Page 22 of Devil Seeks Nanny

I try not to linger on that now. It’ll only rub salt in the deep, unhealing wound left by dad’s death.

As I go through the self-checkout, scanning my items and putting them in bags, I hear a voice call out, “Diana! Is that you?”

I glance to my left and see Lynn Prescott at the checkout station next to mine. She used to be my eleventh-grade English teacher and truly looks the same, save for a few wrinkles on her skin. The last time I’d seen her, actually, was at dad’s funeral. “Hi, Mrs. Prescott,” I greet her with a friendly smile. “How’s it going?”

“Oh, you know—same old, same old,” the older woman smiles as we both scan our items. The area is filled with the sounds of people talking, and scanners beeping with every barcode that is swiped through. “I wanted to ask you—I heard a rumor and I’m not sure it’s true, so I figured I’d ask you whenever I saw you next. And here you are!” She laughs, and I offer her a grin. She leans toward me slightly, and I have to mirror her action because her voice suddenly drops to a whisper, hazel eyes widening as she asks, “Are you truly working for—” she pauses, looking around for a moment, before finishing, “Bruno Cataldi?”

She whispers his name like just uttering it will summon him in a burst of smoke. And as amusing as it is, I understand her apprehension to just mention him. People have known Bruno as the monster under their bed, the one living in the darkness. Frankly, I was one of those people as well, even though I spent most of my time out in Los Angeles. But being from San Francisco, I knew who he was well before I ever met him.

Just like Mrs. Prescott, I had thought of Bruno as the big bad wolf, stalking the streets of our city. But now here I am, living in the wolf’s house. It’s quite a dramatic change.

I offer her a small smile, not wanting to give the older woman a heart attack as I tell her, “I am.”

Mrs. Prescott’s eyes widen. “Oh, dear girl,” she says breathlessly. Her hand presses to her chest, eyeing me incredulously. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? You know the kind of man he is. And you’re a live-in nanny, aren’t you? How can you stay under the same roof as him?”

I’m surprised by the annoyance that rushes through my veins, fighting the urge to glare at my former teacher. The irritation I feel comes with the need to defend Bruno, to tell Mrs. Prescott that he isn’t as bad as he seems. And while that may be true for me, as I’ve seen the way he is at home with his kids, I know the rest of the world won’t see him that way. They don’t see the devoted, loving father. They don’t know the small gestures he’s done for me, even. Like, making coffee for me ready with my mug already out of the cabinet on the rare occasion he’s awake before I am, or letting my friends and me enjoy his club free of charge. Or the fact that he had a brand-new bed set delivered for me the other day, and it made my room feel a little bit more like my own. It had definitely been a surprise, but one that I liked.

So, yeah—there’s more to Bruno Cataldi than anyone would think, but I have a feeling if I voiced as much, no one would really believe me.

“It’s okay, Mrs. Prescott,” I try to instead placate, forcing a reassuring smile. “I mostly look after his kids. I don’t even see him that much.”

There’s a half-truth in that. I don’t see Bruno around that much, but I feel like I see more of him than I did my previous kids’ parents. He’s a hands-on dad, and we always talk when he comes home so I can give him the run down on what the kids did that day. But there’s no sense in giving all of the details to Mrs. Prescott, who looks liable to pass out by merely mentioning Bruno’s name.

She doesn’t look too relieved by my reassurance as we continue scanning our items. “Okay, well,” she says warily before sighing and pinning me with a look. “You just be careful, alright? That’s a side of the world I wouldn’t dare step foot in,” she adds with a shudder, bagging the last of her items.

“I will,” I tell her with a forced chuckle, waving goodbye when she leaves and bagging my own things. I let out a breath once she’s gone, shaking my head.

Not a single part of me is surprised at her reaction to me working for Bruno. But I put it out of my mind. I started working for him for one specific reason, and I always keep that in my mind.

After I finish up with my groceries, I head back to the house to drop them off and put them away. Bruno and the kids are nowhere to be found, and the cook, Perry, is also not in the kitchen. I’m assuming Bruno gave him the day off as well since this is the usual time for Perry to be in here, whipping something delicious up for lunch and dinner. I’m guessing Bruno is taking the kids out to eat. So, I work quickly and put away my own groceries before deciding that I’m going out for lunch as well.

I have the whole damn day to myself. I might as well take it to my full advantage, right?

*****

I don’t know how it happens, but I end up at my house later in the day.

I spent hours by myself, eating lunch at one of my favorite cafes, doing some shopping, and meeting up with Willa for coffee in between. But now the sun has set, and I’m standing in the living room of my dad’s house. I’d gotten rid of the indoor plants that had been decorated around the house because I don’t come here often enough to water and take care of them. The dozens and dozens of flowers I’d received during his funeral are also long gone, having wilted in the days after. There’s no perishable food in the fridge or cupboards. But everything else is still the same.

I try to push past the physical pain that resides in my chest at being here. It’s disconcerting, being in this house without him in it. Dad made this house feel alive my entire childhood. It had always just been him and me after my mother ditched us, but dad never made me feel like I was lacking anything. He gave me the love of two parents and the support of them, too. The most important thing to him was that I was happy and healthy, and when I told him about wanting to branch out and go to school in Los Angeles, he was all for it. Never once did he try to get me to stay in San Francisco.

“Any part of the world you want to see, it’s yours to explore, Diana. I’ll never stop you from having adventures.”

His words, even now, stick to me, but they lance through my chest sharply. I was off having my adventures out in Los Angeles, and it was those very adventures that kept me away from Dad. And while I learned a lot and grew a lot as a person, I missed out on spending time with him when it mattered the most. Coming back to San Francisco was so I could take care of him and spend time with him, restrengthen our relationship that never deteriorated, no matter the time and space between us.

But the universe seemed to have other plans for us. And now he’s gone, and the emptiness left in his wake has yet to be filled.

My days spent with Monica and Matteo serve as a good distraction. Kids always keep you entertained, keep you on your toes—it’s damn near impossible to have a moment to think about anything else.

Standing in this house, however, with nothing to keep my thoughts occupied—the grief rushes over me like a tidal wave that drowns me. I don’t know when I started crying, but as I take in a deep breath, it shudders through my body, and my cheeks are wet from tears when I touch my face. I sniffle, fingers pressing to my cheeks as I wipe the tears. But even if I do, the tightness in my chest isn’t about to ease up any time soon, especially as I sink down onto the couch, my gaze fixed on the picture frames on the mantle beneath the TV.

As I sit here in my quiet, empty childhood home, the realization that hits me is like a bolt of lightning, one that leaves me frozen and unable to breathe.

Without dad, I’m alone. Completely and utterly alone.

I have my friends. I have, maybe, the families I have worked for. But I don’t have a family of my own. It was just dad and me from the moment my grandparents passed away when I was seven, their deaths just months apart from one another. He and I were best friends growing up, partners in crime. The world is fucking empty without him. It’s gray and quiet, and I don’t understand how everything can keep moving forward when I feel like I’m stuck in this horrible limbo. When I want to go back to where dad is still here with me, but I know I need to go forward and move on with my life the way I know he would want me to.

I miss him so much. So badly, to the point where it’s difficult to breathe when I think of him.

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