Page 33 of Worst Nanny Ever
I grin at her, but my heart is thumping a little faster as I think about the way Margaret looked at me when I fired her. I’m glad when my thoughts do their usual chaotic jump, landing on another pissed-off woman who decided to get revenge. One whose feelings were much less justified.
I clear my throat. “Actually, I could use your advice on something.” I quickly explain the Rachel problem. “I told Travis I’d take care of it, but to be totally honest, I don’t have a plan yet.”
“Easy,” Briar says, surprising me with her quick response. “We’ll have someone write her a cease and desist letter.”
“Oooh,” Sophie interjects excitedly. “I know a lawyer. She’s really nice.”
“Exactly what we’re looking for,” I tease.
“But also a tough customer. I bet she’d do it as a favor, so Travis wouldn’t have to pay anyone.”
“Probably not an issue for him, but I’m sure he’d appreciate it.” I grin at them. “We make a great hive mind.”
The conversation moves on to the band, and Dottie finally returns with Ollie, who’s lugging a seriously enormous cardboard box. He sets it down on the table, his eyes gleaming with excitement. “Miss Dottie said I get to keep all of them.”
She cradles the back of his head with her hand. “Yes, my dear,” she says. “I’ll tell you more about them the next time Hannah brings you by, and I’dloveto introduce you to a few of my special friends. But first let me give you a box of sweets.”
Yeah, Travis is definitely going to murder me. I catch him watching me again, this time with a small smile on his face. His hair is swept to the side enough that I can see a hint of his birthmark.
I feel something—a zip of awareness, ofappreciation—that I shut down by mouthing at him,Maritime law is mine.
He surprises me by grinning. I’ll be damned if I don’t grin back.
CHAPTER NINE
TRAVIS
It’s Thursday night, four days into Hurricane Hannah.
So far, she’s broken three of my mugs, made slime with all of my baking soda, and turned two cushions over to hide stains she doesn’t want me to see. They’ve been inexpertly cleaned, so either she put in the effort or Ollie’s covering for her.
They’ve also acquired a collection of pumpkins with the emergency credit card, from one so big it could have doubled as Cinderella’s carriage to a tiny, pocket-sized one. They’re all carved with horrifying faces. Seeing them on the stoop made me feel a little blue, because I kind of wished they’d included me. I’ve never carved a pumpkin. My mother always said it was too messy, and my nanny agreed.
Hannah also helped Ollie put together his Halloween costume. He’s going as a scientist, not a ninja turtle, thankfully. He looks cute, and when he dressed up in it to show me, a deeper sense of regret settled inside of me. Because I don’t know what he dressed up as for his first Halloween, or what it sounded like when he said “trick or treat” for the first time. I tell myself I’ll make up for it by being there this year, but it still hurts.
Kind of like stepping on one of Dottie’s crystals—I can only conclude Hannah and Ollie must have played hide-and-seek with them, because they’re literally all over the house, nestled between couch cushions, hidden in drawers, and on one memorable occasion, wedged into the floorboards. This morning, I found one in a cereal box.
Hannah has, for all intents and purposes, turned my life upside down. I can’t take a step without being reminded of her, and everything in my house smells like her. Even my pillow. I have no idea how that’s possible unless she rubs her head against it just to torment me, something I wouldn’t put past her, but Ollie swears they’ve never gone in my bedroom.
Of course, it goes without saying that he’d lie for her.
I got home early on Monday and Tuesday, just after closing The Missing Beat, but last night we auditioned someone for the band—a definite no, because the guy was high on mushrooms and thought the walls were closing in on him. We spent more time cleaning the trash can he puked into than we did listening to him play.
When I came home, Hannah was softly singing to Ollie in his bedroom. I sat on the couch and listened, feeling a big emotion I couldn’t put into words. All I knew was that listening to her sing to him shook my foundation.
She emerged on tiptoes and then screamed in surprise when she saw me sitting in the living room, which had led to Ollie getting up and asking if he could have a second dessert.
We all ate a scoop of ice cream on the couch together, which had felt good and bad—good, because it was almost like we were a family; bad, because we weren’t.
Afterward, I walked her to the door like a dog trailing its owner, feeling like a dumbass but needing to see her get safely into her car. Ollie stood in the doorway with me until she drove off, and then I tucked himback into bed.
“Want me to sing to you?” I asked.
“Uncle Rob’s the singer. And Hannah.” He paused. “But I think I’d like it if you would.”
So I sang him one of my favorites, “Here Comes the Sun”—a song that made me think of Hannah—and he said sleepily, “I didn’t know you had a good voice.”
I felt a deep ache settle in my chest. There was still so much we didn’t know about each other.
