Page 11 of The Nanny Next Door

Stop it, Lila! You’re going to work for the man. For his child. Time to be professional and get your head out of the clouds.

On the short walk from the train to the Kramers’ place, I allowed my eternal optimism to buoy me forward. I was grinning by the time I knocked on the door, and a plump older woman with salt-and-pepper hair answered the door.

“Oh, good!” she said by way of greeting. “You must be Lila, yes?”

“Yes,” I confirmed. “And you are?”

“Fran Nguyen,” she introduced herself, holding out a wrinkled hand for me to shake. “I’ve been Miss Olivia’s nanny until now, so Mr. Kramer wanted me to introduce you to her, show you around.”

“Oh, that’s so nice of him,” I said honestly as I followed her into the house.

“He’s a good man,” Mrs. Nguyen said with a solemn nod.

“Is he here today?”

“No, no. He’s often at work. Very busy, you know. He’s a very important man.”

I did get that impression. Still, knowing he wasn’t here was a little disappointing. I refused to examine why that could be as Mrs. Nguyen showed me through the clean, though sparsely decorated, Kramer residence. The house was much more minimalistic than the Mayhews' place, more modern and elegant than ostentatiously wealthy, and I would have found it refreshing if it seemed intentional rather than the result of some lack of care. Clearly, my mother had been on to something with one of her signature catchphrases—”Money doesn’t buy good taste!”

As we walked through the rooms, Mrs. Nguyen spoke in a warm, affectionate tone as we walked. “This door is to Mr. Kramer’s office,” she explained as we passed a door we didn’t open in a long hallway. “He works very hard, always making sure Olivia is taken care of. I feel he must choose to work at home so often because it’s a way for him to be closer to his little girl, even if he isn’t always comfortable with… well, you’ll see.”

I guessed I would.

She led me through the house on a tour that showed her comfort here in addition to the ins and outs of my new workplace. There was a huge, modern kitchen, a coldly modern dining room, and bathrooms with fancy plumbing I could never dream of—Gina, Christine, and I all shared one small, temperamental shower at our place. There was a well-appointed playroom for little Olivia, and on our way to her bedroom, we passed the primary suite.

“Mr. Kramer’s bedroom,” Mrs. Nguyen explained, her tone becoming low and soft. “Well, except he hardly sleeps in there since Janessa passed. He’s been through a lot, losing his wife, but he’s so strong. Really admirable.”

I hadn’t realized before now that Mr. Kramer was a widower. The knowledge struck me in the chest, a painful pang of sympathy that made the stoic, mysterious Miles Kramer a little more human to me. “Oh, wow. When… when did she pass?”

“It’s been a few years, but I’m afraid Mr. Kramer has never been quite the same.” The older woman tsked, her concern for the family apparent in her warm brown eyes. “He’s still been a great employer, of course. Wonderfully fair, always generous. He’s just… a bit closed.”

“Understandable,” I murmured. “And I bet his daughter misses her mom.”

“They don’t talk much about Ms. Janessa,” Mrs. Nguyen said with a mildly disapproving tone. “Anyway, Olivia was very young, the poor thing.”

“That must have been so hard,” I said, feeling a creeping urge to cry that I struggled to shove down. Crying on my first day wasn’t a good look. I swallowed the lump in my throat and tried to think of happy things—kittens, puppies, earning enough money to someday feel comfortable taking time off work to pursue writing. That did the trick.

“Yes,” the kindly nanny said with a sad smile, and that was that.

When we finally found our way to Olivia’s room, I was greeted by a cheerfully pink space filled with toys, books, and princess touches. My own childhood self would have loved a room like this, I thought as I took it all in—though of course, the Dawsons hadn’t been nearly as financially well-off as Miles Kramer. Mrs. Nguyen’s face softened further as she started to talk about the child she’d basically raised. “Now, Olivia, she’s a sweetheart. Loves to draw, and sing, and play pretend. She’s got a vivid imagination, that one. I wonder where she could be?”

As if on cue, the door to a giant castle playhouse at the far end of the room burst open and a small whirlwind ran out, all flying dark curls and a bright smile, her toddler legs still wobbly but confident. “Mrs. Nguyen! Mrs. Nguyen!” the little girl cried, her dark eyes lighting up with joy. Only it really came out more like, “Miz Win! Miz Win!” and if that wasn’t the cutest thing I’d ever seen, I wasn’t sure what was.

“Olivia, sweetie,” Mrs. Nguyen greeted the small girl, crouching down to hug her. Olivia latched on, clearly reveling in the affection she got from her nanny, perhaps in part because her father wasn’t able to give it as freely.

When Mrs. Nguyen was able to peel the girl off her, a loving separation, she gently guided Olivia to turn around and face me. “Dear heart, this nice young woman is Lila. She’s going to be your new nanny. Remember how I told you that I’m retiring?”

Olivia nodded carefully as she looked up at me with wide, curious eyes. Though her skin tone and hair texture were darker than Mr. Kramer’s—favoring the coloring of his late wife, I supposed, though the house had conspicuously lacked any family photos—something in the girl’s serious gaze reminded me of her father right away. She seemed to be assessing me, even when she said to Mrs. Nguyen, “Going to Washington.”

“Yes, dear, I’m moving to Washington to live with my son.” Mrs. Nguyen smiled, patting Olivia’s puff of springy curls with affection as she told me, “I need to be closer to my own grandchildren, you see. My son and daughter-in-law live in Seattle, and they’re expecting their first child.”

“Congratulations,” I told her as she beamed.

“Really far,” Olivia lamented, and I nodded in agreement as I watched her young face fill with a profound sadness she must have already gotten to know quite well in her short life. It couldn’t be easy for her to lose another motherly figure so young—Seattle was far enough from New York to be another planet.

“But you know I’ll still call you on your daddy’s video phone, yes? And now Lila is here. Say hi to her, Olivia,” Mrs. Nguyen urged, giving the girl an encouraging push forward.

“Hi,” Olivia said shyly, clutching her stuffed rabbit to her chest as she stepped closer. Clearly, this girl really had a thing for princesses, because I noticed even the bunny was wearing a princess dress and a gold crown. It made me smile.

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