by Jac Simensen
Julie babbled a long, incomprehensible infant sentence and pointed to Janna, who pushed the peaches out of her mouth with her tongue and grinned.
Gordon yawned. “We’ll be okay,” he assured her. “I can do this. Besides, I need to start getting ready to return to the real world. While I was back in Concord I organized with the office to review our junior associate’s real-estate work, online. I can take care of my girls and get ready to go back to the office at the same time. I’m sure I can.”
“Gordy, you don’t know anything about babies. During the next couple of months, it’s likely one or both girls will get sick. Let me tell you, it’s damn scary when a baby gets sick: vomiting, diarrhea, a sky-high temperature, and maybe even convulsions. It frightened the hell out of me the first time it happened to Butch. With two babies, the possibility of an accident is doubled. You, young man, need a certified nanny.” She pointed at him for emphasis. “Not necessarily a live-in. Maybe just for the afternoons, so you can take a nap and get your strength and sanity back. I can’t go home until I know that you’ll have some help nearby in case you need it.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Gordon Hale, I’m giving you ’til lunchtime to come to your senses—and if you don’t, I’m gonna call Milt and have him put Aunt Ella on a plane to Sarasota this weekend. Ella loves you dearly and was quite fond of Karen, as well. I’m sure she’d jump at the chance to help until you’re ready to go home.”
While Mary talked, Janna put her pudgy fingers into the pocket on the bottom of her plastic bib and removed a wad of multicolored baby food. She extended her hand to Julie and the wad fell to the floor with a plop. Both girls looked down to see what had happened.
Gordon made a sour face. “Not Ella. Not here; not again.”
“I know Ella’s out of touch, but she really is a sweet and loving lady. She’ll do anything to help family. Can’t she be here just ’til you’re ready to come home?”
Gordon shook his head. “Out of touch? She and her cronies think it’s still 1950. Not Ella—no way.”
“Gordy, you need help.”
“Why do you always act like you’re in charge of my life?”
“Because, little brother, I am in charge—especially now. You probably wouldn’t be alive today if I hadn’t been around to protect you. Heaven knows, Mother was always too involved in her projects, not to mention her martinis, to do more than pat our heads on the way out the door.”
Gordon sighed. “All right, bully, I’ll talk to the nanny. Maybe she could work afternoons, just for a while. What’s this certified lunatic’s name?”
3
Mary was wheeling the two-seat baby stroller along the curving, crushed-shell drive when she and Hattie met. It was at the end of her second circuit out to the main road and back. The warm South Florida air and the motion of the stroller had lulled the twins to sleep. Hattie was standing in a manicured flowerbed behind the lush, three-foot-high sweet-viburnum hedge that bordered the drive. She was cutting flowers and placing them in a wicker carrying basket. Mary saw Hattie first. At just under six feet tall, with pale, nearly translucent skin, pinkish eyes, and a yellow patterned apron with a matching bandana covering her tight, white curls, Hattie was impossible to overlook.
“Good afternoon,” Mary called. “Beautiful day.”
Hattie wasn’t expecting to see anyone in the drive and was startled. “Hey—who ya got there?” she asked with a forced smile.
“These young ladies are the Hale twins, Janna and Julie. I’m Mary, their aunt.”
“You ain’t from around here, are ya?”
“Why, yes and no. I’m from Boston but I’m staying at the beach cottage now with my brother—Gordon Hale, the twins’ father. The Hale family has owned the property for years. I think I remember you from when my mother and brother and I used to stay at the beach cottage when I was young.”
“Could be, could be,” Hattie said, shaking her head. “My memory’s not so good anymore. I can’t say that I remember you or your brother. Myra’s owned this old house for a long time. We been comin’ here most every winter.”
“You enjoy being here?” Mary asked.
“Don’t much matter. When you’re the nurse for a grouchy old lady, one place is pretty much the same as another…How old are them babies?”
“Just over fourteen months. I suspect you’ve heard that my brother’s wife, the twins’ mother, died recently. My brother plans on staying here on the island for a few more months before he takes the girls back to Massachusetts.”
“Yeah, Myra told me. That’s so sad. So, when he leaves you’ll be goin’ back up north too?”
“No, we’re about to hire a nanny to help my brother take care of the girls so that I can head home soon. I have two teenaged boys and a husband to look after.”
“I see…So sad about the babies’ mother dyin’.”
Mary began to push the stroller along the drive. “It was a pleasure meeting you, Hattie. Forgive me for rushing away. I need to get these two in for their afternoon nap. I’m sure we’ll see each other again.”
Mary reached over the hedge, with her hand extended. Hattie wasn’t used to shaking hands, but after briefly hesitating, she took Mary’s hand.
“See ya round, Mary from Boston,” Hattie said and returned to the flowers.
~*~
The large, rectangular sunroom of the big house looked like a consignment shop. It was choked with bric-a-brac, uncoordinated furniture, and a large flat-screen TV. An oversize, multi-hued oriental carpet dominated the center of the room and was surrounded on two sides by brown leather couches that were crackled with age. Next to the couches were two Mission end tables complete with Tiffany-style lamps. Against the wall with the window facing the driveway sat an ebony grand piano. The piano hadn’t been played in a decade. The lid was closed and covered with stacks of books and magazines. A three-tiered chandelier, dripping with dusty Austrian crystals, hung from the high ceiling above the piano. Along the right wall was an arched opening to a hallway. The floor-to-ceiling space along the wall on both sides and above the arch was covered with dozens of framed paintings, drawings, and photos of various sizes—all portraits of women and girls. An ornate Louis-XVI-style games table and two heavily carved walnut chairs of the same period were positioned behind a leather couch.
Myra Silk was seated at the games table, a bottle of crimson nail polish and a set of manicure tools spread in a semicircle in front of her. She was dressed in a Chinese-style embroidered robe, and matching cloth slippers. Her black hair was pulled back in a tight bun. She was animatedly talking on a cell phone when Hattie entered the room through the dining-room pocket doors. Hattie had removed her colorful apron and bandana and was carrying a tall crystal vase filled with freshly cut flowers. She placed the vase on the console table next to the TV. Myra energetically waved her free hand in the air, motioning for Hattie to take the opposite chair.
“Call as soon as you know anything more,” the old lady hissed. “Right away—don’t worry about the time.” She paused to listen. “Yes, yes, I know you are. We’ll talk about that later, won’t we?” She turned off the phone and set it next to the manicure tools on the table.
Myra’s thin lips were set in a deep frown. “That was Clarisse; she says there’s big trouble at the clinic.” Myra continued staring into Hattie’s pink eyes. “Maggie escaped from rehab. She locked the nurse in a closet, stole her purse, and took her car.”
Hattie slowly shook her head. “She attack the nurse—go for her throat?”
“She just pushed the nurse into the closet and locked it.”
“Hmm. Well, maybe the meds are makin’ her less violent… When this happen?”
“Clarisse wasn’t positive, sometime over the weekend. They found the nurse, then called Clarisse.”
Hattie looked puzzled. “Why they call Clarisse instead a you?”
“Clarisse is set up as Maggie’s Power of Attorney. The clinic thinks she’s Maggie’s domestic partner. I
don’t want any legal connection with me.”
“Nothin’ but trouble—that bitch is nothin’ but trouble. We shoulda done it ’fore we left.”
Myra glared at Hattie. “For the last time, I needed to get her cleaned up first. Don’t bring it up again.”
“Startin’ when you got her from the pimp, she been nothin’ but trouble. Druggie whore—you wouldn’t listen. All you could see was that body—that body and that face.”
Myra’s brilliant blue eyes narrowed to slits. “Show some respect; she’s as much my flesh and bone as you are. Not another word or you’ll feel my wrath—you hear?”
“Savage, druggie,” Hattie mumbled, at a sound level she knew from experience to be too low for Myra’s age-impaired hearing.
Myra took a nail file from an embroidered zipper bag. “Pennsylvania. She’s in Pennsylvania…At least, she was. Got gas with the nurse’s credit card—Clarisse traced the card. You know what that means, don’t you?”
“She tryin’ to get away from you as fast as she can—that’s what it mean.”
“You stupid girl! She’s going to her parents’ home near Philadelphia, to get money from Mommy and Daddy—money for drugs.”
Hattie frowned. “We gotta go get her? But we jus’ got here, an’ I’m tired a travelin’.”
Myra continued filing. She was unconsciously shaping her fingernails into points. “She’ll come; she bears my mark and can’t resist my will. We’ll be patient and she’ll be along soon. You know I’m right, don’t you?”
Hattie saw that Myra was very upset. She knew that when Myra was upset, she could easily become the target for Myra’s rage. Hattie didn’t like pain and quickly tried to shift the old woman’s focus. “I met the Hale boy’s sister today—his sister and his two babies. Like you thought, them babies are real young. The sister’s name is Mary. She told me she’s leavin’ for her home in Boston as soon as they hire a nanny. She said that the Hale boy is gonna be takin’ his babies back north in a couple months—that doesn’t give us much time to get to them.”
Myra shook the bottle of nail polish. “One thing at a time,” she said in a soft, nervous voice. “One thing at a time. First, we’ll take care of Maggie and our little problem. Then, we’ll see to the babies.”
4
“I can only stay in America for five more months, Mr. Hale. I’m on a student visa and that’s when it expires.” Nila and Gordon were sitting at the kitchen table.
“Will you please stop calling me ‘Mr. Hale’? It makes me feel ancient. I can’t be that much older than you. How old are you, exactly?”
“Sorry Mis—Gordon. It goes against my training to use your first name, but I’ll try. I’m twenty-three.”
Gordon stood, went to the coffeemaker, and filled his cup. He motioned with the pot to Nila. She shook her head.
“I’m not sure how long we’ll be staying in Florida before we go back to Massachusetts. Two months, perhaps three at the most. Where will you go when you leave Castle Key?”
“I’ll have to go back to London, at least for a while. I’ve been told that if I don’t get myself into any trouble I could stay on even when my visa runs out. Apparently, the immigration authorities seldom come searching for British girls with expired student visas. The problem is that if I left the States after my visa had expired, I might have problems getting another visa in the future.”
“You wanna come back?”
“Oh, not just come back—I want to live in America. In Florida. Florida suits me perfectly. Someday, I’m going to live in a little place on the beach. Not Castle Key—it’s far too expensive. I couldn’t live here even in my wildest dreams. I’m working on a plan to get a green card so that I can eventually stay for good. I’m looking for a sponsor.”
Mary bustled down the hall and into the kitchen. “Well, that’s settled,” she said, putting her hand on Nila’s shoulder. “Mrs. Anderson says to tell you how much she misses you.” She turned toward Gordon. “It seems that our certified nanny is a superstar; Mrs. Anderson said that she’s had lots of staff over the years, but none as capable as Nila.”
Nila lowered her head. “Mrs. Anderson is a sweet lady. Perhaps she’ll take me on again next time I come over.”
Mary patted Nila’s shoulder. “I think there’s no doubt about that.”
Gordon sat down again and faced Nila. “Why did you leave the Andersons?”
“Amy Cartwright invited me to spend a month with her at her family’s Castle Key home. I met Amy when she was an art student in London. She was in a drawing class and I was a model. I pick up the odd quid modeling from time to time.”
“Oh, how interesting.” Mary sat on the chair next to Nila’s. “Do you model nude? I’ve always wanted to model nude but never had the opportunity. I’m too old now—too many stretch marks.”
Nila grinned. “Mostly bare bum and breasts,” she said. “Actually, I prefer full-nude—it pays more. It’s all quite respectable, you know—nothing salacious. You undress, put on a robe, go into the studio, take off the robe, and sit or stand for an hour or so. The professor walks about, and the students draw or paint. The only conversation is if the professor asks you to change position. That’s it. Then you dress and go home.”
“Don’t the male students try to hit on you?” Mary asked.
“You mean chat me up?”
“Right. Chat ya up.”
“No, that’s never happened. Amy’s the only one from class I ever bumped into—in a taxi queue.”
Gordon leaned back in his chair. “I assume you gave Mrs. Anderson reasonable notice that you were leaving?”
“That was all worked out in advance before I took the job. I arranged with Amy to stay here with her on Castle Key a year ago. Mrs. Anderson knew from the start that I’d be leaving after Christmas. Amy went home to Philadelphia ten days ago. She said that I could either stay on until the end of the month when her parents arrive or drive up to Pennsylvania with her. I didn’t much fancy going to Pennsylvania. She said that this time of the year it’s cold and damp, just like London.”
Mary interrupted her. “So, you’d be interested in this position for the next few months?”
“Yes, I would. It fits perfectly with my plans and the children are at the age I enjoy the most. I’ve never taken care of identical twins before. It would be great fun. They’re gorgeous—their dark hair and green eyes make a stunning combination.”
Mary stood. “That’s settled, then. Let me show you the guest room where I’ve been staying. The guest room shares a bath with the nursery, so it’ll be quite convenient for you. You and I can discuss your salary, days off, and so forth. Gordon’s hopeless with practical things.”
Gordon leaned forward and placed his palms on the edge of the table. “Now, wait just a minute! You said mornings or afternoons. I never agreed to a full-time employee.”
Mary put her hands on her hips and turned to Gordon. “Nila’s just told you she won’t have a place to stay after the end of the month. The guest room’s going to be empty; it makes perfect sense for Nila to stay here.”
“I’m very flexible, Gordon. I’m sure that whatever level of assistance you require, I can accommodate. I like to spend my free time on the beach, sketching and painting, so I can be out of the house for as long as you wish. I don’t really think that there’s much chance of finding an inexpensive bed-and-breakfast or bedsit on Castle Key in the high season.”
For the first time since Mary had marched Nila into the kitchen, Gordon took a careful look at her. She was a trim five-foot-five, with long, straight brown hair surrounding an oval-shaped face, large dark eyes, a honey-brown complexion, and lips that appeared more accustomed to smiling than frowning. Mary’s description was accurate: Nila was quite attractive, in a chiseled-feature sort of way. Taken separately, her broad forehead, strong chin, high cheekbones, and prominent nose might each be considered severe, but together they formed an attractive, character-filled face. It was obvious why she was an artist’s mo
del.
Gordon leaned back from the table. “And just exactly what work do you think you’d do here?”
“Well, as I said, I’d be willing to accommodate your needs. Mary’s explained that you’d want to take part in the children’s care. What I’d suggest is that I get up with the babies in the morning, feed and dress them while you bathe and have breakfast. If you chose to be with them in the afternoon, then I could pop down to the village and do the grocery shopping and any errands you require. You have a car, don’t you?”
Mary nodded. “Mother’s old Buick isn’t much to look at, but it’s reliable.”
“One thing: I’m a good driver, but I only have a British driving license, not an American one. Amy let me drive her car. It’s a sports model, with a gearshift. She didn’t think there’d be a problem if I stayed on the island. I’m getting around by bicycle now.”
“I don’t think the Buick’s ever ventured off the island. It was Mother’s winter car.”
Nila turned toward Gordon. “Cooking isn’t usually part of the job, but since I have to feed myself, I’d be happy to cook for you as well. Simple things, mind you—I never learned to cook posh. We could decide who would get up with the children during the night when they need attention. Perhaps we could take turns?”
Gordon shrugged. “I’m used to getting up with them during the night,” he said. “We’ll see how it goes.”
Mary took Gordon’s comment as an act of surrender. “Come on, Nila,” she said. “I’ll show you the guest room.”
Mary gently closed the guest-room door and motioned for Nila to sit in the worn, padded vanity chair, the only chair in the room, and then leaned on a tall bedpost. “Nila, besides helping with the twins, there’s another reason I need you to be here. I need you to keep an eye on my brother. As you and I discussed, he’s been through hell this past year, and I’m concerned that he’s kept most of the stress bottled up inside. I’m not sure when, or how, or even if he’s ever gonna let it out. Gordy’s always been a bit on the wild side—nothing crazy, no drugs or violent behavior—he’s just a fun guy who’s always joking around. In college and law school he was a good student, but his friends always said that he could smell a party a mile away. He settled down some after his marriage, and even more so when Karen was diagnosed with cancer. Karen was more serious, but she was fun-loving, too. They were a good match. Not long before she died, Karen told me that she couldn’t remember the two of them ever having had a deep and meaningful conversation.”