Hip Check (New York Blades) (5 page)

“Ever had a nanny before?”

Nell’s expression turned wary. “No.”

“But I bet you know people who have.”

“Yes. My best friend Caro Moore, had a nanny.”

“What was she like?”

“Lovely. She baked biscuits with us and all sorts of things.”

“There’s no reason why we can’t bake biscuits.”

Now she was talking Nell’s language. “Honest?”

“Yeah! I’m moving in to take care of you. You’ll probably get sick of me!”

Nell looked down at her bed, her index finger slowly tracing the spiral patterns covering the quilt. “I won’t get sick of you,” she said quietly.

“We’ll have to help each other out and get used to each other,” Michelle continued kindly.

“Okay.” Nell’s finger was still following the quilt’s designs.

Michelle tapped her fingers on the bed. “You know, I was just thinking about your friend Caro. You miss her, right?” Nell nodded sadly. “Well, there’s no reason why you can’t call her.”
Maybe even have her visit some time. God knows your uncle has the money to spring for plane fare
.

Nell was pop-eyed. “Really?”

“Why not?”

“I’d like that.”

“Now,” Michelle began cheerfully. “I’ll be moving in tomorrow afternoon. In the meantime, could you do me a big favor?”

“What?”

“Could you make me a list of foods you love and hate? And all the stuff you like to do: dancing, writing, anything.”

Nell looked thrilled.

Michelle leaned in close, as if imparting a secret. “Do you like nail polish?”

Nell looked at a loss for words. “I guess. I’ve never worn any.”

“I thought it might be fun if tomorrow night, after I’m all moved in, we paint our fingernails and our toenails. What do you think?”

Nell nodded avidly. “I think it’ll be fun.”

“Oh yeah,” Michelle agreed, as if it were a foregone conclusion. “It’ll be great.”

“Thank you,” Nell said politely.

“You don’t need to thank me.” Michelle stood. “I’m going to leave my telephone number for you on the kitchen counter, okay? That way you can call me if you need me between now and tomorrow.” She smiled at Nell. “I think we’ll do okay together, don’t you?”

Nell’s fingers stopped tracing the quilt. “Yes.”

“I’ll let you get back to your reading. See you tomorrow.”

* * *

“How did it
go?”

Esa looked up from the sports pages of the
Sentinel
as Michelle reentered the kitchen. He’d actually been feeling anxious about her meeting his niece. What if Michelle didn’t think she and Nell were a “good fit”?
If you’re being paid enough
, he reasoned irritably,
shouldn’t you be able to make things fit
? Well, in any case, he couldn’t imagine anyone not liking Nell.

“It went well,” Michelle reported. “She’s a sweetie.”

“Shy, I know, but I think once she gets to know you . . .” He swallowed uneasily. “She’s been through a lot.”

“I know. I’ll take good care of her, I promise.”

Michelle’s promise prompted a painful moment of self-examination. Had he himself said that to Leslie before taking Nell? Had he even told Nell herself he’d take good care of her? He did remember telling her not to be scared. It seemed enough at the time.

“Do you need any help moving tomorrow?” he asked her. “I can rent a small moving van.”

Michelle waved the idea away. “No need. My brother has a truck. I don’t have that much stuff, anyway.”

“Travel light?”

“You have to in my line of work.”

“I promise you that by Monday morning, you’ll have your own TV in your room. Also, towels, sheets, and such. If you want to make a list and call me with some items you need, I can make sure they’re here.”

“Thank you.” Michelle glanced once more around the kitchen admiringly before looking back to Esa. “I think that’s it. Is there anything else you want to ask me?”

Esa hesitated. “Yes. A favor.”

Michelle was puzzled. “Okay.”

“Would it be possible for you to unofficially start your job tonight? I have a date, and—”

Michelle laughed curtly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Why?”

“I’m not here at your beck and call. I thought that was established. I have a life of my own, and I plan on keeping it that way.”

Esa was taken aback. “I just thought—”

“That since I agreed to be her nanny, you were free from all childcare responsibilities?”

Esa was embarrassed. “I’m sorry.” But inside, he was irked.

I’m allowed to have a life, too
, he thought.
That’s one of the reasons you’ve been hired
.

“Apology accepted.”

His miscalculation prompted a shift in Michelle’s behavior: she was now all business. “I’ll bring over a standard contract tomorrow for us to both go over and sign, if the terms are amenable to you. It’ll lay out the duties we spoke of earlier, and some fine details we need to work out.”

Esa rubbed his eyes. “That’s fine.”

“Anything else?”

“Obviously I’ll cancel my date tonight,” Esa muttered. “Nell and I can stay in and watch a movie.”

“See? How hard was that?”

Harder than you know
, Esa thought.
The woman I was going to go out with is smokin’
.

“What are you two doing the rest of the day?”

“I don’t know.” The idea of the hours, stretched out before him, made Esa queasy. “It’s so hot outside . . . maybe I’ll rent a car and take her to the beach.”

“That sounds great.” Michelle paused. “Does she have a bathing suit?”

“I don’t know.”

Michelle’s expression changed once again; this time she was looking at him with pity. If anyone else dared look at him like that, he’d kill them dead with viper sharp words within seconds. But in this case, the look was warranted: he
was
pitiful.

“How about this,” Michelle said helpfully. “For today, take her to the movies. On Monday, she and I will go through her closet and we’ll figure out what she needs. Give me a budget and I’ll take her shopping.”

Sweet relief. Esa had actually been worrying about whether he’d need to take Nell shopping for clothes. She seemed to have a lot, but what did he know? “That sounds like a good idea. Don’t worry about a budget. Just get her what she needs.” He paused. “And whatever she wants.”

Michelle looked like she was going to say something, but she didn’t. An uncomfortable moment passed as she prepared to leave. “I guess I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon, then.”

“Any idea what time?”

“Is four okay?”

“Four is fine,” he replied, walking her to the front door. “Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome.” Michelle smiled politely. “I’m looking forward to it.”

“Me, too—I mean, I’m sure Nell is.”

“I know what you meant.”

Esa closed the door, experiencing an odd mixture of relief and apprehension. Clearly, Michelle Beck was competent, but she seemed to have an awful lot of demands and requirements. He should have taken care of business when he had the time. Because now, he had one more thing to worry about: suppose he’d picked the wrong nanny?

6

Michelle couldn’t stop
thinking about Nell as she rode the Number Seven Subway out to her dad’s place in Woodside. She hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d told Esa she was looking forward to taking care of the smart, shy, slightly dubious little girl; she was. Michelle knew that it was going to take Nell some time to trust her. She felt there had already been a few moments when Nell was on the verge of letting her guard down. Maybe it was just wishful thinking. The minute Theresa told her about Nell’s circumstances, Michelle felt an immediate connection with her. When Michelle’s own mother had died, she still had her dad and brother. As far as she could tell, the only one Nell had was her clueless uncle, Esa.

Michelle reminded herself to cut him some slack. He’d suffered a huge loss, too, and it couldn’t be easy to be a single professional athlete, and wake up one day and find yourself responsible for a little girl. Yet Esa’s nonchalant attitude was making it tough for Michelle to feel sympathetic. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was racing through his mind during their meeting:
Just make this problem go away. I don’t know how to deal with it, and I don’t want to.

Lost in her thoughts, Michelle almost missed her stop. There were a lot of blanks that still needed filling in. She especially wanted to talk to “Aunt Leslie” to find out all she could about Nell. And, of course, there was everything else: packing, moving, unpacking, getting acclimated, getting Nell acclimated, going over the ground rules with Esa Saari. The next forty-eight hours were going to be pressure filled, but Michelle was ready for it. It was, after all, what she’d signed on for.

A sense of optimism and anticipation gave a bounce to Michelle’s step as she walked the seven blocks from the subway stop to her dad’s place. She did some of her best thinking while walking through Woodside. A cynic might say that was because there was nothing interesting to see in the neighborhood. Okay, so maybe there weren’t any grand, historical buildings here worth preserving. And yeah, most of the houses and apartment buildings looked like they’d seen better days. And unlike nearby Flushing with the National Tennis Center and the old World’s Fair grounds, there weren’t many parks or interesting public spaces. But Woodside was a good place to have grown up in. It was just a solid, working-class community. No pretensions, just lots of people from all different backgrounds and ways of life quietly living together. Woodside had never been gentrified, and probably never would be. No one had ever accused it of being trendy. But Michelle liked that recent arrivals added some spice to the neighborhood. Now you could get any kind of cuisine you were in the mood for. Indian for lunch? Ethiopian for dinner? A Greek cheese pie for dinner? It was all there, along with the V & V, the best bakery in the
world
.

As she walked up Roosevelt Avenue, Michelle texted her brother, Jamie, making sure he was home and not at the firehouse. Jamie’s marriage had blown up seven months earlier. His ex couldn’t handle the possibility that when she kissed her husband good-bye before he went off to work each day, it might be the last time she’d ever see him alive. Michelle still felt badly for her brother, but her father’s reservoir of sympathy seemed to be running out. He’d been complaining that Jamie wasn’t looking too hard for new digs.

When she walked in the door she saw her brother, all six feet two inches of him, stretched out on the couch, his thin legs dangling over the side. Michelle gave him a kiss on the forehead. “When’d you get home?”

“A little while ago.” Jamie eyed her suspiciously. “Why’d you text me? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s
wrong
. I just need your help with something. Where’s Dad?”

“Shopping, I think. He should be back any minute.”

Michelle grabbed that day’s
Sentinel
from her brother’s chest and started fanning herself, flopping down in her dad’s favorite recliner. “Jesus, Jame. Could you turn up the air conditioning a little?”

“Dad likes it low. He gets cold now, remember?”

“He’s cheap, you mean.”

Jamie grinned. “Yeah, that, too.”

Growing up, Michelle’s girlfriends never failed to remark on how cute Jamie was, which always made her want to heave. But once she and Jamie were older, she could see the reasons for their infatuation: his velvety chocolate eyes, his sweet smile. Since his mood seemed okay, she decided to act on her dad’s nudging and pop the real estate question.

“How’s the apartment hunting going?”

“Goin’ okay,” Jamie said evasively. “You know what it’s like. Besides, I don’t think I should leave. Someone has to be here to look after Dad.”

Michelle stopped fanning herself. “Not this again.”

Jamie had gotten it into his head that their father needed “looking after”—
their
father, the toughest son of a bitch to ever wield a Halligan at Engine 32—when he’d retired two years ago, after forty-five of breaking his back. Jamie was delusional: their father was as robust as ever. What pissed Michelle off was Jamie’s presumption that if their father did need “taking care of,” she should be the one to do it.

“Michelle.”

“Jamie. He’s not even sixty-five yet. He still goes down to the firehouse and hangs out. He still has his poker night. He still goes to see the Mets and the Islanders. Just because he retired doesn’t mean he’s turned into some feeble old man overnight.”

“I see him slowing down. You don’t.”

“And you live here, and I don’t. What would you like me to do about it?”

Jamie looked to be preparing a comeback, but he let it drop. Good thing, too. Michelle didn’t want to point out that she’d been the de facto “caretaker” for both him and their dad after their mom died. There had been times her dad leaned on her heavily, maybe a little bit too much, considering she was a child. Part of the problem was, he didn’t know how to deal with a little girl’s grief. He tried, but he couldn’t. And so Michelle figured out a way to go it alone. She wasn’t going to let that happen to Nell.

Jamie hopped up and loped into the kitchen, grabbing from the fridge a container of milk that he drank straight out of. “Why’d you need to talk to me,” he shouted.

Michelle joined him in the kitchen. “I need to borrow your truck, if that’s okay with you.”

“When?”

“Tomorrow.”

“What for?”

“I took another job as a live-in. They need me to start tomorrow.”

Her brother put the carton back in the fridge. “Isn’t that kind of short notice?”

“Yeah. But there are extenuating circumstances.” She glanced at the dishwasher. The green light was on, meaning the dishes were done, but no one had emptied it. She fought the urge to do it herself. They were grown men.

“I’m all ears.”

Michelle laid it all out for him, from Nell’s mother’s death to Esa’s willingness to let her name her price. It was a pretty sad story. But all her brother had to say when she concluded with, “So, can I borrow your truck?” was, “Esa Saari. What a fuckin’ showboat.”

“What?”

“The guy’s a typical Euro winger: all glory and no guts.” Jamie was vehement. “The Blades haven’t had a decent digger in five years, maybe ten. Probably since Michael Dante hung up his skates. I can’t believe my sister is going to work for a Blade.”

Michelle rolled her eyes. “I don’t care who he plays for. I’m not taking care of him, I’m taking care of his niece.”

“I’ll help you move in tomorrow. I wanna see his place.”

“No.”

“C’mon, Michelle.”

“Why? So you can tell the guys down at the house about it?”

“Hell yeah. Why else would I want to see it?”

“You’re such a pack of busybodies, I swear to God.”

“No shit.” He scratched absently at the tattoo of his wife’s name on his forearm. “Where’s your stuff?”

“Most of it’s in storage. There’s not much.”

Her brother slid into a kitchen chair. “I don’t know why you didn’t just move back here until your next job. Truth be told, I still can’t wrap my mind around why you left that gig with the Karles. Moving out to L.A.? Sounds pretty sweet to me.”

“This coming from the guy who’s on my case about taking care of our father?”

“I’m just sayin’,” Jamie muttered.

“I love you, but you are so talking out your ass,” Michelle said affectionately. “What, you think I’d be lazing around the pool all day? I’d be
working
—taking care of the kids, and trying to remind the Karles that I’m not the maid. No amount of money is worth the aggravation, trust me. And I told you, I didn’t want to be that far away from you and Dad—you know, in case Dad magically went senile overnight.”

“Fuck you, Michelle.”

“I’m just sayin’,” she teased. “So—?”

“Yeah, you can borrow it. But only if you let me help you unload it. I’m serious.”

Michelle’s shoulders sank. “Fine. But not a word out of you. You have to
swear
.”

“What am I gonna say to him? ‘The Islanders will always be the class team of New York no matter how many Cups the Blades win’?”

“That’s a start.”

Michelle heard the key turning in the front door; her dad walked in, carrying two bags of groceries. He had a big smile on his face as he put them down on the table and gave her a smooch on the cheek. “Hey, kiddo. This is a surprise.”

“I know.” She gave him a quick once-over: he looked his usual, robust self. Jamie was nuts.

“She’s a traitor, Dad,” said Jamie.

Michelle rolled her eyes while her father looked at her in confusion.

“She’s going to be a live-in nanny for one of the
Blades
.” He spat the last word.

Her father looked at her suspiciously. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Michelle and her father started putting the groceries away.

“Which one?”

“Esa Saari.”

Her father glanced at her brother knowingly. “The Finnish prick.”

“Jesus, Dad!” Michelle exclaimed, overcome with exasperation. “It’s not like my job has anything to do with hockey! I’m taking care of his eight-year-old niece.”

“I thought you were taking a long break after working for the Karles.”

Michelle stood on tiptoes to put the ketchup in the cabinet next to the fridge, where it had been kept for as long as she could remember. “This just kind of fell into my lap. I couldn’t pass it up.”

“I still don’t know why you left teaching,” her father said with a frown, dumping a bag of frozen peas and a box of fish sticks into the freezer. “All that education, and for what?”

“I told you why: the money is better, I don’t have to deal with school politics or enforced curriculums, and I’d rather have a deep, lasting relationship with a couple of kids than a shallow relationship with an impossibly sized group of them. Class sizes kept getting bigger and bigger. They still are.”

“But you were good at it.”

Her father was right: she was as good a teacher as you could be when you were responsible for thirty-one first graders. She knew she was cut out to teach from the way her students responded to her with respect and an eagerness to learn, and from the esteem in which she was held by their parents. But even so, it gnawed at her that she couldn’t give each child the time and attention he or she deserved, and she didn’t like the way everything in the curriculum was geared toward boosting test scores. She enjoyed being in the classroom, but when it came down to the bottom line, the job wasn’t fulfilling her in the way she’d hoped, so she left. A lot of her friends thought she was nuts; how could she walk away from a job with tenure? But for Michelle, happiness trumped job security any day. She knew how fleeting life could be; how many things had her mother wanted to do that she never got to because she died young? Michelle knew she was taking a huge risk when she left teaching, but so far, it had turned out to be worth it.

“You living-in?” her father asked.

“Yeah. And before you say it, I know Saari’s single, I know he’s a dog, blah blah blah. He’s also my employer. Don’t worry about your poor, helpless daughter living under the same roof as ‘the Finnish prick.’ I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah? You’re like the Mayor of Munchkinland next to him,” Jamie said. “If he wanted to—”