The Sitter (6 page)

13

I
turned quickly—and found myself staring at an elderly woman. Her round face was very pale, her white hair piled up in a tight bun. She wore square glasses with very thick lenses that caught the light from the ceiling and made her pale blue eyes look enormous.

“I’ve been looking for you,” she repeated. Her voice was smooth and somehow younger than her appearance. She wore a navy blue jumper, a lacy white blouse with a red, jeweled flower pin on the collar, and a blue-and-yellow-striped scarf around her neck.

I squinted at her. Her face was powdery, etched with deep cracks and crevices. But her eyes were wide and alert, piercing. She didn’t blink.

“Excuse me?” I said. She was standing too close, invading my space. I could smell onions on her breath. I took a step back.

She grabbed my arm again with those hard, bony fingers. “You’re the Harpers’ new nanny.”

“Well . . . yes. Yes, I am.” I took another step back. “Uh . . . why have you been looking for me?”

A dry-lipped smile stretched slowly over her craggy face. I thought of craters on the moon, so dry and pale and sandy.

“I’m the
old
nanny,” she said, blue eyes flashing behind the thick glasses. “That’s me. Mrs. Bricker. The old nanny.”

“Really?”

She pulled my arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “Come, let’s have a chat. What’s your name? I’ve been watching for you. I want to tell you some things.”

“Things?” I pulled free. “I’m really sorry. I—I can’t. I have too many chores. I just arrived and—”

Her eyes narrowed. Her smile faded quickly. The powdery face seemed to grow hard, like cement drying fast. “Listen to me. I’m trying to help you, dear.”

“Help me?”

“Yes. I’m Mrs. Bricker, the old baby-sitter. I came to help you. I know things.”

I stared hard at her. Was she crazy? Totally whacked?

“Things? What kind of things?”

“Find another job.”

“Huh?”

“It isn’t safe there, dear. Listen to me. I know what I’m saying.”

I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bricker. I really don’t understand. You’re telling me it isn’t safe at the Harpers’ house?”

She straightened the scarf with her bony fingers. Her chin quivered. The unblinking blue eyes locked on mine. “Listen to me. Get away from the boy. Stay away from him. I know. I know. It’s in the guest house. The guest house. Get away now.
Now!
”

14

I
didn’t sleep well that night. The crisp, new bedsheets were scratchy. The pillow was too hard. I kept kicking the quilt onto the floor.

But I knew the bed wasn’t the problem. It was just being in a new place, in an unfamiliar room, with a family that wasn’t mine.

A little after two in the morning, I climbed out of bed and walked to the window. I could hear the steady wash of the ocean waves beyond the dunes. A soft, cool wind fluttered the curtains beside me.

I leaned out and peered down to the backyard. A haze covered the pale half moon. The sky was an eerie yellow, and there were no stars. The tall grass on the dune rustled in the wind.

Yawning, I shut my eyes and let the cool, salty air caress my face. Relax, Ellie. Listen to the waves; feel that soft air. Let it relax you.

But when I opened my eyes, I gasped. I gazed down, openmouthed, as a figure floated into view from the pine trees at the top of the dune.

Who’s out there?

I leaned farther out the bedroom window, squinting into the darkness. Bathed in the hazy moonlight, the figure moved slowly closer.

A man.

Walking toward the house.

No. A boy.

As he floated closer, head down, I saw dark hair. A long coat, a raincoat, too long, trailing behind him on the ground.

He stopped suddenly, in the middle of the yard, the tall grass blowing around his ankles, and raised his face to the house.

Brandon?

Outside at two in the morning?

Has he totally lost it?

Shivering, I pulled my head in. I tugged down my long nightshirt with both hands, turned, and ran barefoot out of my room.

Down the hall, with my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. I bumped hard into a little table against the balcony wall, invisible in the dark. “Ow!”

Pain shot up my side. Ignoring it, I crept silently down the stairs, holding on to the slender railing. A square of yellow moonlight spread over the living-room floor.

I turned and headed through the kitchen, alert now to every sound. The hum of the refrigerator. The clink of the ice maker beside it. The faint whistle of wind around the side of the house.

I turned the lock on the kitchen door, pulled the door open, and stepped onto the deck. Into the night air, cool and wet. A sudden explosion of noise—the chirp of a thousand crickets.

The deck felt cold under my bare feet. I hurried to the railing and peered through the milky light.

My voice came out in a choked whisper, “Brandon? Are you out here?”

Below the deck, a hedge of rhododendrons shivered and shook. The patches of tall grass in the yard shifted one way, then the other. The symphony of crickets grew louder.

The whole yard is
alive
, I thought.

But where’s Brandon?

My eyes searched the darkness. No one there now.

“Brandon—are you hiding from me?”

I waited a few seconds. Watching. Listening. The only sound: the harsh grating of the crickets, all around me, warning me to keep away. Finally, I swung away from the deck railing and ran back into the kitchen. Still shivering, I carefully closed the door and turned the lock.

The wetness of the night air clung to my hair. I pushed damp strands of it back off my face with both hands.

And then I heard a sound. A soft breath. Somewhere in front of me in the dark kitchen.

“Brandon? Are you inside?”

No reply.

I held my breath and listened.

I could hear the steady breathing, slow, a whisper of air in and out. Closer now.

“Brandon? Are you trying to scare me?”

Silence.

And then the soft, steady breaths again. Close. So close.

“This isn’t funny!”

I fumbled against the wall, searching for a light switch. None there. I didn’t know this kitchen. It was all so unfamiliar, so strange.

I could feel him next to me. Feel someone there. Could hear the breaths, irregular now, growing harsh.

“Who’s there?” My throat suddenly so dry. “Who’s there? Who is it?”

And then the lights flashed on.

15

A
bby?”

She stood in the kitchen doorway, in a satiny, pink robe, her hand still on the light switch beside the door. She squinted at me, her tanned face wrinkled with sleep.

“Ellie? You scared me to death. I heard someone in the kitchen. I thought—”

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered. “But Brandon . . .”

I turned, my eyes still adjusting to the bright ceiling lights.

No one there.

No one breathing beside me. No one in the kitchen.

“I thought I saw Brandon out in the yard. So I came down. But he wasn’t outside. Then I thought I heard him in here. But I couldn’t find the light switch, and . . .”

I stopped. I realized I sounded totally mental.

Abby pulled the front of her robe tighter. She tilted her head as she squinted at me. “Brandon? Outside in the middle of the night? Ellie, what are you talking about?”

“Really, I—”

“Let’s go see.” Shaking her head, Abby turned and trotted up the stairs. My legs trembling, I pulled myself up after her.

Abby pushed open Brandon’s door. We both tiptoed in.

He lay sound asleep on one side, snoring softly, quilt pulled up to his chin, a small teddy bear clutched in one hand.

I gazed at him from the side of the bed. He wasn’t faking. He was really asleep.

My mind spinning, I followed Abby out to the hall. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t really know how to explain it. I—”

“You’re trembling, dear,” she said softly. “Don’t be upset.”

“I didn’t mean to wake you up,” I muttered.

“Was it a dream, Ellie? That’s very normal, being in a new house. You know. The stress of a new job. And . . . well . . . this is a difficult thing. With Brandon acting so strange and all.”

“I . . . no . . . it wasn’t a dream,” I said. “I definitely saw something.”

I thought of Mrs. Bricker, that crazy old lady in town.
Stay away from the boy. It’s in the guest house. . . .

That’s what she had said.

The boy . . . the guest house . . .

I suddenly felt so weary. Weary and embarrassed.

“I’m really sorry I woke you up,” I said, avoiding Abby’s eyes. “I’m usually not crazy. I mean, I’m really very calm and responsible. You’ll see. I promise.”

“I’m sure of it,” she replied. “Do you want some hot tea or some cocoa or something?”

“No. Thanks. You’ve been so nice.”

“Let’s forget this whole thing,” she said, walking me down the hall to my room. “A fresh start tomorrow—okay?”

“Okay,” I said. I thanked her again and returned to my room.

The next morning, sunlight poured through my open window. I glanced at the bed-table clock—nearly eight, and the room was hot already. My nightshirt was damp and twisted around me.

I could hear the crash of waves at the beach and, closer, Heather screaming for more juice downstairs.

I sat up in bed and stretched. I felt achy, still tired. I gazed around the unfamiliar room. Some of the shorts and tops that I’d bought in town were still tossed over the dresser.

My first words of the morning—“I’m not crazy.”

I saw something last night.

I don’t hallucinate. I’ve never hallucinated in my life.

Even during the long nightmare after Will died, even through all the guilt, all my crazy, irresponsible behavior, all the
bad
years, I always kept my hold on reality.

I never went crazy.

I never saw things that weren’t there.

So what had I seen last night?

I shook my head hard, as if forcing the thoughts from my mind. I pulled on some of my new clothes—a pair of white shorts and a pink sleeveless top.

“I’m all new,” I told myself. “A fresh start today.” Isn’t that what Abby said?

Okay. You got it, babe. A fresh start.

I brushed my hair, made my bed, gazed out the window at the sparkling sunlight, and started to the stairs. My mobilephone rang.

I felt a shiver of dread. Was it Clay?

I checked the caller ID. “Hi, Teresa,” I said.

“Ellie, hi. You didn’t change your number.”

“No. Not yet.”

“I’m standing outside my office. I don’t want to go in yet. It’s so hot here in the city. The sidewalk is melting. Really. My shoes are sticking. You’re so lucky to be at the beach. Hey, I thought you were changing your number.”

“I didn’t get a chance. Everything took so long in town.”

“Well, did Clay call again last night?”

“No. Actually, he didn’t. Something else happened. I—”

“Yaaaay. Maybe he was hit by a bus and dragged for twenty blocks, then flattened under the tires.”

I laughed. Teresa always made me laugh. “Always look on the bright side, right?”

“That’s me. Miss Mary Sunshine. Listen, Ellie—”

My line beeped. Another call? I was popular this morning. “Teresa, catch you later. I’ve got another call.”

“Later. Bye.”

I clicked the
FLASH
button. “Hello?”

“Ellie, where are you?”

“Mom? Hi. I’m in my room. You know. My new bedroom. At the Harpers’ house in Watermill.”

“You mean . . . you really took that job? I didn’t think you were serious. I mean, I hoped—”

“Mom, yes. I took the nanny job. And I’m really happy about it. I’m looking forward to a great summer.”

“A great summer? How about looking forward to a great career?”

“Excuse me? Mom, the connection isn’t very good.”

“You’re a baby-sitter? Isn’t that a job for teenagers? Ellie, did you lie about your age?”

“Ha ha, Mom. We all know you’re funny. How’s Lucky? Did you send him to Marsha?”

“Yes, I sent him and his furballs to Marsha. Don’t change the subject. What’s the family like? They’re famous Hamptons people? Have I heard of them?”

“No, they’re a young couple, Mom. He’s some kind of financial guy. And she . . . I’m not sure what she does. She has the summer off. She has two kids to take care of.”

“I don’t mean to pick on you, Ellie, but—”

The famous
but
.

“—but why take another dead-end job? I’m just asking. I can ask a question, right?”

“Mom—I just woke up. I don’t need this now.”

“Well, I’m calling with good news. You don’t have to take an attitude.”

“Good news?”

“Knock knock.”

I groaned. “Mom, I don’t have time for jokes.”

“Knock knock, Ellie. It’s not a joke. It’s opportunity knocking.”

“Groan. Groan. Do you hear me groaning? I’ve got to go, Mom.”

“Listen to me. Your sister, Wendy, is expanding her real estate office. Madison is growing like wildfire. She’s taking on two new people. There’s a place for you, Ellie. A very good salary and a fifteen percent commission.”

“Mom, you want me back in Madison? You practically tossed me out of the house, remember? You were so thrilled when I moved to New York.”

“Thrilled? Don’t say that, Ellie. That’s not true. It was hard for me to send my daughter away. I went along with it. I wasn’t thrilled. You needed a fresh start in new surroundings. But you made a flop of that, too. Pardon my French.”

“Huh? Mom, that’s really harsh.”

“Harsh? Harsh is for laundry detergents.”

“Listen to me, Mom. I’m keeping this job, and I’m going to make something of it. You may think it’s beneath me or something, but I don’t. I have some things to prove to myself before I can start thinking about a real career. And I’m starting right here. And I don’t need any suggestions from you or Wendy.”

“I was only trying to help,” she replied in a mousy little voice, totally phony.

“Bye, Mom.” I clicked off the phone and tossed it to my bed.

I turned. Brandon was standing in the doorway. He wore a sleeveless striped T-shirt over a baggy black swimsuit that came down over his knees. He had his skinny arms crossed in front of him. And he stared at me coldly.

How long had he been standing there?

“Brandon. Hi.”

Why was he staring at me like that, his lips pressed together so tightly?

“Were you outside last night?” I asked. “Did I see you in the backyard late last night?”

He continued to stare. Then he slowly shook his head.

“Come on, Brandon,” I insisted. “Wasn’t that you?”

He shook his head again. He twirled his finger around his ear, signaling that I was crazy.

No point in continuing.

“Listen, I’m going to go exploring this morning,” I said. “Would you like to come with me?”

He turned and darted away.

Abby took the kids into town to buy shoes. I had a nutritious bowl of Cocoa Puffs—the kids’ favorite—and a cup of lukewarm coffee.

Then I pulled on my new flip-flops and stepped outside to do some exploring. I figured it was time to get familiar with the terrain.

Whoa. The morning sun was already high in the sky, and I could feel its heat on my bare shoulders. I hurried back inside to get my sunglasses.

Last night, I was so freaked out that I didn’t see where I was. This morning, I had time to take it all in.

A beautiful, wide redwood deck stretched along the back of the house. A round umbrella table and white metal chairs stood at one end, and several chaises longues and matching chairs were arranged nearby. A large barbecue grill stood at the other end.

Steps led down to the small, sandy backyard, and a low, unpainted picket fence tilted this way and that on the left. A hedge of tall rhododendrons stretched along the bottom of the deck. The spring blossoms, all white, were starting to shrivel and turn brown.

I picked up a beach ball and tossed it back toward the house. An inflated inner tube and a silver-blue Frisbee lay near the rhododendrons.

I trudged up a steep dune, my flip-flops slipping, the sand already hot, burning my toes. At the top of the dune, a row of slanting pine trees. They stood in a perfect straight line, I noticed, as if deliberately placed to hide the guest house behind them.

I ducked into the shade of the trees and gazed at the little house. A dark cyclone of buzzing insects rose up at the side of the house. The tiny gnats—or whatever they were—spun furiously, millions of them, sending up a loud droning whine, such an unpleasant sound.

Though it was two stories tall, the house was nearly as small as a gardening shed. Its gray shingle siding was dark and weathered with age. The small windows at the back were frosted with dust. A thick carpet of dried pine needles stretched the length of the house, piling up like a snowdrift against the back wall.

As I drew nearer, a strong stench of mold and decay invaded my nostrils. I held my breath. Was it just normal house smell? Or was something rotting inside?

I let out my breath in a whoosh as Mrs. Bricker’s warning flashed back into my mind. What had that crazy old woman said?

It’s in the guest house. Stay away. It’s in the guest house.

What could she have been babbling about?

And why the hell did I have such a talent for attracting crazy people?

I turned and made my way past the whirling insects and to the front of the house, which faced the ocean. The front door had been white at one time, but the paint had peeled and faded, revealing the dark wood beneath. The tiny octagonal window in the door had cracked in two.

A dark stain rose on the shingles beside the door like a shadowy ghost. A faded gray curtain covered the front window, which was also frosted with dust. Slates from the roof littered the ground.

This must have been a cute little house when it was built. Did someone live here once? Why was the place abandoned?

It’s in the guest house. Stay away. It’s in the guest house.

The old woman’s velvety voice lingered in my mind.

What was in the guest house?

I had to check it out.

I held my breath again as I stepped up to the front door. To my surprise, the air suddenly grew chilly. As if the house gave off waves of cold.

“Huh?”

Through the broken window, I thought I saw something move inside.

I jumped back.

No. Wait. No.

It had to be my shadow on the glass—right? Or maybe my reflection.

Ellie, don’t scare yourself. It’s an abandoned old house. That’s all. Are you really going to let that crazy old woman terrify you?

I stepped back up to the front door, and again I felt a wet chill seep from the house. I squinted through the tiny window in the door, but couldn’t see anything.

I’m going in, I decided.

I grabbed the doorknob. The metal was cold. Cold despite the hot sunshine beaming down on it.

I squeezed the knob. Started to turn it.

And a voice shouted,
“Get away!”