Page 133 of Nine Week Nanny
My old softball trophies gather dust on the bookshelf, their gold plastic figures frozen mid-catch.
This room hasn't changed. I have.
I take a deep breath and step inside, dropping my purse onto the twin bed with its faded quilt. The mattress gives a familiar squeak.
This time last month, I had a career, an apartment, a life I was building. Now I'm back where I started, with nothing but a U-Haul full of furniture that won't fit in this shoebox room.
My fingers trace the corkboard above my desk. Faded photos curl at the edges. I study them: high school graduation, college roommates, that summer internship when I thought I knew everything about the world.
My throat tightens. What a joke.
Mom appears in the doorway, her face gentle with concern. "I put fresh towels in your bathroom."
"Thanks, Mom." The word comes out thicker than I mean it to.
"Your dad's picking up pizza for dinner. I told him to get that white sauce you like."
I nod, not trusting my voice.
She steps inside, smooths the quilt with practiced hands. "It's nice having you home, sweetheart."
Something in me cracks. Hot tears spill down my cheeks before I can stop them. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" Mom's arms wrap around me. The familiar scent of her rose lotion envelopes me.
"For failing. For letting you and Dad down. All that money for school, and look at me." I gesture at the room, at myself. "Back home with nothing."
Mom pulls back, her hands firm on my shoulders. "Listen to me, Sloane Brennan. You haven't let anyone down. This is just a reset. We all learn as we go."
"But my job?—"
"Will be replaced by another one. A better one." She wipes my cheek with her thumb. "Besides, I never liked you being so far away."
I manage a watery smile. "I've already put out some resumes. Maybe I'll find something closer to home, where I belong."
After Mom leaves, I sink onto the bed and pull out my phone. My fingers hover over Maris's name. I haven't really talked to her in weeks. I never told her the whole truth.
Hey, you up for company? I'm in Augusta. Thought I might drive down to Savannah for dinner if you're free.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Sloane? What are you doing in Georgia? Are you okay?
Long story. I'd rather tell you in person.
Of course. I get off at 5, need to shower. Meet me at Felix’s off 17 at 6? Easy drive from Augusta.
I'll be there.
I stare at my phone, relief and anxiety washing through me in equal measure. Maris deserves the full story. No more lies by omission.
I grab my keys and head for the door. The drive to Savannah will give me time to figure out what to say, how to explain everything that's happened since Pope. Since Lennon. Since I lost myself in Palm Beach.
The car door closes with a solid thunk. I take a deep breath and turn the key.
Time to face the music.
The restaurant’swarm amber lights cast a honey glow across the polished bar. The mingled scents of oysters on ice and garlic butter wrap around me as I step through the doorway, scanning the Friday night crowd.
