Daddy told me I could honk the hown,” protested Zoe, popping her sippy cup out of her mouth momentarily.
“Traitor,” said Walker, making me laugh.
“Daddy did not tell you to force your entire body weight onto the horn until it qualified as noise pollution,” Libby responded. I glanced toward Walker but he’d already zoned out, leaning forward to adjust the radio dial. Libby looked pointedly at Zoe.
“Apologize to Annie,” she said again.
“I’m sowwy, Annie,” Zoe said in a serious voice, looking worried. “It’s nice to meet you.” Her excessive formality blended with her tiny, high-pitched voice and that bit of a lisp was the sweetest thing I’d ever heard.
“Nice to meet you, too,” I told her. “Shake?” Zoe extended her hand and I took it in mine, noticing Libby watching us through the rearview mirror. Zoe’s hand was warm, sticky, and small. In it—and in her eyes, which evaluated me carefully as I smiled at her—was something like trust. I felt a sudden, desperate urge to please Libby, to do everything right, to be the most exemplary nanny the Cohen family had ever had. To make this sweet little girl love me as much as I knew I would love her.
“Where’s the baby?” I wondered aloud, as Zoe popped the sippy cup back in her mouth, humming around it.
“Jackson’s at the house,” Libby said. “He was napping when we left, and I didn’t want to disturb him, so I left him in his pack-n-play.”
“Alone?” The word slipped out before I could stop myself. I’d let my guard down, transfixed by the cityscape that slipped past my window in a blur. But leaving a baby alone for even a couple of minutes felt insanely irresponsible. Bad things happened to kids when you didn’t watch them. Bad things you couldn’t ever take back. I felt a shudder worm its way from the base of my spine to my neck.
“Of course not,” Libby responded in an even tone, flipping down the vanity mirror to check her lipstick. She removed her sunglasses and applied another coat of mascara to her long lashes, and it was only then that I saw just how young she looked. “He’s with the baby nurse. Today’s her last day. Good thinking, though,” she said, flashing me a broad smile. “That’s why we need you so badly. There’s no way Walk and I could manage both the kids ourselves. Zoe, quiet, please.” Zoe had removed the sippy cup from her mouth and her humming had, as a result, gotten a little louder.
“What are you singing, Zo? What’s the pretty song?” It sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it. Zoe ignored me and kept on singing, kicking the back of her mother’s seat in rhythm. We idled at a light, and I watched as a man wearing a tie-dyed shirt passed us on a bicycle, the basket up front holding a small dog. Maybe I’d get a bike, eventually. It would be such a fun way to explore the city.
“Zoe,” Walker warned, looking concernedly at Libby. “Stop kicking Mommy’s seat, okay?” He turned the volume on the radio up even louder, his fingers drumming a nervous—no, energetic—beat on the steering wheel.
“CWADLE AND ALL!” shouted Zoe grandly, making me jump. I glanced her way and there she sat, smiling at me, arms outstretched. Apparently that had been the finale to what I now recognized as “Rockabye Baby.” It didn’t seem like this was the first time she’d graced her parents with a performance. I heard Libby sigh from the front.
“Sorry, Annie. Zoe’s had this little tune in her head for months, and we’re getting kind of sick of it, but that’s kids for you. It’s giving her mom a headache, though,” Walker said pointedly from the front. Sure enough, Libby had slid her sunglasses back on and was resting her head against the windowpane. But I was barely listening, because what towered in front of me was so much more majestic than in the pictures they’d sent me.
The house was enormous. It was more like an estate or a castle. It was like something I’d seen in a BBC Masterpiece Theatre version of Pride and Prejudice, all angles and stories and covered in landscaping so it had the illusion of extending on forever. Then we pulled into a massive four-car garage, and Walker killed the engine.
“I’ll get the kids and bring Annie’s things in. Libs, why don’t you give her the tour?”
“Come on,” Libby said, leading me out of the garage. “We’ll start with the back. Your first impression needs to be the best one.”
It was easy to see that the house was positioned over a hill, but I hadn’t been able to see beyond the winding road that led higher and higher up the slope, nor had I been paying much attention to the scenery. So when Libby led me along a small brick path to the left of the garage, the last thing I expected to see was water spreading out in all directions.
We were standing on a terrace that overlooked San Francisco Bay. Herons circled the coast in search of their next meal. The mid-afternoon sun was hitting the ripples in the water just right, making them look like a million tiny gems. The blue of the water had a crystalline quality, so pure and vivid that it merged with the blue of the sky. It was extraordinary.
“Welcome to Belvedere Island, Annie,” said Libby in a reverent tone. “The most beautiful place on earth.”
CHAPTER
THREE
ZOE NESTLED DEEPER into the crook of my arm. I was flipping through my course catalog—orientation was in three days and I wanted to be prepared—while distractedly reading aloud from Zoe’s book of Aesop’s fables. She was saying some of the lines along with me, obviously enjoying herself every time she beat me to the end of a sentence.
“Why don’t you tell me the story if you know it so well?” I asked, poking her in the ribs. She giggled and shrieked a little, burrowing under the afghan in the extravagant second-floor “family” room, aka Zoe’s personal sitting room, because no one really used the second floor but her, and now me. My mind began to wander as Zoe’s little voice danced patterns around the room. It had been a whirlwind twenty-four hours, and I felt caught in a haze of something that felt strangely close to happiness. I’d felt this way only once before: when a friend in middle school invited me to spend the Christmas holiday with her family. Everything was so perfect at her house—such a wonderful chaos—that I’d been content to just curl up and watch it all unfold in front of me. The stacks of gifts, the laughter, the shimmering white lights on the windows, the candy ornaments hanging from a real holly tree. It was hard to explain; even though I wasn’t really a part of it, I was happy just to be a spectator, to bathe in the warmth that emanated from it as though its happy energy could make me happy too, if I absorbed it all up inside me. Then, of course, I’d had to go home to Dean and my mother and Lissa, whom I’d felt guilty for leaving in the first place.
But now, Zoe’s voice was swirling around me as I nestled deeper into the green-and-blue pattern of the antique loveseat in her sitting room, and I had something m
ore: the knowledge that this time, I didn’t have to leave. The catalog in my lap was just proof of it—now I was looking forward, watching the minutes spread out in front of me instead of clinging to them desperately as I felt them slip away. It was wonderful to have a future that was wide open. The funny thing was, it was hard to feel comfortable inside this newfound happiness. I sat there with Zoe, with the distinct feeling that I didn’t deserve this—miracles didn’t happen to people like me, especially after what happened with Lissa. I had this weird, disconcerting feeling of waiting for the other shoe to drop. How could I make it last? How could I make myself believe I deserved my new chance? The only thing to do, I decided, was to work myself to death, being the best nanny I could be. I would make everyone else believe I deserved it, until I believed I deserved it. That was the plan.
The sitting room was perfect. The whole house was; there was more to look at and take in than I possibly could on my first day, and it occurred to me that maybe I’d be discovering things—ivory ashtrays and blown-glass lamps and first-edition Mark Twains—for months before I knew the place in and out. I’d never seen anything like it, except in magazines and movies. It was funny how the discordance of it somehow worked as though it had been meticulously planned, even though Libby told me much of their décor was just odds and ends they’d picked up on their honeymoon and other trips. Only Zoe’s room was strangely minimalist in comparison, with a little twin bed covered in blue pillows, a rocking chair in the corner, a bookcase, and a dresser with a couple of porcelain dolls lined on top. “She’s too little, still,” Libby had told me offhandedly. “God knows I’m worried enough about her breaking the valuables in the rest of this place. Believe me, Annie, I know what I’m doing.” And so my tiny girl had her books and her Falafel, a stuffed pig whose fur was grimy from her fingers and teeth. Zoe had a nervous habit of chewing on Falafel’s fur, it seemed. But what was there to be nervous about on Belvedere Island? If there’d ever been an Eden, it had looked like this.
Architecture. Art History. Beginning Photography. Eastern Religious Theory. I flipped through the book as I felt my eyelids growing heavy. Zoe had already nodded off against my side, her thumb in her mouth and her arm clamped tightly around Falafel. What area of study was perfect for the reinvented me? That was the thing about leaving a family that doesn’t care; you get to start over completely.
“What about interior design?” Libby’s musical voice may as well have been a scythe for how easily it jolted me awake. “Dozing on the job, Annie?” she asked as I started, the rhetorical question dancing through the space between us as lightly as the silk duster she wore over her nightgown. “Not a great start, I’d say.”
“I’m so sorry,” I managed to stammer out, feeling warmth spread across my cheeks toward my ears. I’d always blushed easily, not just when I was embarrassed—when I was anything: worried, anxious, angry, whatever. It took just about nothing for my face to burn and my ears to throb with the heat of my emotions, which were often frighteningly powerful.
“Oh, I’m only kidding,” she said with a laugh. “You’ve had a nutty day. It’s hard getting used to the energy levels of a three-year-old. Mind if I sit?” I shook my head, and she settled in next to me, propping her moccasin-encased feet on the immaculate, glass-topped coffee table in front of us. Her relaxed manner surprised me; but then, I wasn’t used to relaxing in settings as nice as this one.
“Well, it’s even harder with the baby,” I said carefully. “Why don’t you let me watch him more often? I’m sure you could use a rest.”
“No, no,” she said with a wave of her hand, drawing a long sip from the glass of wine. “He’s easy, really. He sleeps most of the time. Plus, I love having his cute little face nearby. Sometimes I just want to squeeze him, you know?”
“Yeah.” I smiled then, glancing back down at the catalog in an effort to hide my reaction. Libby’s friendliness was filling me with this weird, giddy feeling, and I was a little embarrassed by how she was affecting me. I wanted her to like me; it was how it had been when I was a kid, desperate to make friends at school.
“You have the cutest kids,” I said, casting a glance at Zoe. “She’s such a little sweetheart, all curled up like that.” I laughed. “And I can’t get over Falafel. How did she come up with that name?”
“Oh, that was all her dad,” Libby said, rolling her eyes a little. “He’s just basically a ten-year-old in an adult body. All guys are. Forever. I don’t know, I think he was just goofing around with Zoe, suggesting names like ‘String Bean’ or something, and Falafel stuck.”
“Or ‘Fluffel,’” I said. “I wonder if that’ll change when her lisp goes away.”
“Probably not. And hey, it’s cute, so whatever.”
“I really like how you guys seem so laidback with the kids,” I commented. “It’s just like . . .” I trailed off, searching for the right words.
“What?” she prodded.
“Sorry,” I said, shaking my head. “Not to sound sentimental, but it’s exactly how I want to be someday. It’s nice to see that it’s a real thing for some people.”
“So,” Libby started carefully, “I guess that means that’s not how it was for your parents.” I shook my head; I wasn’t about to tell her my sordid family history. As cool as she seemed to be, she wouldn’t think of me the same way if she knew everything.
“I know a little about you,” she mentioned gently. “I know it couldn’t have been easy, growing up in inner-city Detroit, going to that high school. . . .” My head shot up. I hadn’t told her anything about my school. How did she know? But her eyes held mine kindly.
“We had to do a little background check,” she said. “Just the basics. It’s customary, you know. You were going to be living with us, looking after our children . . .”
“So what did you find out?” My heart squeezed tightly, shriveling up into something hard. Libby peered at me as though surprised I’d ask.
“Nothing,” she said. “At least, nothing much. Just that your school was kind of rough, but you still managed to pull off a near-perfect academic record. Nothing to be worried about, I’d say.” She smiled a little, tugging at the corner of my sweatshirt. “If anything, I was impressed.”
“Thanks,” I mumbled.
“Can I be honest with you?” she asked then.
“Sure.” Zoe cozied herself into me some more, eliminating any inch of space that might have existed between us. Her closeness reminded me of Lissa, whose affection had always been unchecked despite Dean’s bullishness and our mother’s dazed, half-aware ministrations.
“I’m sensing that you’re a little shy about your background, but there’s nothing to worry about. If you think we’re going to judge you because you didn’t come from money, you’re totally wrong. And you might be surprised to know that we’re not so different, you and I.”
“Indeed,” I told her wryly. “I am surprised to hear that.”
“Oh, stop,” she said. “Is it because I’m so ensconced in this life of luxury? Trust me, you’ll get used to it too. It doesn’t take long. When I was growing up, though, I lived in a double-wide. I worked two jobs to put myself through school. That’s why I liked you. I felt right away like we might have a lot in common.” I met her gaze and was surprised to find that her eyes projected total openness and honesty. No one had ever shown an interest in my life or assumed I had any particular worth. I hadn’t even assumed these things. And now here was Libby, telling me that she and I were a lot alike. Which meant that maybe this life of hers wasn’t so far from my grasp.
But there was one way we differed: I’d never feel comfortable with this much money. I’d never get used to feeling safe, like disaster wasn’t just around the corner, like I was just always barely escaping poverty and sadness. I’d never stop looking over my shoulder. How could I? Lissa had been the only source of unbridled joy in my life, and then she was gone. All because of a stupid above-ground pool that Dean insisted on putting in, and a stupid gate that he’
d never bothered to fix. And stupid you, a voice whispered from somewhere deep inside my head. Stupid you, who should have kept a better eye on her. The truth was, I was the world’s least qualified person to watch Libby and Walker’s kids. The last time a child was in my care, she had died. Sure, Mama had been home. But Lissa was always my responsibility first: that was the unspoken rule.
“Hey,” Libby said softly, jolting me away from my ruminating. “Let’s talk about something else. God, the first time we really get a chance to get to know each other, and I’ve already made you cry.” She handed me a tissue from the box on the table. I dabbed at my eyes. I hadn’t even noticed that I’d been crying, but sure enough, the tears were just beginning to spill over.
“I know!” she exclaimed excitedly, leaping up from the sofa. “How about you tuck in Sleeping Beauty, and I’ll grab a fresh glass of wine . . . and one for you. And then we’ll go do a little spring cleaning.” A glass of wine sounded okay, but cleaning wasn’t exactly what I felt like doing just then. My head was foggy, and my body felt like a truck had backed into it.
“Okay,” I said. “Sure. If you don’t mind me drinking while I’m on the job. And underage,” I added, because it felt like the responsible thing to say.
“You’re in college,” Libby said. “I think a glass of wine from time to time isn’t going to cause you any permanent damage. I’m not suggesting you get raging drunk,” she said mock-sternly, “but a glass here and there to loosen you up while you’re not on the job is fine. And by the way, you’re not on the job.”
“Okay?”
“What, you actually thought I’d make you clean the house at ten P.M.? Give me a little credit, Annie, I’m not a total witch. I’m talking about cleaning out my closet! It’s been ages since I got rid of stuff. We’re about the same size, right?”
The Ruining Page 2