Page 13 of The Perfect Nanny

“You can still watch more, but I’m curious about your bedtime. What time do you get ready for bed?”

They’re both silent, but Blakely twists her lips from side to side as if she’s debating whether to tell the truth. I can sense the tension growing between them. “Nine, but sometimes Mom and Dad let us stay up until nine thirty on the weekends.”

“What time do you wake up in the mornings?” Many parents stick to the pediatrician’s guidelines regarding how many hours of sleep children need.

“Six thirty or seven,” Blakely says without thinking this answer through.

“You wake up at six thirty. I don’t wake up until seven,” Madden corrects her sister.

“How about we compromise on a nine fifteen bedtime?” That will at least be close to the ten hours children their age need. “But you need to put your pajamas on, wash up and brush your teeth now, and then we’ll watch the movie until bedtime.”

Madden shrugs and slugs off the couch. I take her willingness to move as a silent gesture that she’s okay with the deal. She spins around and takes Blakely’s hand and pulls her up. As she’s doing so, I notice an odd-shaped bruise on the bottom of her wrist. I could be mistaken, but it looks like the shape of three fingers.

Maybe they fight with each other. They seem close, but they don’t agree on everything, just like most siblings.

The two of them thud through the great room and into the kitchen, making their whereabouts clear up the stairwell. I don’t want to invade their privacy while changing, but I’ll stand in the hallway in case they need something.

I take my time hiking up the stairs, glancing at each framed portrait on the wall. The photos grow in age toward the top of the landing, starting when the girls were babies. They still look like they did when they were toddlers—adorable children. Mr. Smithhas dark hair and Lara is blonde, but I might not have assumed her hair color was natural upon meeting her at first tonight. I suppose one of them must have natural blonde roots with how light the girls’ hair color is.

Drawers open and close and I can hear the fabric of their clothes hitting the hardwood floors. At the sound of a door flinging open and bouncing off a rubber door stop, I peek into Blakely’s room, finding their shared bathroom door open, the fluorescent light illuminating the connecting space between their rooms. I step in past Blakely’s bed and move toward the bathroom, finding her in pajamas and ready to wash up.

The Smiths have installed double sinks, probably to prevent sibling bathroom fights. I turn the faucet on for Blakely since she is squeezing the life out of the tube of toothpaste. “Want some help?” I offer.

“Nope, I got it,” she says with a small grunt. As I expected, the toothpaste piles onto the bristles and into the basin of the porcelain sink, but the running stream of water washes the excess away. I take a step back toward the door to give her some space and observe the matching white wooden footstools and the white fluffy bathmat. I then notice that Blakely’s knee-length pink-and-purple striped nightgown reveals more bruises on her other leg, too.

A paranoid parent would call attention to the bruises if they didn’t want me to suspect anything, which would signify that they just play hard. Of course, not everyone falls into a neat psychological category either. If I say something about the bruises, they will likely repeat the comment to Mr. and Mrs. Smith, which could appear like I’m questioning more than just the bruising. I’m sure that would result in never hearing from them again, but maybe only if they’re hiding something.

Madden bursts out of her room and into the bathroom, joining Blakely at the second sink in the bathroom. I’m notsurprised to see her in a mermaid nightgown or her toothbrush handle being in the shape of a mermaid tail.

“How many minutes has it been?” Madden asks with a mouthful of toothpaste.

I glance down at my watch. “Only five minutes. You are both super speedy. I bet you’ll have time to finish the movie at this rate.” The movie can’t be more than another thirty minutes. It’s already been playing for an hour and a half.

“It’s probably almost over,” Blakely says after spitting her toothpaste into the sink.

“While you’re finishing up with your teeth, Madden, I’m going to use the guest bathroom downstairs. Do you need help with anything else in the bathroom first?”

“Nope, we’ll be down in a second,” Blakely confirms.

The guest bathroom is so large, I can’t hear anything outside. The silence urges me to hurry, so I’m not leaving them unattended for more than a minute or two, especially after the scare they gave me before the movie. Once I get to know them better, I’ll have more of an idea of the boundaries they need and want.

As I venture into the great room, assuming they’d be ready and waiting on the couch, I see I was wrong to assume. “Girls?” I call out. “Are you still upstairs in the bathroom?” I shout up the stairwell, loud enough to ensure my voice carries.

They don’t respond, yet again, so I make my way back up the stairs. I walk in through Blakely’s well-lit—but empty—bedroom and check the closet, finding nothing but organized clothes and shoes, then head into the bathroom. The glass doors on their bathtub are open, exposing the empty basin, so I move on to Madden’s room, checking under the bed and in her closet too. They aren’t in here either. I’m beginning to think of the real reason their last sitter is no longer here. Did they hide from her all the time?

“Blakely, Madden, where are you two?” I sound less than pleased, which won’t urge them out of whatever spot they’re hiding in, but we’ve already been through this once and I can’t let them break their father’s rules. I’m sure there’s a good reason for his rule—one I might not want to know at this point.

After making my way back into the hallway, I spot their parents’ door again. It’s still closed. “Girls, this isn’t okay. You’re disobeying your father’s rules and I don’t think he would be very—” Before I finish my statement, I think about the bruises I’ve seen on both of their bodies. What if he was responsible for those? What if he has a lot of unnecessary rules? Am I being too hard on them?

The silence is deafening, and I can’t let this go on any longer. “I hope you aren’t in your parents’ room. I would feel very disrespectful walking in there to look for you if you’re hiding somewhere else. I was hoping to be your nanny for the summer, but if they find out I went into their bedroom, I’m not sure they will still want me here.” I’m blabbing to the walls. They don’t respond. There isn’t even a whisper of noise this time.

The Smiths’ bedroom door taunts me and I know there’s no way around it unless I’m going to start going through every nook and cranny of this gigantic house. I twist the knob and poke my head inside. There’s still a bit of light left in the room from the sun setting behind the house, but there’s no sign of the girls, just a basic master bedroom and each corner of the room visible from the doorway. The en suite bathroom is just off and it’s the only space I can’t see into. Their room smells like a combination of expensive cologne and even more expensive perfume. I’ll probably be coated in the scent when I leave the room. They’ll know I was in here. I move quickly toward the attached bathroom and flip on the light just long enough to search the space. The glass shower makes it easier for me to cross this room off the list.

As I make it back out into the hallway and resecure the Smith’s bedroom door, I call out to them again, my heart starting to pound. “Blakely, Madden? Girls, please. We’re running out of time to finish the movie. Where are you?”

Maybe they’re downstairs somewhere. I spin around, ready to head back down the stairs, but realize I forgot about the door at the end of the hallway. I’m sure it’s just a closet, but I wouldn’t put it past them to hide in there. I open the door, finding it to be an entrance to another level of the house—an attic, maybe. The lights are off and I’m not a fan of dark spaces, especially ones hidden from the rest of the house’s floor plan. They wouldn’t be up there.Please don’t be up there.“Girls?”

A slight breeze from up the stairs wooshes around me; the air is filled with a faint scent of paint. I run my hand across the wall in search of a light switch, not finding one as I take the first couple of steps up toward the next floor.

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