Page 29 of Nine Week Nanny
What do I know about seven-year-olds? Nothing. What do I know about grieving seven-year-olds? Even less.
My phone buzzes against my chest in my shirt pocket. I glance at him, torn between checking it and staying present. Lennon doesn't seem to notice, focused on figuring out how to pump his legs to gain momentum.
I pull it out, keeping Lennon in full view as I click on the text bubble. It's from Lenoir Chelkowski, my assistant.
Don't forget your 4:30 call with Mercy West. The licensing committee needs those signatures TODAY.
Shit. The urgent regulatory approvals for the surgical center. I'd completely forgotten in the whirlwind of guardianship paperwork and home preparations.
I type back quickly.
Can you reschedule that? I've been caught up the last few days, and I completely forgot that it was today. Resend me what you need my signature on. I'll make sure to get them back to you today.
Lennon’s moving now, swinging in a shallow arc, his face tipped toward the sky. Something about the sight tightens my chest. The call starts in twenty minutes, and I don’t have the wherewithal to deal with it, especially not while figuring out what to do with him.
My phone buzzes again with a new text from Lenoir.
I can reschedule for tomorrow morning, but I don't think we can push off for much longer. Will resend those docs now. Everything ok?
Thanks. Yeah, all good.
Three missed calls from Val light up my notifications. Of course she's already checking in.
I glance at Lennon, still swinging in the same shallow arc, his face unreadable. Might as well get this over with.
I tap her name and bring the phone to my ear.
"Pope! How did the meeting go?" Val's voice bursts through the speaker, loud enough that I pull the phone back slightly.
Jesus, she doesn't stop.
"As well as could be expected. We're fine, though. Lennon just got settled in. His third cousin, or whatever she is, Camila, just left for the airport about twenty minutes ago. It's just Lennon and me."
"How is it going? Does Lennon like the place?"
I keep my eyes fixed on the swing set. "Hard to tell. He hasn't said much. He and Camila kept to themselves last night and let me get some work done. And the three of us had breakfast together, but he didn’t say a single word.”
"Give him time. The ocean view alone would have had me singing."
"He's on the swing set now." I rub my temple with my free hand. "Listen, Val?—"
"You sound like you're chewing nails. What's wrong?"
I exhale, glancing around to make sure Lennon can't hear me. He's still swinging, gaze fixed on the clouds.
"Not sure I can do this. I actually know the nanny, as it turns out. I met her when I first got here, and I never expected to see her again. I'm not sure I can do this with her living down the hall."
"I'm not sure what you're saying here, but if I'm reading between the lines correctly, you two have at least some history." Val makes a surprised humming sound.
"That's not important." Heat creeps up my neck. "The point is, this is already awkward enough without?—"
"Without what? An attractive woman helping you not completely screw up caring for a child?"
I press my fingers against the bridge of my nose. "It's unprofessional."
"But you've got to decide fast if she's a fit. Nine weeks is a long time to white-knuckle it."
The wind picks up, rustling the palm fronds overhead. Lennon kicks his feet higher, gaining momentum.
