4

Evans

I usher the last candidate, a slightly older woman with a stooped posture, into my home office, guiding her to the plush chair in front of my desk.

I've spent the entire day interviewing nannies with little success, so my hopes aren't exactly high as I walk around my desk to begin this final interview.

My assistant set up the appointments, but I insisted on conducting the interviews myself. I need to find someone good. There's no point in hiring a nanny just to regret the choice later. I'm already going out on a limb with the whole process, so I want to do it right the first time.

As we sit down, I say, "So. Before I ask you about yourself, let me explain a little more about the position."

"Absolutely," she says, her voice crisp. She holds her handbag in her lap, her ankles crossed and posture stiff.

"I mostly just need some general help raising Archer. I spend a lot of time working, and don't always have the time to devote to keeping an eye on him. I'd need help with his meals, bedtime, that sort of thing."

She nods. "That's fairly standard."

"Brandon and I have a bit of a non-standard situation," I say. "He's not my son—he's my nephew. I became his guardian when his mother passed away suddenly a few years ago."

My heart aches as I mention my sister's death, and I refrain from saying anything else about it—I generally prefer to avoid the subject altogether, but a potential nanny would need to know at least a little bit of the history.

"I'm sorry for your loss," says the older woman.

I grit my teeth and nod in acknowledgement.

"What made you decide to look for a nanny?"

"I need someone who understands children better than I do," I admit. "Brandon was very young when I stepped in, and my personal assistants were great at helping me with the basic childcare stuff. But..."

She smiles knowingly. "Then it got more complicated?"

"He's getting older now," I say, nodding. "Every day, he's getting more perceptive and curious, and I think I need someone who's solely dedicated to Brandon and his needs."

"Absolutely," the woman says. "That makes perfect sense. Five is a wonderful age for a child, but they do need structure and discipline."

It's an encouraging response, especially compared to the wishy-washy uncertainty I've seen from a lot of other nannies today. I nod, gesturing for her to continue.

"In my work, I prefer to focus on activities that will help a child's development," she goes on. "Activities that can shape cognitive ability, and prepare them well for future schooling."

After the first few interviews today went poorly, I wasn't sure I would find someone. But this—this sounds promising. This woman is sharp, organized, and careful. I take a peek at her resume, sitting on my desk—years of experience in childcare. On paper, she seems perfect. I'm almost ready to bite the bullet and offer her the job.

"I'm glad to hear you say all of that, because I think that's exactly what we need," I tell her. "I can't always be there to make sure that Brandon is getting—"

There's a creaking sound from the door hinge, and I pause mid-sentence, glancing over. Brandon is there, peering into the room at us.

I grin, gesturing for him to come inside. "Hey, there's the little man himself. Brandon, come say hi."

Brandon tiptoes into the room shyly, waving a tiny hand at the stranger. She waves back, though I notice that she doesn't crack a smile upon seeing him, which is a little strange.

"Hello," she says, somewhat stiffly. "Come closer. Let me get a good look at you."

Brandon shuffles farther into the room, clutching his teddy to his chest. He glances at me, and I give him an encouraging nod.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," the older woman says, holding out a hand.

Brandon looks at her hand, confused. His gaze drops to the floor.

Impatience spreads across her expression, and she snaps, "Look at me when I'm talking to you. Eye contact is very important."

The tone of her voice takes me aback—he's just a shy little kid. There's no need to yell at him like that.

Brandon seems startled, as well. He looks up at her, clearly reluctant, and sees the stern frown on her face. His wide brown eyes well up with tears, and he begins to sniffle.

"Why are you crying?" The nanny folds her arms, frowning down at him. "There's no need to cry. I'm just trying to teach you manners. We can't have you being a rude little boy."

Of course, that does nothing to make Brandon's tears stop. If anything, it seems to get worse. A surge of protectiveness flares in me, and suddenly, I want nothing more than to snatch Brandon away from this woman.

I want her out of my house and nowhere near my nephew. This isn't someone who can be kind or understanding with him, and I don't want to give her the chance to damage him.

"Alright," I say, standing up from my desk. "I've seen enough. We're done here."

The nanny blinks as if surprised, glancing back over at me. "Done?"

"We won't be needing your services," I tell her. I walk over to the door, and Brandon moves to stand behind my legs as I hold it open, gesturing to the hall outside. "Thank you for coming in today."

The nanny's scowl, already pronounced from her interaction with Brandon, deepens. She doesn't question it, though. She must know exactly what the problem was.

She gets up to leave. Halfway through the door, she turns to sneer at me. "If you spoil that child, you're only going to make your problem worse."

"Thank you for your time," I repeat icily, "but as I will not be needing your services, I also have no need of your advice."

The woman huffs, shouldering her purse, and marches down the hallway toward the exit.

I watch her go, then glance down at Brandon. The tears have dried from his eyes, and he no longer seems nervous now that she's gone.

"Hey, buddy," I say, scooping him up into my arms.

"Who was that?" he asks.

"Nobody. I thought she might be able to help us out around here, but she's not the right person for the job, so she won't be back anymore, okay?"

"Okay," he says, like we're making some kind of arrangement.

"That was my last meeting for today," I tell him. "What do you say you and I go out for a walk? We can get some ice cream. How does that sound?"

"Cupcake?" Brandon blinks at me. There's a new cupcake shop that opened up around the corner, and Brandon is absolutely crazy about it.

"Yeah, sure. We'll get a cupcake." I set him down, and he reaches up a small hand to take one of mine. "Sound good?"

He nods firmly, and we head out.

It's a lovely day as we emerge from the front door. Brandon leads me through the garden and toward the sidewalk.

As we turn down the street, a jogger with a dog breezes past us. The dog, a huge, wolf-like creature with sharp teeth, flattens its ears at Brandon as it goes by. It starts to bark, and strains at its lead as the jogger pulls it onward.

The loud sound of the barking rattles Brandon. His hands fly up to cover his ears, and he starts to cry.

The sound of Brandon crying tugs at my heart. I crouch down to face him, trying to brush away his tears.

"Come on, bud. You don't have to cry. It's okay. It's gone now."

But nothing I say seems to get through to him. I don't even know if this bout of crying is about the dog, or about the way that woman snapped at him in my office. Either way, I can't seem to get him to stop.