The Woman in Our House Page 3

  “Of course. I’ll check in with the bishop when they have had the chance to go through what you donated. See if it turns up there.”

  “Thanks. I mean, it’s not like I’m going to need it, but it might be useful to have if we come back in a few years.”

  There was that note of uncertainty again, hastily brushed away with a cheery smile. Though it cost her something, the smile managed to light her whole round face, burning off the uncharacteristic weariness for a moment.

  “Tell me,” said Nadine, taking her hands in hers and leaning closer, “about your kids.”

  That’s clever of her, thought Oaklynn vaguely, and sweet. Because she did think of them as her kids, even though she had in fact only been their nanny. She felt her heart lift. If there was one thing guaranteed to raise her spirits, it was this.

  “You don’t want to hear about them,” she said coyly, smiling that bashful sideways smile that Decken said he loved so much.

  “I do!” Nadine insisted. “Get me your photo albums. And the packet.”

  The packet. Oaklynn’s joy, her secret pride, which she confessed to no one in case someone thought her full of herself. She wasn’t sure how Nadine had wormed it out of her, but she had one day about a month ago, shortly after Decken had announced his travel plans—their travel plans—and she had been down, lost in doubt, and suddenly missing the only true achievement she could call her own before her marriage.

  She’d called it simply “the packet” to make it sound less grand, less prideful, though its official title was the Nurture Official Candidate Listing and Data Report, Nurture being the name of one of the state’s preeminent suppliers of nanny services. There was a digital version, of course, but Oaklynn liked the physical copy, the heft of the slick binder, the homey professionalism of its crisp and curly lettering, the way her face—younger than she was now, but still recognizably the same—smiled out at the world from its cover. Before her marriage, and the journey she would soon be undertaking, the packet had represented her life, her achievements to date, laid out in proven black and white like testimony.

  It proved her value as a person.

  She cradled it now in her lap, as Nadine flipped through the photo album with its cartoon cats and crayoned love notes from little Janice and Arthur, the images of Ben hugging his puppy, Dot and Max in the bath, almost buried beneath mounds of soap bubbles. Oaklynn laughed indulgently at the pictures, but they tugged at her heart, and before she could stop them, tears ran down her cheeks. She really was very tired.

  “Which are these?” asked Nadine, kindly ignoring her friend’s weepy mood.

  “The Cavendishes,” said Oaklynn, blinking and opening the packet. “Dot and Max.” She turned each page of the application binder ceremonially as ever, as if she had to prove her eligibility to be part of the lives she had put before her own. The first sheet presented her own information: name, address, phone and Social Security numbers laid out like qualifications. Then the photocopied driver’s license. Then the drug tests—amphetamines, cocaine metabolites, marijuana, opiates, and phencyclidine—all negative. Then the driving record—clean. The identity report and criminal-record search—also clean. And then, the packet’s true glories, the references: six glowing reports from the families she had worked for. Her families. The accolades about her work ethic, compassion, sensitivity, and playfulness with the children positively glowed on the pages. They filled her face with light like a reflecting panel, and for a brief, indulgent moment, Oaklynn basked in it as if it were sunshine.

  I’ve never seen anyone better suited to being with children, said Jill Cavendish in one letter.

  A pleasure to be around, said Charlynne Mayberry.

  The family loved her instantly, said Clara Hubert. I was worried it would wear off as they got used to her, but if anything, they just found more things about her to love . . .

  The last page was Oaklynn’s own personal statement, which, if she were honest, the placement secretary at Nurture had coached her to say. It included all the things that looked best on an application—the wholesome interests, the Sunday school teaching report, the hospital reading circle. She hadn’t needed the guidance. These were all things Oaklynn had actually done, though when she told the secretary as much, she wondered if the woman either didn’t quite believe her, or did but thought it all a little silly. Naive. Down-home hobbies, the secretary had called them, in a way that Oaklynn would have called arch if the word was one with which she was comfortable.

  That all seemed like a long time ago now. And in a matter of weeks, she would be going farther than she had ever been before and leaving all this behind, venturing into a world about which she knew next to nothing beyond the fact that she was needed. Tears that had been clinging to her thin lashes fell suddenly, and she gave a shuddering breath as she wiped them away.

  “Hey!” said Nadine, taking her hands again. “I’m sorry. I thought this would make you feel better.”

  “It does,” Oaklynn gasped, her voice cracking. “It’s just . . . I’m just tired. And scared.”

  She hadn’t said it before. Not aloud. She had pretended it wasn’t true, that she was taking it all in stride, but in her heart, Oaklynn was terrified.

  Japan.

  It was a world away. She was glad to be a missionary, to stand with her husband doing the Lord’s work in a foreign land. She just wished it wasn’t quite so foreign.

  “What can I do to help?” said Nadine.

  Oaklynn shook her head, feeling foolish, but her friend wouldn’t let her off the hook.

  “Let me cancel those credit cards for you,” she said.

  “Don’t I have to do that?”

  “Is the balance paid off?”

  “Of course,” said Oaklynn wearily. She never carried charges on her credit cards, partly because she hated wasting money, partly because she felt guilty if she bought things and didn’t pay for them right away.

  “Then I can handle it,” said Nadine. “Leave them with me. Take a nap.”

  “Me?” Oaklynn laughed, as if the idea were preposterous. “I don’t take naps.”

  Nadine met her eyes, and the longing in them was so obvious that Oaklynn abandoned the pretense.

  “I’m just exhausted,” she confessed.

  “It’s stress,” said Nadine. “You’ve run yourself ragged these last few days. Go take a nap for an hour or two, and I’ll handle the credit cards.” She lowered her voice conspiratorially, grinning. “And I won’t tell Decken.”

  Oaklynn bit her lower lip, considering, then nodded.

  “Good,” said Nadine. “Get me those cards, missy.”

  Oaklynn blinked, then got up, trudged over to the counter, and rummaged through her purse, setting them down in a neat little stack.

  “You sure you don’t mind?” she asked. “I can do it later. I don’t know why I’m so tired . . .”

  “It’s fine,” said Nadine, smiling and extending a hand. “Give ’em up.”

  “Thanks,” said Oaklynn, handing her the cards. “You’re a real treasure. One day, some man will see that and . . .”

  “Go to bed,” said Nadine, grinning and waving her away.

  “OK, OK. You need anything else?” Oaklynn asked.

  “Leave the packet with me,” said Nadine. “If I need any more information, it will be in there.”

  She smiled, and Oaklynn felt again a wave of gratitude for her friend’s many kindnesses.

  “I’m so lucky to know you,” Oaklynn said. “I have barely slept all night through for two weeks! I don’t want to say anything to Decken in case he thinks I’m not, you know, enthusiastic about the mission, but . . .”

  “Go and lie down,” said Nadine. “Here.” She popped open her purse and produced a foil-backed packet of pills, smiling at Oaklynn’s instant wariness. “It’s just melatonin. Quite natural and not a narcotic. Take a couple.”

  Oaklynn’s eyes fastened on the pills with something like hunger.

  “I could use a nap,�
� she said. “Are you sure you’ll be OK if . . . ?”

  “Go,” said Nadine. “Sleep.”

  And, after one more lingering hug, she did, waddling to the foot of the stairs and giving a last, wan smile back at Nadine. Raising the sleeping tablets in a kind of wave, she headed up to the bedroom.

  Nadine sat by herself, listening to the lady of the house moving around above her, to the closing of doors and the flush of the toilet, then nothing. Five minutes she waited, then ten, confident that the pills would knock out her friend. She’d already crunched two into Oaklynn’s lemonade and added an Ambien. That would certainly do it. Still, Nadine waited and listened because Nadine was nothing if not careful.

  At last, she picked up Oaklynn’s precious packet and began leafing through it again. Then she did the same with the photo album, snapping pictures of the images with the prepaid cell phone she had bought from the Gateway mall the day before. Finally, she turned back to the Nurture letterhead, keyed the numbers into her phone, and waited for the voice on the other end to direct her.

  “Yes, hi,” said Nadine, becoming suddenly guileless and apologetic. “My name is Oaklynn Durst, and I used to be in your listings. You’ve placed me in state four times before. But I’ve not been working for a little while. I’d like to reactivate my listing.”

  “Certainly, Miss Durst,” said the woman, who had identified herself simply as Rachel. She spoke slowly, clearly keying in terms to her computer as she talked. “Oaklynn. Let me just. Pull. Up. Your. File. Yes, I see you. OK. So you want to be listed as hirable, yes?”

  “That’s right.”

  “Staying in state?”

  “No, I’m ready for a change,” said Nadine.

  “Excellent. Anywhere you don’t want to go?”

  “Not overseas. Preferably East Coast, but not north of Washington, DC. I’ve had enough of winter.”

  Rachel laughed. “I’ll make a note,” she said, “though I assume that’s not a deal breaker.”

  Nadine heard the note of warning and backtracked.

  “Not at all. I was really only kidding. I’ll go where I’m needed, if the family seems nice.”

  “And are you willing to make a long-term commitment? Six months? A year?”

  “I can do a year,” said Nadine.

  “Excellent. And I see you have terrific references already, so we should get some interest quickly. Are those up-to-date, or are there more you’d like to add?”

  “No, everything looks fine.”

  “Personal statement?”

  “I’m OK with it as it is, unless you see anything you think I should tweak.”

  “Looks good to me,” said Rachel. “Now, you’ve been off our books for a little while, so you will have to do a new round of drug tests. Is that OK?”

  “Sure. No problem. I should update my profile picture, too.”

  “Great. I’ll give you the address of our walk-in clinic partner in a second. We can take care of the profile pic then, too, OK?”

  “Sure.”

  “You can include other pictures as well, but we want to have one that shows you exactly as you are now. It’s good for the clients.”

  I’ll bet, thought Nadine. The lonely single father who picks out a perky bombshell from a photo doesn’t want her older, saggier incarnation showing up on his doorstep.

  Rachel gave her the clinic address and led into her closing speech.

  “Our terms are the same as they were when you were with us last,” she said. “Since you are already on our books, you won’t have to pay for the initial listing, and we’ll just take the usual ten percent of your annual salary as a finder’s fee. You can check on your profile at any time with the same log-in information you provided before, and we’ll notify you by phone if you have interested families. Is the phone we have on record still current?”

  “No,” said Nadine. “Let me give you my new cell number.”

  She gave it and Rachel read it back, then wrapped things up.

  Easy.

  After she hung up, Nadine worked her way through the credit cards, calling each number in turn and requesting a change of billing address.

  “Just for a few weeks,” she explained to one. “I’ll have to do it again soon. Moving.”

  “Anywhere nice?” asked the operator cheerfully.

  “You know,” said Nadine, “I haven’t decided yet.”

  “Sounds like an adventure. Fun!”

  “Yes,” said Nadine. She had introduced herself as Oaklynn and had the address, phone, and Social Security numbers to back it up. “I think it will be.”

  When she was done, she left a note for Oaklynn, saying that she had cut up and burned the cards, though she had actually slipped them into her purse beside the driver’s license she had put there the day before. She considered it now, thinking about colored contact lenses and a trip to the hairdresser. That would take care of most of it. They didn’t look that similar, but attitude went a long way, and Nadine was good at simulation. Always had been. She smiled to herself. It was a smile that the woman sleeping upstairs—the woman whose name was on the cards and the driver’s license, the woman stored away in Nurture’s carefully vetted computer system who would soon be leaving the country for a minimum of two years—would not have recognized.

  She moved into the living room, gazing up at the clear blue Utah sky through the high windows, and as she turned, she caught her own reflection in the glass.

  “Oaklynn,” she said aloud, trying the word for shape and taste in her mouth. “Oaklynn. My name is Oaklynn Durst. Hi.” She paused, fixing her ghostly reflection in the window with a hard stare, then smiling cheerfully. “Hi, I’m Oaklynn. Oaklynn Durst.”

  Yes, she thought. That would work.

  Chapter Three

  August

  Josh Klein pulled into his designated space in the parking garage under the Bank of America tower in uptown Charlotte, turned the engine off, and got out. He closed the driver’s door and wiped a speck from the mirror on the silver LS 460, wondering vaguely if he would have to give up the car and get something more family friendly. The girls tended to travel in Anna’s Camry, and he had deliberately not fitted child seats in the Lexus, saying he needed the space—and the professionally detailed spotless interior—for when he had to drive clients, but as the kids got older, they’d need something bigger. Was it possible they’d also have to drive around this new nanny? She looked like she’d need some room.

  He scowled at the smudged finish, wondering, not for the first time, how it would be sharing their house—their life—with another adult. Anna had been down for a while, the kind of paralyzing surprise he hadn’t seen coming. It had been painful to watch, doubly so because he’d felt so powerless to do anything about it. So when she had raised this new idea, he had grabbed on to it without a thought, like it was a rope holding her in one of those flash-flooded streets he’d seen on the news from Chile or Ecuador. And if the result meant trading in the Lexus, well, that was a price he was more than happy to pay.

  Still, another woman living in our basement . . .

  It wasn’t the first time Anna had tried to go back to work. The first time had been a year after Veronica was born. He wasn’t sure what the motivation had been because the boredom, the depression—postpartum or whatever—hadn’t set in yet. She’d said it was about being connected to the industry, staying on editors’ radars, building what she called her stable of authors, like they were thoroughbreds waiting for the Kentucky Derby. But with no help at home, it hadn’t worked. She hadn’t been able to travel and felt, she said, alienated from her work by her environment. She insisted that she didn’t blame him, but it was impossible for Josh not to take it personally. It was, after all, his fault they were in Charlotte in the first place, and while they were infinitely more comfortable than they had been in New York—and the salary! My God, the salary!—the move had, at least in the short term, torpedoed her career. When she abandoned the attempt to work from home, he had sensed h
er frustration and disappointment, and she had sensed how responsible he felt. It was, she said, like an O. Henry story, a reference he just about understood. She smiled when she said it, but it was that knowing kind of smile that was just this side of sad.

  Anna was a good person. A kind person. She was also as deep and still as a well, and somewhere down there was a spring that fed her creativity and imagination and generosity. Sometimes, beneath the surface, he wondered if there was something else stirring, something cold and slippery that whispered to her that she was not good enough. He sensed it when he caught her critical view of herself in the mirror, or when she lay in bed beside him, staring at the ceiling, and he did not know how to make the feeling go away or even how to ask her about it. He felt it, but he was ill equipped to talk about it, and the attempt would only embarrass them both.

  Anna lacked his hardness and therefore, he thought, his talent for unvarnished honesty, the blunt assessment he could offer about someone’s work, for instance, without fearing he might hurt feelings in the process. It was a mode he had, and because he used it without malice or in pursuit of any ulterior motive, it served him well at work, particularly since he knew how to turn it off—or turn it down—when he left the office. It was a skill that Anna—who was always sensitive to other people’s feelings—did not have. While that had always been part of what he loved most about her, he knew it made her life a little harder. She did blame him for the move, for the turn her life had taken. She just didn’t want to admit it for fear of making him feel bad. Hell, she probably didn’t admit it to herself.

  But his colleagues and clients valued his bluff, manly directness. He knew that instinctively. It was at least as much a part of his success as his talent for numbers or his ability to follow and guess at market trends. He was what they called a guy’s guy. Someone to play golf with, drink a beer with. Someone who could talk sports but who, more important, never came across as a stats nerd or even a fan. He knew enough to offer opinions that felt informed, authoritative, but as soon as he reached the limits of his knowledge, he’d say so, and anyone who knew more would immediately feel slightly absurd, as if the range of Josh’s insight demonstrated just how much a man should care about such things.