Kelly McClymer-Must Love Black (3 page)

Silence can be a balm or a danger, Miss Putnam. I hope yours doesn’t mean you intend to refuse employment with me.

—Lord Dashwood to Miss Adelaide Putnam,
Manor of Dark Dreams,
p. 12

Leaning back in the front seat, my duffel on my lap, I slowly got used to the dizzy feeling of launching into the great unknown, in silence. Apparently Geoff wasn’t a big talker or in a big hurry. Or maybe he was distracted by the fog we hit somewhere on Route 3, though his hands rested on the wheel with loose confidence. Maybe Sarah could have gotten him talking, if she’d been here. But I wouldn’t have bet on it. He seemed very happy to drive like he was the only one in the limo. It should have made me feel invisible, but instead I felt an electric buzz between us that made my skin tingle. Great. Just what I needed to complicate the summer—a hot crush vibe.

The big limo purred through the night as if it knew the
route so well it didn’t require a driver to maneuver in the heavy fog. Inside, I wasn’t purring with the same confidence. Besides the fact that I was a little spooked out by the vibe, I wanted to be there already—like I said, I’m flawed that way.

Mom’s advice about people-watching wasn’t helpful right now. Except for Geoff, who was driving, and the fog, there wasn’t anyone or anything to watch. That left only the dangerous territory of my mind. I could wander the shadow valleys of the past, trying to imagine what my mom would have said about Dad and Krystal’s wedding. Or I could peek into the dark corners of the future: living in a strange house, stuck there for the summer, in charge of ten-year-old twins and dreaming of kissing Geoff. Problem was, I really didn’t want to go to either place. I knew exactly what I wanted: to be about a day in the future. A nanny already, without the inevitable awkward introductions and stumbling-around-figuring-things-out stage. Too bad I didn’t have a time machine handy.

It occurred to me that not only could a time machine get me past the whole introduction part of the summer, I could dial it to get me past the job and back home. I enjoyed imagining how nice it would be to get paid for the job without remembering a thing about it, the one teeny problem being that I still didn’t have a time machine at my disposal. Not to mention that sending myself home to the future would mean jumping right into life with Krystal. Not a plus.

I sighed and Geoff looked over at me for a second. He didn’t say anything and he’d only looked quickly, but his look made me realize I needed to buck up. Sure, I was going where
no one knew me and I had to impress, but I could handle two kids for the summer.

I reached into my bag and thumbed the dog-eared pages of Mom’s book, knowing I’d get through the waiting stage, just like I always had—or I wouldn’t. Not really my call, which is one big reason why waiting stinks.

I knew what had made me take the chance on this job, a job offered to me on the strength of my babysitting references and a single letter of application—a handwritten letter, at that, in this day and age of DSL and instant messaging. I hadn’t questioned it until now, as the silence started pressing against my eardrums. Before, the job had seemed perfect.

It was the last line of the ad that had tipped me over to digging out a sheet of the nice stationery I’d gotten for my birthday from Sarah. “Must love black.” It’s like the ad had been written just for me, by someone who got that black is practical, black is dependable, and black is
real.
I had known instinctively that Krystal—I refuse to call her Mom—would freak if I worked at a place like that. After I’d been offered the job, she’d actually tried to convince me to work in Bar Harbor instead.

I’d said, no, thank you. Bar Harbor’s a happening place for jobs—if you want to be a waitress, a store clerk, or a babysitter of grown tourists on a whale-watching tour. I knew I didn’t. I’d been there plenty, when my dad and I had gone to the coast to hike the trails in Acadia National Park and stand on the rocky face of Cadillac Mountain. Lots of high school and college kids spend summers there, stocking, selling, and waiting on customers, being all smiley helpful. I’m better known for my well-timed scowl.

“Must love black,” to me, was a promise that I wouldn’t have to say “Have a nice day!” sixty times in a row or spend the summer pretending life is all about rainbows. But now that I was on my way to the nanny job, I realized I didn’t know the first thing about it.

I looked over at Geoff, wondering if I’d lose points with him by asking questions. Sarah would be thumbs-up for the idea. But Sarah wasn’t here.

I pulled my duffel bag a little closer—I’d left it on my lap in the hope that if the limo somehow slid off the road and down a rocky cliff in the fog, I’d be a little protected. The roads around here are a tad narrow and a lot winding, and I’m superstitious that way, what can I say? My voice sounded too loud in the quiet of the car. “So, what are the kids like?”

Geoff shrugged, which made me realize how broad his shoulders were under that dorky uniform. Maybe I’d been a little hasty to dismiss the whole idea of complicating the summer with a guy. “I’m primarily the gardener. The limo driver deal is just for when the full-time guy is off. Like today.”

“That doesn’t really answer my question about the kids.”

“They don’t go outside much, and we don’t talk when I drive them places.”

Okay, I wasn’t that fond of the outside, either, so that suited me, except for the part about not seeing Geoff much. He didn’t say a lot, but he was good eye candy, even in dork dress. Sarah would no doubt give him a ten on the hotness scale. I hoped he couldn’t tell that I was checking him out. “Are they TV addicts? My best friend’s little sister watches
those Nickelodeon and Disney shows all day long.”

He turned on the windshield wipers to get rid of condensation from the fog. “There aren’t any TVs at Chrysalis Cliff.”

“What? No TV?” That hadn’t been in the ad. Of course, the handwritten-letter thing could have been a clue that my employer was not part of the twenty-first century. Maybe I should have asked a few more questions. “That sucks.”

Geoff grinned at me. “All the nannies think so, but you’re the first to say so.” Yep. Definitely a ten. Maybe even an eleven. Good thing Sarah was occupied hammering and sawing for the summer—four states away.

“So, did you have to apply for the job the old-fashioned way too?”

He looked surprised. “Old-fashioned?”

“You know. Handwritten letter. On paper. Instead of over the Internet.”

“Oh.” He shrugged. “My dad knew somebody who knew somebody who knew that Mr. P needed a gardener. No paper, just an in-person interview.” He grinned. “I guess you could say I got my job the really old-fashioned way—through nepotism.”

I laughed. “Did they ask if you like black?”

He squinted at me. “I’m a gardener. Why would they ask that?”

“Good point.” I would have been happier about seeing Geoff unfreeze slightly, if it weren’t for the “all the nannies” phrase. Oh, and if we weren’t in an impenetrable fog, going about ten miles under the speed limit on one of those scary
winding and steep coastal Maine roads. “No offense, but shouldn’t you have your eyes on the road?”

He stopped smiling and turned back to the road, or more like the fog, and we were once again sitting in silence punctuated by the intermittent thunk of the windshield wipers. Geoff’s hands had tensed on the wheel. Whoops. He didn’t like my questioning his driving skills. No shock there, what guy does?

Krystal says if I learned to express myself more politely—and to smile more—I’d have an easier time in life. Maybe she’s right. Because it doesn’t occur to me that guys don’t like to be criticized until after I’ve insulted what may be the only cute guy even close to my age at my new job.

My turn to shrug. “Sorry. I’m hyper. I was in a car accident when I was nine.”

He didn’t answer. So I reached out to turn on the radio and get rid of the silence that was making me think way too much about things I couldn’t change. Only . . . “There’s no radio?”

He hung a sharp right, guided by a sign that loomed up out of the fog and disappeared too quickly for me to read. “Mr. Pertweath believes TV and radio create noise that keeps us from hearing our inner voices.”

“O-kay.” This was going to be different. After my mom died, my dad and I never turned off the TV, even when we left the house. And the car radio was permanently tuned to public broadcasting. “Good thing to know. I guess I’ll make sure to hide my iPod during the welcome-to-the-job pat down.”

He didn’t look at me, but his grip on the wheel loosened. “Books. The twins like books.”

“Books? I like to read too.” That didn’t sound so bad. So many kids I babysat for had hated reading. I’d had to play board games with them—or worse, video games. The ones where you can shoot things aren’t so bad, except that I always die five minutes into the game. But if these were the kind of kids who can sit still and read to themselves for hours, my summer might not be so bad—especially if I could convince them to read outside, in the garden, so their nanny could flirt with the hottie gardener.

Geoff turned the wheel sharply to the right again and pulled through a gate, so close to the stone column on my side that the shrouded granite passed inches from my nose on the other side of the car window, not even softened by the fog.

The teacups started whirling again as I realized we were here. My job. The fog made reality seem like a dream. I couldn’t see the house where I was going to work, only the slight glow of the lights. A pair of fancy double doors, illuminated by lanterns on either side, glowed more and more brightly through the fog until the limo stopped with a crunch of gravel and a lurch.

I couldn’t see well through the fog, but the word “loom” loomed in my mind, and I felt as if the pressure of the fog added to the pressure of the silence until my head felt filled with cotton. I opened the door of the limo and jumped out before Geoff had a chance to get out and around to hold open my door.

I stood there, holding my stuffed black duffel bag and
looking at the doors. Walking through them would end the wait I’d endured on the drive here. Time for the teacups to start whirling all over again. Would I like the twins? Would they like me? The chill of the fog touched my face and I couldn’t move. The doors were so big that Geoff easily could have driven the limo through them if they were open.

I didn’t turn around to look at him. I was too afraid I’d see him grinning at my hesitation. “Maybe I should go around to the servants’ entrance?”

“Havens said to drop you off at the front tonight. So here you go.” He pulled open the double doors, and then, maybe as payback for my “eyes on the road” comment, he said, “Don’t worry, you’ll get used to the place . . . if you don’t run away crying in the middle of the night like the last nanny.”

“Thanks.” I paused one second as I smiled at him, and then added, “For keeping your eyes on the road—most of the time.”

He didn’t take offense—I don’t think—because he said, in a stage whisper, “If you need a TV fix, just pay me a visit over the garage.”

I proceeded through the door, wondering if a ten had just hit on me—or suggested I was too weak to live without TV. Too bad Sarah wasn’t here to interpret guyspeak for me.

And then I had a Dorothy moment and wondered if I’d stepped into Oz. A tasteful, serene Oz, minus Munchkins—and wicked witches, I hoped. The fog had been left behind at the front door. The entry hall was all gleaming cream and peach and tan marble, with a huge chandelier that lit every
corner. It was like something from a Jane Austen novel. Except for the gothish girl standing front and center.

A man in a suit came toward us. “Welcome to Chrysalis Cliff, Miss. I’m so glad Geoff brought you safely. The fog is terrible tonight.” I thought he was the dad for one second, but the “Miss” clued me in before I said something stupid. This had to be the Havens that Geoff had mentioned, probably the butler or something.

“Geoff drove like there was no fog at all,” I said truthfully.

Havens nodded smoothly, with just the faintest hint of a wince. “He’s very familiar with the roads.” For a stuffy butler type, Havens didn’t seem too taken aback by my appearance. But then again, in a place like this he was probably trained not to show a reaction to anything odd. For some reason the tranquil setting and calm butler (not to mention the hot gardener still standing there with my suitcase) made me feel more out of place rather than less. When I feel out of place I tend to make awkward remarks, such as, “So. Do you need to see ID? Or is this proof enough I’m the new nanny?” I gestured to my jeans, top, and duffel bag—all black.

“No ID required.” Havens smiled, but it was one of the inscrutable kinds of smiles. I hate those because I don’t know what to do—attack, retreat, or just smile in return and feel welcomed. I was tired after a day of watching my dad get married, so I opted to smile back as inscrutably as I could manage.

“Great. Where do I stow my stuff ?” Havens’s face betrayed nothing of his personality. Was he a closet snob? Did he judge
on appearance alone? Would he judge me? “Goth” doesn’t cut it when it comes to a word that describes me. I’m complex. Complicated. No one gets me, and I like it that way. Because nothing’s permanent. One second your mom’s squeezing your hand and you’re squeezing hers back. And the next second she isn’t squeezing anymore. Then it’s only you squeezing and her letting go. Sucks. You can tell yourself the doctors will bring her back, but they won’t. They try, but they can’t.

Havens reached for my duffel bag, but I stepped out of range. “I’ve got it.” I looked back at Geoff to see if he was laughing at me. But he was watching me with a curious expression. Probably calculating how long I would end up staying.

Not wanting to be like all the other nannies, I decided then and there to stay put, no matter what. It wasn’t for Geoff. It wasn’t for the money. And it wouldn’t matter if the twins turned out to be the brattiest kids on the entire coast of Maine. I would stay because I am
me:
headstrong, coffee loving, black clad, and as stubborn as I wanna be. I raised my chin and shifted my duffel. “Ready when you are.”