People under stress can benefit from doing something familiar.
Carrie highlighted the passage in her book and closed it. With a deep breath, she set it on the passenger seat of the car next to a half-empty box of candy canes she’d bought at a border store between North Carolina and Virginia on her way to her new nanny position.
Growing up in a small town in North Carolina, Carrie’s life had been very predictable. She’d gone to school with friends in her neighborhood, and every afternoon—even on the coldest days—her mother had waited on the swing of their long front porch for her to get off the bus. When it was snowing—like it was now—she and her parents went sleigh riding down the big hill in her front yard, and afterward, her father brought in logs from the back porch and started a fire in their stone fireplace to warm them up. She and her friends would sit in front of the flickering flames, legs stretched out, their fuzzy socks all in a row while her mother divvied out mugs of hot cocoa. She never tired of it. She relished the warm memories.
And now Carrie sat in her car, far away from all that was familiar. She’d taken this job in Virginia because her new boss, Adam Fletcher, had offered her a job she couldn’t refuse. And the position was temporary, only lasting through New Year’s. Even though she hadn’t planned to continue on as a caregiver, Carrie had decided that this would be her last nanny job before moving on to something else.
The snow was coming down all around her, and she could feel the chill of winter slipping into the car. The sky was a seamless white, blurring with the snow-covered ground. All the houses on this street were brick, their red and brown surfaces the only color against the blank canvas of snow. Even the street was covered, and snowflakes were falling so quickly that they hid the tire tracks nearly as fast as passing cars could create them. Carrie allowed the white expanse through her windshield and the quiet scene outside to calm her, just as her cell phone lit up on the seat, the ringtone shrill against the surrounding silence. She grabbed it before she’d even looked at the number.
“Hello?” she said, closing her eyes and cringing because she’d been impulsive in answering—she only had a few minutes left before she had to be on the Fletchers’ doorstep. Trying to rush someone off the phone would only frazzle her, and she didn’t want to be frazzled on day one.
“Hi. Is this Carrie Blake?”
“Yes.”
“It’s Adam Fletcher.”
She sat up straight, every inch of her body on high alert. Adam, her new boss, had an authoritative voice, the kind that made her want to put her best foot forward, the kind that made her overanalyze every single word that came out of her mouth just to be sure she’d made a good impression. He was also in the house right beside her.
“Hello,” she said, not knowing what to say next.
“Is that you outside, sitting in your car?”
She didn’t want to look over at the house for fear that she’d make eye contact with him through a window. She’d been sitting outside for the last five minutes, waiting for her watch to tick over to four thirty, when he’d asked her to come by. She’d driven there in enough time to give herself a few minutes to spare. She’d sat in her car, reading her most recent purchase: How to Overcome Life’s Little Worries.
“I was waiting for four thirty,” she said honestly.
“Well, it’s freezing. Please hang up and come in.”
“Okay… Bye.” She clicked off her phone and dropped it into her handbag. How ridiculous must she look sitting outside in the car? Had he seen her reading, catching the drips on her coffee cup with her bottom lip as they slid underneath the lid?
The snow was falling so hard that it was coming down sideways, landing the size of quarters onto her car, and collecting in large quantities at the base of her windshield. Carrie pulled her coat up around her chin and turned the engine off. With her hands wrapped around her coffee cup, she drank the last sip as she looked across the wide, snow-filled yard to the house that would be her residence for the upcoming weeks.
The Fletcher house was easily in the multi-million-dollar range. Houses in this part of Richmond weren’t cheap, and this one had to be somewhere at the top of the list. The whole thing was painted brick—white like the snow—which set it apart from the other homes nearby. It had wings on each side, and, as she squinted to see through the precipitation, it looked like an original slate roof. The house was in the city, but outside of the downtown area enough that it had a yard and sidewalks lined with trees. The road snaked alongside the James River like an old friend, bending and turning just the same. She’d never worked in a home this grand before.
Adam Fletcher had seemed a bit formal when they’d spoken, but pleasant, and had given her no indication that he was so wealthy. Why would he, though? she thought. She wasn’t even inside yet and her hands were jittering.
Getting coffee had been her “something familiar” that her book had suggested would ease her nerves. Since she’d arrived in Richmond earlier than expected, she’d driven through the city, squeezing down narrow side streets and following the small city blocks until she’d found a coffee shop. Even with the time she’d spent trying to get a parking spot, when half the parallel spots were full of plowed snow, she’d been able to stop for a cup of coffee. It was an unfussy little shop with burlap bags of coffee against the counter, the whole place smelling of roasted beans. There were a few quaint wooden tables and chairs nestled in the corner against a chalkboard full of pastel lettering. Noticing the time, she’d taken her coffee to go. The coffee hadn’t helped to calm her, though. Perhaps she hadn’t picked the right familiar thing to do.
When it came to her personal life, Carrie felt as though she could never quite get it right. And this time of year was always the worst. At Christmas, when everyone spent time with their families, she either spent her days working, or she went home to her mother and father. While she loved her parents dearly, she longed to have her own family to come home to. She wanted children, a loving husband—a family with whom she could make new memories as perfect as those of her childhood. She wanted a giant Christmas tree and stockings on the fireplace, to make cookies for Santa, and catch her kids peeking at the presents under the tree. But as the years went by, she just didn’t know how to achieve what she wanted.
Ten years ago, when she was twenty-three, Carrie had graduated with an early childhood degree and jumped right into her first job quickly. She found that she was fairly successful as a live-in nanny, and she enjoyed it, so that was what she’d spent the past decade doing. She’d taken the kids to the park in the summer, eating picnic lunches on blankets, flying kites in the breeze. She’d taken them ice-skating at the outdoor rinks, laughing with them as they attempted to stand, looking like Bambi on ice, their little legs slipping out from under them. She’d made muffins for breakfast with the children and homemade bread for dinner. She’d painted, constructed, colored, and cut—each creation so unique and perfect that she struggled to take it off the refrigerator when it got old. She loved being a nanny. But because of the job she hadn’t dated anyone seriously, and she hadn’t been able to learn who she wanted to be.
Carrie had read enough self-help books to know that she wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t sure exactly how to change that. What she did know was that if she ever wanted to have her own life, and the possibility of her own family, she’d have to eventually find a job that had regular hours, where she could work with people over the age of five and come home at a decent time. She’d gotten college course catalogs from some of the colleges back home, and she’d leafed through a few of them, but she hadn’t found what she wanted to do.
There wasn’t anyone she could talk to about her predicament. Her parents, while supportive, just told her to choose something else and do it. Neither of them had jobs they loved, and they said that she may have to settle on something like they had. But she didn’t want to settle. She moved around so much as she changed jobs that she lost touch with a lot of her college friends and she hadn’t really made any new friends. It all left her feeling lost.
This was to be her last job, and then, if she didn’t find something else she really wanted to do, she would just have to choose something. But right now, it was time to face her new family. She opened the door and stepped into the frigid air. The wind blew at her in frosty gusts, slithering down her coat collar despite her new striped scarf. She lumped a few things into her handbag, pulled it close to her body for extra warmth, and trudged across the yard, her head down to keep the snow out of her face.
She clomped her way through the snow until she reached the landing. Sitting at the top of three very wide brick steps was a black door as shiny as the house’s shutters, with a brass knocker in the center. On either side, a row of single windowpanes stretched from the top of the door all the way down to the porch. The light was on inside. Before she could even ring the bell, she could make out a shadow behind the curtain and she heard footsteps getting closer.
The door opened.
Carrie blinked over and over to steady herself as she stood in front of Adam Fletcher.
He was definitely easy on the eyes. His dark blond hair looked as though he’d just run his fingers through it, and he was wearing a thick sweater with a collar, jeans, and loafers, a watch the size of Texas that looked more expensive than any she’d ever seen in real life peeking out from under his sleeve. His lips were pressed into a pleasant expression, and his eyes, as blue as ocean waves, were looking straight at her… Waiting for her to say something? Should she speak first?
“Hello,” he said, before she could get her thoughts straight. He reached out for a handshake. “Adam. Adam Fletcher. Nice to meet you.”
“Hi,” she said, clasping his hand. She could feel the warmth through her glove. She’d never read up on how to handle a handsome boss before. As she was mentally adding it to her list of books to find, she realized that she hadn’t said anything more than “hi,” so she quickly added “I’m Carrie Blake. It’s nice to meet you.” He just said “Nice to meet you.” Ugh! she thought. She squared her shoulders, smiled, and nodded like her book had said.
It’s often helpful to find healthy distractions.
Somehow, she didn’t think that Adam Fletcher was the kind of distraction her book had in mind but this situation was definitely occupying her thoughts. In her past positions, Carrie had usually dealt with mothers. They’d all fit a general description: working mother, trying to meet the demands of business while also raising children, pulling long hours. She was used to walking around in her pajamas in the mornings and getting herself breakfast before she’d even gotten ready for the day. What would it be like sharing a house with a man? He’d said on the phone that he was a single dad, but it hadn’t sunk in until now. She had a feeling that this may take her a bit of getting used to.
Adam ushered her inside, shutting the door behind her, and Carrie took in the entryway. The floor was some sort of marble that stretched up the curving staircase. She gazed up the dark wood banister all the way to the balcony, where she reached an enormous chandelier, two stories up. It was an explosion of wrought iron in the shape of leaves and branches that stretched up to teardrop-shaped light bulbs, their light most likely on a dimmer switch because they were almost flickering. Back on the first floor, an entryway table stood against the side of the staircase, and on it was an iron lamp that sent a buttery yellow light around the room. And beside the lamp, sat a heavy silver frame, containing a photo of two babies with wispy hair and milky skin, both dressed in white linen outfits. One was a bibbed overall and the other was a little dress with white smocking across the front.
“Ah,” he said, causing her to shift her focus over to him. “Those are the twins, David and Olivia. They’re older now—four—as I mentioned when we spoke on the phone.”
She turned back to the picture. Looking at their little faces, the dimple on the boy’s right cheek, the blue of the girl’s eyes behind her long eyelashes, it melted her nerves away. As she took in the photos, it occurred to her that there weren’t any Christmas decorations in the house, and she wondered if they didn’t celebrate.
Carrie couldn’t imagine not celebrating Christmas with kids—it was her favorite holiday. Nothing compared to their faces lighting up with the magic of the season. Seeing them under the lights of the Christmas tree, reading stories in their pajamas, and leaving cookies on a plate with a cup of milk for Santa Claus, watching them unwrap presents in a wild, ripping frenzy, as if they couldn’t get to the inside fast enough. She loved the Christmases she could spend with children, and she always felt a little cheated when she was given time off. Suddenly, Carrie wanted to see the Fletcher kids right away; she could hardly wait to introduce herself.
“The children are in the playroom. Would you like to meet them?” Adam said as if reading her mind. “Then we can chat about the specifics of the position.” He opened a door in the hallway and pulled out a wooden hanger that matched all the others in the closet. “May I take your coat?”
Carrie shrugged it off and handed it to him along with her scarf and gloves. She caught herself wondering if her outfit was professional enough. Did she have scuffs on her shoes? They were surely wet and discolored from the snow outside. What must her hair look like covered in melting snow? She tucked it behind her ear. She’d never worried about how she looked before. Usually, she was covered in spit-up, cloth diapers draped on her shoulders, sock feet.
Adam’s demeanor dripped with confidence. He had a way about him that seemed strong and self-assured—she didn’t know if it was his walk or the way he held his shoulders, but she could sense it just by looking at him.
“The playroom is this way.” He pointed down the hallway. “It’s Natalie’s last day with us. She’s found a full-time position,” he said, smiling cordially in Carrie’s direction. “You’ll be taking over tomorrow.” He looked down at her, causing a little flutter.
They arrived at the door, and Carrie had to stifle a gasp as she peered inside. It looked like something out of a storybook. Every toy was neatly displayed on dark wood library shelves that stretched the height of the ceiling, a rolling ladder poised on a track that circled the room. There were rocking horses that resembled the ones on a carousel, enormous foam blocks in one corner, an art table bigger than her car. A young woman she assumed was Natalie sat on the floor beside the kids as she delicately balanced a wooden cube on the top of a tower of multicolored blocks. Her dark, shiny hair was pulled back into a perfect ponytail at the back of her neck, every strand in place. She had a gentle but controlled expression.
Next to her, a little boy was dressed in a tiny pair of jeans, with socks that matched the red of his sweater. His hair was dark blond like his daddy’s, and curled around his ears. He had big gray eyes and a round face. His brows were furrowed in concentration as he steadied a wobbling block. He tried to keep it from falling, and by accident knocked it off. Carrie could see the tension in his shoulders as he blew air out of his thin pink lips. He picked the block up off the floor and studied the tower to find a better spot. Carrie noticed the tight grip he had around the block, the way his toes moved inside his socks as he focused on the tower, and she thought that the little boy seemed to be carrying a lot of worry. She understood about worry.
The little girl walked over to Carrie, grabbed her hands and smiled, revealing a row of white, perfectly shaped teeth. Then, as quickly as she’d come over, she went back to the tower. Her hair was slightly lighter than her brother’s, the golden strands bringing out the blue of her eyes. She had a heart-shaped face and a little pout that twitched as she balanced her block. When the blocks were all placed on their tower, the little girl turned to Carrie. “Hello,” she said in a high-pitched voice, as she played with the hem of her dress, showing her tights underneath. “I’m Olivia.”
“Hi,” Carrie said to her, unable to control her smile. Olivia’s hair had been pulled into a ponytail, tufts of curls escaping it, sending little flyaways toward her face. She pushed them out of her eyes with the palms of her hands, her little nails painted a sparkly pink. Olivia’s dress was navy blue with an embroidery pattern at the top like the one in the picture downstairs, but this pattern was the same light blue as her tights. Her navy shoes had petite silver buckles that shone as her feet pattered along the rug.
Natalie looked up too and smiled. “Hello,” she said. “You must be Carrie.” She stood to greet her.
“I’ll leave you now,” Adam said, stepping back through the doorway. “Natalie, if you don’t mind, just lead Carrie to my office when you’re done showing her around the playroom.” As he walked out, Carrie wished he would stay. It was such a surprising feeling to have, but he had a quality about him that made her want to know more. With his quiet nature, he came off a little mysterious.
Just before Adam left, Carrie saw him smile at his children, but she noticed they hadn’t run to him. They hadn’t lit up when they’d seen him, and there was something distant about their encounter. In fact, as he exited, they stood quietly, their faces still and calm, their hands unmoving, their tiny feet planted in that spot. It rattled her. She’d never witnessed children who were so reserved, so careful about how they interacted with their own parent. While he was direct and no-nonsense, Adam didn’t seem scary or worrying at all, so it was strange to her that the children would act that way toward him.
He shut the door, and the children continued to watch her, as Carrie sat down cross-legged on the giant burgundy and spruce-colored rug. “What are you playing?” she asked the kids but instead of answering, the children looked at Natalie.
“Blocks.” Natalie smiled.
“What’s the game?”
“Oh, there wasn’t a game. We were just building.”
The lone towers of single blocks stood in the center of the rug, all the other toys tucked away in their places. It was clear that Natalie’s style of childrearing was different to hers. Natalie had a quietness about her, a rigidity that was clear just by watching the way she interacted with the children. She seemed pleasant and caring, but by the look of the tower and the toys surrounding them, she wasn’t the type to get down on her hands and knees and ride them around on her back or toss them into the air just to make them laugh. Carrie wondered if her style of childcare would fit in this house. There were more blocks in the bucket, so she reached in and pulled one out.
“Where should I put it?” she asked the little boy, David. What she wanted to do was pull out the bin of cars, build a parking garage, perhaps make a drive-in theater, and act out a story. Or she could see if the kids could build towers as tall as themselves and then pretend to be monsters and knock them down. She had all kinds of ideas, but she had to tread lightly. This wasn’t her job yet. She turned to David, who was clearly shy in her presence, and handed him the block. “Why don’t you do it for me? Do you think you can balance it?”
He seemed unsure. Olivia leaned over to him, her fingernails glittering in the lamplight, and whispered, “Put it there, David,” pointing to an open spot next . . .
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