Page 62 of The Night Nanny

She turns to face me. “Are you still sure you want me to go with Ned?”

“Absolutely. He needs you there by his side tonight.”

“Will you be okay for dinner?”

I give a light laugh. “I know how to make pasta.”

“There’s also some fresh wild-caught salmon in the fridge. And some organic mixed greens.”

“Thanks, I’ll be fine. C’mon, let’s not keep Ned waiting.”

We head to the living room where Ned is awaiting us. Shimmering in his black- tie attire.

At the sight of Princess Marley, a wow spills from his lips. His eyes are practically popping out of their sockets.

Mentally, I poke them back in with my fingers. Hoping it hurts.

When they depart, I instantly feel much better, and very proud of myself for wrangling myself out of the gala. I faked my malaise and could have easily found something to wear online, even a deconstructed Yohji Yamamoto gown that would have wowed the Japanese. But I simply didn’t want to go. After setting up the baby monitor in the living room, I mosey to the kitchen and rifle through the mail that Nurse Marley brought in. Still no birth certificate. It must have gotten lost. I’ll deal with it in the morning.

Instead, I pick up my favorite magazine, Elle Décor, and as I do, a letter falls out of it onto the floor. The birth certificate? I bend down to pick it up. It’s a white, business-size envelope addressed to Marley from some place called Serenity in Fresno with a P.O. Box address. Barely sealed, I can’t help opening it. Inside is a folded piece of lined paper. A handwritten letter. I unfold it.

My darling Em,

Be careful. Stay true to the plan. The script.

I will see you soon.

May God be with you.

With all my love,

M

I stare at the letter. It’s written in jet-black block letters, except for the letter “M” at the end, which is bold and angular, making it hard to tell if it’s a man’s handwriting or a woman’s. Fresno, I recall, is where Marley’s from. Does she have a friend or relative who lives there? A writing partner? A boyfriend? And why is she addressed as “Em”? Is her real name Emily or Emma? And what plan is he or she referring to?

I’ve always suspected that our closed-off nanny is hiding a secret. Was I right? Is she not who she says she is?

There is something ominous about the letter. Something that makes me shiver. Carefully, I fold up the piece of paper and return it to the envelope, sealing it with some Scotch tape that I find in a drawer beneath the counter.

Maybe I should investigate her further? Though not tonight.

Taking my magazine with me, I retreat to the living room and curl up on the leather couch. I start flipping through it, but I’m still chilled from the mysterious letter. Using the remote, I turn on the gas fireplace. The fake logs glow and give off some warmth. I’m about to turn a page when an intrusive voice interrupts my blissful evening.

“Ava, put that magazine down and look at me.”

My mother.

THIRTY-THREE

AVA

“Mother, what are you doing here?”

Dressed in a shabby cashmere bathrobe, she strides over to Ned’s bar and pours herself some cognac. Holding the crystal tumbler in her hand, she takes a sip and turns to face me, her eyes narrowing.

“I saw everything! How can you just sit there and let that woman go out with your husband?”

I keep my eyes glued to a spread on a gorgeous Paris apartment and casually flip to the next page. “Mother, she needed a night off; she’s been working so hard—practically twenty-four-seven. Plus, it’s a fabulous opportunity for her to meet some industry people. Did you know she’s written a movie script?”

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