Page 19 of Nine Week Nanny
I sit up straighter, as if she can see me through the phone. "Absolutely."
"Wonderful. First, can you confirm your immediate availability?"
"Yes, I'm available right away."
"And the live-in arrangement, that works with your current situation?"
I glance around my too-expensive condo. "Yes, that won't be a problem."
"Excellent. Tell me about your childcare experience."
I take a deep breath. "I've worked with children throughout my education and career. During graduate school, I babysat regularly for several families. But more importantly, I'm actually a certified pediatric behavioral therapist."
"I saw that on your resume, which is what piqued my interest. Can you tell me more about that?"
"Yes. I moved to Palm Beach to start a position at Coastal Children's Behavioral Health, but they've delayed my start date by three months due to funding issues. So I'm looking for interim work."
The change in her voice is immediate. "That's extremely relevant to this particular position."
My pulse quickens. "How so?"
"The child in question has recently experienced significant trauma. The guardian specifically mentioned needing someone with professional experience, not just standard childcare skills."
I sit forward, professional instincts kicking in. "What kind of trauma are we talking about?"
"I can't share those details over the phone, but your background could be exactly what this family needs right now." Papers rustle again. "Would you be available to come in for a formal interview tomorrow morning? Say, ten o'clock? We are on a time crunch for this and really want to meet you in person."
Tomorrow. This is moving impossibly fast.
"Yes," I hear myself say before I've fully processed the question. "Ten works fine."
"Perfect. I'll send you an email with the meeting details. Please bring your ID, credentials, and references."
After hanging up, I sit frozen on the couch, my pulse thudding in my fingertips. The sunlight has shifted again, painting the room in deeper gold.
What the hell did I just do?
This was supposed to be a long shot, not an overnight solution. The speed is unsettling, like stepping onto an escalator moving faster than expected.
I want to cry and laugh at the same time. Everything since I moved here has knocked me off balance.
I need less excitement and more stability. But if this job is my shot at that, it already feels like stepping off a ledge and hoping the ground will be there when I land.
SIX
Pope
I pull my SUV into the shell-lined drive, tires crunching over the uneven path. The bungalow sits back from the road, half-hidden behind a jungle of flowering bushes and dangling ferns.
Val calls it “strategic landscaping.” I call it organized chaos—much like Val herself.
She’s my mother, though I hardly call her “Mom” anymore. It isn’t disrespect, it’s just a byproduct of our shared survival.
She’s colorful, unpredictable, and always bouncing into her next reinvention. She learned to spin chaos into color. I learned to lock everything down.
I cut the engine and rest my hands on the wheel for a beat. Deep breath in, out. Time to keep this focused.
The front porch stretches across the entire facade, dotted with mismatched vintage furniture that somehow works together. Three of her rescue parrots squawk from inside, shouting curse words like sailors.”
