Page 20 of Nanny for the Athletes

I sighed. Of course I would have a fucking kid pestering me at the worst possible moment. The worst part was that I couldn’t tell her off the way I could with anyone else.

“I knew her a long time ago,” I finally said. “Back when I didn’t even know who I was. She helped me figure it out.”

“That sounds like friends to me,” the girl said simply. “Why didn’t you stay friends?”

“She dropped out of college,” I explained. “And then we lost touch.”

“Oh. Okay.” The girl thought about it for a few seconds. “That’s sad.”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “It is.”

Before she could ask me any more questions, I turned and walked back to the front of the funeral home. Christian and Braden were standing by the refreshments table, sipping on cups of lemonade and chatting with two guys who looked like football fans.

“We’re leaving,” I told them without slowing down.

Braden put down his cup. “You’re not staying for the burial?”

I walked outside into the cool October air and loosened my tie. It was warm inside, and sweat was beading on my neck. I took a few deep breaths and felt my heart begin to settle.

“Excuse me? Mr. Landry?”

I whirled to find the woman from earlier walking toward me. “This isn’t the place to ask for an autograph, or a selfie, or whatever you want,” I barked at her. “Can’t I have five fucking minutes to myself?”

Undeterred by my comments, she smiled politely. “I don’t want any of those things. Mr. Landry, I’m a case worker for the Missouri Department of Social Services. I’m here to discuss another matter…”

She said some more words in a very specific order, and my brain went numb. Her lips kept moving but I heard nothing; it was as if the entire world had the volume turned down. That little girl in the black dress and white bow was hiding behind her, peeking out at me with curiosity. I knew that look. My sister and I had that same vacant stare growing up after our parents died.

Now that I knew what to look for, I could see Caroline in the little girl. The dark hair. The dimples. The way she frowned while she was concentrating really hard on something. She looked like she was six or seven, which meant the timeline matched up.

“Wait a minute,” Braden exclaimed. “Our boy Logan is afather?”

9

Beth

“Wow,” I said, staring into the cardboard box. “These dogs eat better than I do!”

The delivery man dropped off the food for Logan’s dogs that evening. If not for the dog-related packaging all over the box, I would have assumed it was human food. Packed in ice were four vacuum-sealed containers of food, each one labeled with the dog’s name. I picked up the package for Heimdall and gazed inside: it was a mixture of rice, green beans, carrots, and big chunks of steak. Each package was enough for two meals for each dog, dinner and breakfast tomorrow morning.

I had always used high-end dog food, both for Hank and for the boarded dogs, but this was on a totally different level. The informational pamphlet that came with the food boasted that it was tested on humans!

When it was time for dinner, I put Logan’s four dogs and the five other dogs I was boarding into their separate kennels, then gave everyone their meals. The smell of steak and fresh vegetables was thick in the air, to the point that the other five dogs ignored their kibble and watched the lucky four eat. I decided I would need to feed them separately from now on to keep the others from getting jealous.

I spent my spare time Thursday morning going through resumes and conducting phone interviews. At lunch, I put all the dogs away in their kennels and drove to Costco to get more supplies. My business had gone from nonexistent to busy so quickly that I was running out of all the supplies I needed.

That evening, the Colts were playing the Cowboys at home. I thought it was weird for a football game to be played on Thursday night, but apparently that happened sometimes. “The Colts finally have a win under their belt,” the broadcaster said as the game began. “Was last week a fluke, or can they keep the momentum going against a stacked Cowboys team?”

I had never cared about professional sports before, but now that I knew several of the players, I found myself rooting extra hard for the Colts. When I saw Christian make a pass, I thought about Heidi the German Shepherd. When Braden leaped into the air to snatch the football with one hand, I couldn’t help but think about Pickles, the derpy Golden Retriever. And when one of the Colts linemen rolled around on the ground with a leg injury, all I could think about was his Pomeranian named Herbert, who he affectionately called Bertimus Maximus when picking him up from the kennel.

I was only half-watching the game on my laptop while brushing the dogs, but it seemed like the Colts played well. They kicked a field goal near the end of the game to take the lead, and when I checked again a few minutes later, they were celebrating their win on the field.

Wanting to share the victory, I created a group text with both of them. They were busy with the post-game stuff, but they finally responded to me while I was getting into bed.

Me: Two wins in a row! That’s a great start!

Christian: Our record is still only 2 - 4, and in last place. But it feels good to win a couple.

Braden: Don’t listen to Mr. Negative Pants over here. I’m fucking PUMPED UP.

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