Page 34 of The Nanny

I hate that he’s making me do this, but what choice do I have? He’s weaponizing my love for my sister, using me so he can get to Keir. And all for what? Money?

It’s sick, not to mention illegal. And while it seemed like a no-brainer when Dad told me Joy was dying, now I’m not so sure.

“I talked to Joy last week,” I say, my eyes welling up with frustrated tears. “She sounded good. She looked good. Are you… are you sure she’s sick, Dad?”

I’m trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. Trying to give him a way out of this crazy, awful scheme. Instead of turning back, he doubles down.

“Are you stupid? Of course I’m sure. I don’t give a shit what you think you saw or heard when you talked to your sister. She’s sick. She has cancer. She’s dying, Ella. Are you really so fucking selfish that you won’t even try to help her? She could be getting the treatment she needs right now if you’d just do what you’re supposed to—what you promised you’d do.”

There’s no holding back the tears now. I don’t even try to stop them from spilling down my cheeks. “I’m sorry,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “I-I’ll try. I’ll see what I can do.”

“You’re gonna have to do more than try,” he snaps. “Your sister needs you. She’s counting on you. Things are going to get a lot worse for her—and for you—if you don’t come through with the evidence I need. Do you understand?”

I nod even though he can’t see me. “Yes, I understand.”

The line goes dead and I stare at the darkened screen of my phone for several seconds before I even try to get myself back together. Why is this happening? Why is he being so cruel? Is Joy even as sick as he says?

I have so many questions and no easy answers. For a moment, I think about talking to my mom instead. I feel like she could provide the easiest, quickest solution… but I already know what she will say.

Your father knows best. He always does what is best for all of us.

It’s a cop out, for sure. But I can see her earnest expression, feel the gentle squeeze of her hand on mine. I know her precise reaction because I ran into it over and over again as a child, anytime I ran to her with a complaint about my father.

A shudder ripples through me and I grimace. My mom will not be any help. What am I supposed to do?

I feel like my dad is taking advantage of me, and it’s the worst feeling in the world. Betraying Keir’s trust doesn’t even feel like an option, but what choice do I have? If there’s a way to help my sister, shouldn’t I jump at the opportunity?

“Ella?” Isla’s little voice startles me, making me drop my phone for real this time as I dash at my damp cheeks. “What’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“N-Nothing, honey,” I lie, praying she didn’t overhear the end of my conversation with my dad. “I was just, um…” There are too many thoughts swirling in my head at once to come up with a good excuse. “Do you still want to play? I’m dressed and ready now.”

“Maybe later,” she says. She climbs up onto the bed and sits down next to me. Her little legs are dangling off the side, but the look on her face is serious and mature beyond her years. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

God, where to begin?

I obviously can’t tell her what I’m going through with my family, but I also know she’s going to keep asking until I give her an answer she finds acceptable. She’s definitely her father’s daughter in that regard.

“I promise I’m okay.” I fake a smile, then sigh. The look on her face is making it perfectly clear that I’ll have to elaborate a little more. “It’s just that sometimes adults can be really mean to each other. People get angry and say things that hurt other people’s feelings, sometimes without realizing how cruel their words are.”

“Did my grandma say something mean to you?”

Her question is like a knife stabbing right through my heart. She’s too young to fully understand the situation, but she’s obviously seen and heard more than Keir and I have realized.

“It wasn’t your grandma,” I say, draping an arm around her and pulling her in for a tight hug. “Your grandma loves you. Your dad does, too. They both want you to be happy.”

I don’t know what else to say. I’ve probably said too much already, but the last thing I want is for my personal feelings about her grandparents to color her opinion of them.

“What about my mom?”

God, the hard questions just keep coming. “What about her, honey?” Feigning ignorance might be the only way out of this awkward conversation. “I don’t know your mom but I’m sure she wants you to be happy, too.”

“I think I’d be happy if she was here.” She looks up at me with those too-smart, knowing eyes. “But I don’t think she’ll let me have a nanny if she moves in.”

And now I’m speechless again for the second time in as many minutes. “You’re a smart kid, and I care about you a lot. But we can’t worry about things that we don’t have any control over. That’ll only make us miserable.”

“What if that happens, though? I don’t want you to go away.”

The problem with childlike logic is that it’s hard to refute. Especially when I find myself worrying about the same things sometimes. I don’t have a great answer—for either of us, if I’m being honest—but I do still want to ease her mind if I can.

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