Page 6 of Lucky Strike

“What does the dad do?”

“He’s in finance, and he’s loaded.” Her voice drops into a buttery tone of persuasion I recognize all too well. "You'll be living in the lap of luxury, and all you have to do is look after one sweet little boy."

“I’ll give it a shot, then,” I finally agree, giving Maeve a wry smile. What other choice do I have? I’m not the only one who’ll drown if I can’t find a job. My family will feel the effects, too. "But if he turns out to be a psychopath—the kid or the dad—I'm holding you personally responsible."

Maeve clinks her glass against mine. "That’s my girl.”

Gazingfrom the window of my Uber, I admire the Federal-style architecture and old-school gas lanterns of Boston’s Beacon Hill neighborhood. Beyond a couple of outings with friends when we were younger, I haven’t spent much time here, but I’m hoping that’s about to change. Neighborhoods like this were made for exploring, and I can already imagine taking long walks with the little boy I’d be watching.

The car pulls over in front of a classy townhouse overlooking Boston Common. Glancing at the address Maeve gave me, I thank my driver and step out onto the cobblestone sidewalk. I take a moment to admire the townhouse’s pale brick exterior, the flower boxes on the windows exploding with pink, purple, blue and yellow petunias.

Checking my phone one last time to make sure I have the right address, I ring the doorbell. An attractive, older woman with a dark blonde ponytail answers. “Hello there, how can I help you?” There’s an Irish lilt to voice, endearing her to me immediately. My grandparents came from Ireland, and Grammy still has more than a hint of her accent.

“Hi, I’m Bria Grant.” I offer my hand. “I’m here to interview for the au pair position.”

“Yes, hello, Ms. Grant.” Her pale eyes flicker over me briefly as she stands aside to let me in. We shake hands. “We spoke on the phone—I’m Nola Lynch. Come on in.”

“Please, call me Bria.” I follow Nola into an elegant, sun-drenched foyer where the hardwood floors gleam as if just polished. Vases full of fresh flowers, peonies and geraniums, sit just inside the doorway. This family seems to really like their flowers.A staircase stands just ahead, curving up and out of view.

“And you can call me Nola,” she says, leading me down a hallway interspersed with black and white prints of cityscapes. We walk into a living room, where she gestures for me to sit. “Can I get you something to drink?”

I perch carefully on the enormous blue couch anchoring the room. It’s comfier than it looks. “Water is fine. Thank you.”

She disappears, giving me a chance to take in the rest of the room. There’s a fireplace with several small, abstract pieces of art on the mantel. In front of me sits a large, rectangular coffee table, which, upon closer inspection, has built-in drawers full of action figures, building blocks and drawing supplies. Warmth blooms inside my chest, as well as curiosity.

“Here you go,” Nola says, returning with an ice-cold glass of water.

Thanking her, I take several sips, hoping to quell my nerves. The truth is, I’ve never needed a job as much as I need this one.

“I’m the Kellys’ house manager, so most of what goes on here goes through me. Ms. Maeve has reassured me that you would be a wonderful asset to this family, but I’d like to hear about you, from you.”

I pause, my brain stuck on what she just said.The Kellys?It’s hardly a rare name, especially in a city full of Irish folks likeBoston, but still.

I give myself a mental shake and focus on answering the question. "Well, I’m originally from New York—the Bronx—but I went toboarding school with Maeve. She might have mentioned that. I graduated recently from Columbia with a major in psychology and minors in ethics and childhood development, and I’ve worked as a nanny for six years. Full-time for the past two.”

Except for the scratch of Nola’s pen on her legal pad as she takes notes, the room is silent.

“I'm, uh, also CPR certified and have experience with a wide range of children, including those with allergies and special needs,” I ramble. “I’d be happy to provide you with a list of references.”

“That’s all very impressive.” Nola finally looks up at me. “I'm curious, though—why do you want to work for this family, specifically?"

“To be completely honest, I’m just going on Maeve Kelly’s recommendation. She spoke so highly of your employer, and I trust her. She knows I love working with children and that I’m qualified.” I pause, considering how much to reveal. I don't want to come across as desperate, but the truth is I really need this job. “Also, full transparency? I'm saving up for grad school and it's been a struggle to make ends meet. So, I’d like to be employed sooner than later.”

Nola cocks her head. “I appreciate your candor.”

“My gran always said, ‘tis no shame to tell the truth,’” I say.

A grin splits her face. “And where was your gran from?”

“County Kerry,” I reply. “But she and my grandfather came to New York City in the 1970s.”

“Oh, that’s lovely. I’m from Kilkenny, myself.” She chuckles, nodding as she consults her notes. “There’s really only one more thing, then. This position requires you to live here. Is that acceptable?"

This is an easy one. “Actually, all of my jobs have been live-in, so I'm used to that. I think it’ll help me build a closer relationship to, to?—

“Liam,” she supplies.

“To Liam.” She told me his name, a good sign. “Living here would allow me to be fully immersed in his world."

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