Page 25 of Nanny and the Beast

“Who else am I going to share it with?” Before this conversation can get any heavier, I reach into my purse and pull out a book. “I got you something.”

She smiles at the worn copy ofJane Eyreby Charlotte Brontë—one of her all-time favorites. I settle into the chair beside her.

It feels like yesterday when she was the one reading me stories before bed.

I open the book to the first chapter. And almost instantly, I slip away from my life and into someone else’s.

I read the words out loud.

“There was no possibility of taking a walk that day. We had been wandering, indeed, in the leafless shrubbery an hour in the morning; but since dinner (Mrs. Reed, when there was no company, dined early) the cold winter wind had brought with it clouds so sombre, and a rain so penetrating, that further outdoor exercise was now out of the question.”

As I read the words, the bright morning sunshine of our life fades, replaced by a cold winter evening of nineteenth-century England.

We remain there until someone taps on my shoulder.

I glance up to see that it’s Tessa.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but visiting hours ended an hour ago,” she tells me.

I close the book and look at my grandmother. I squeeze her hand and kiss her goodbye.

“I’ll be back tomorrow,” I promise.

“I want you to live your life, kiddo,” my grandmother tells me. “Don’t spend the rest of your life worrying about me. Go to the beach, get laid, party with your friends. Not necessarily in that order.”

“Grandma,” I say.

Tessa giggles from behind me.

“You’re too uptight, honey,” Grandma says. “You need to let your hair down and act your age once in a while.”

“Goodbye, Grandma.”

I exit the room and make my way out of the hospital.

The familiar fear creeps back into me as I cross the parking lot.

I don’t feel anyone’s eyes on me, but the paranoia still runs through my veins like it never left. My car key digs into my palm as I walk. When I reach my car, I spot the forgotten pumpkin pie and cupcakes in the back seat.

I take them to the staff break room, where I bump into Nurse Santos again.

“The famous pumpkin pie,” she says, her face instantly brightening when she sees the container. I place it on the table, then carve out agenerous slice of pie for her.

She takes a bite and moans.

I grin. “It’s good?”

“If someone told me that this was my last day on earth and I could have one more meal, I would ask for this,” she says.

“You don’t mean that,” I say.

“I’m not even joking, Emma,” she says. “I’m actually considering hiding this pie so I can have more of it later.”

“I’ll bring you more next time,” I say. “It’s the least I can doafter everything you guys have done for me.”

During those days when my grandmother was in a coma, the nurses and staff at this hospital were my only source of comfort. They checked up on me every day and made sure that I always had something to eat.

“Should I feel bad about having pie for breakfast?” Tessa asks.

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