10. The Nanny
Chapter ten
The Nanny
Kira
C illian had been an early walker and an avid explorer. Before he was a year old, he was able to waddle. Now, at two years old, he could climb and swing and do things far advanced for his age. He could recite his ABCs, point out shapes, colors, and objects, and piece together the world around him.
The time had flown by. It felt like only yesterday, I held him to my naked chest for the first time, and his eyes opened, as black as midnight, as he let out a little sigh. Now he was starting to talk, to mimic, and to act like a little man.
I was an indulgent mother. How could I not be? My son was an angel.
“Ma-ma-ma-ma!” Cillian climbed up the toddler jungle gym, his little gloved hands in their green mittens, his breath coming out in steam. His golden hair peeked out from beneath his forest green beanie, as his pale skin glistened in the winter sun.
I tried to do what the books said, and stayed back to give him room to grow. The Montessori method, they called it - though it seemed like a new age thing that women with barely-spiced pumpkin coffees could latch on to to make themselves feel smugly relevant. Moms who came here every afternoon with their hair and nails neatly done, with a full face of makeup. They were well put together with large wedding rings that glinted like ice rinks on their precious fingers.
I looked at my barren hand - the one that was missing an emerald as green as the grass that had died months ago.
“Oh, there he is again!” one of the vanilla spice moms whispered too loud. .
She and two other moms, who all had the identical, highlighted beach curls, with their cream-colored cardigans and iced coffees oohed and aahed over a man jogging without a shirt up the little paved track that went around the park and playground.
Who jogged shirtless in the middle of fucking winter? Was he just working out so hard that he needed the extra cold air to cool down?
“He’s doing it for attention,” I grumbled to myself, as I pulled my arms tighter over my abdomen, trying to keep warm.
“He is so hot,” one of the women said.
“Oh, he is the have-an-affair-in-broad-daylight kind of hot!”
I followed their gaze because, as much as I hadn’t felt any attraction to a man in years, I wasn’t dead.
I could still appreciate a good looking man, even as Eoghan’s dark eyes popped into my head. That tug was still there, as strong as it had ever been. So was the small infinitesimal hope that one day, I could move on. I could have a normal life. A normal man, who could be a decent father. A man who made my heart flutter, but didn’t make my stomach flip the way he had.
“Oh my God, look at his butt!” A giggle came from the squawking moms, and then I had to look.
There he was — Aaron Jackson. Again.
Was he following me?
He was in black running pants made of a waterproof synthetic fabric that were tight around the ass, showing off a beautiful, rounded glutes, and thick thighs. Steam came off his shoulders as he jogged. Above his waist, he wore a beanie and a watch cap, and a chest full of scars. His athletic gear was the most gloriously slutty thing I had ever seen.
Well, of course, there was the beard as well. I wondered if that was keeping him warm.
How would that closely trimmed facial hair feel across a woman’s inner thigh?
I gasped, looking away from him the moment he caught my gaze. I blushed. Blushed!
When I looked back up at him, he waved, and I waved back, feeling a slight stomach flip as I was suddenly self-conscious about how I looked compared to the other women present. What was he doing here anyway? It was absolutely uncalled for!
That was silly, of course. There was nothing unusual about him being in this park. It was a quick walk to the downtown kiosk, and a small town. If he was new here, then, yes, I should get used to seeing him. I had no reason to be un friendly… did I?
The tittering bitties said something amongst themselves. I didn’t hear the words, but I could feel the sentiment. They were wondering how plain Jane me had the attention of Mister tall, dark and well-built.
I shook my head, trying to push everyone else out of my thoughts. I was here for one reason, and one reason only - for my son. I turned my attention back to him and smiled as he waddled up the steps of the little toddler gym, holding on to the little hand rail like a good boy.
He ran his gloveless hand over the numbers tacked to the plastic, brightly colored walls of the playground, counting out loud.
“Waaa, Doo, ‘Ree…” he said, his mitts running over the numbers as he went.
“Smart boy,” I laughed, pride filling my chest.
Even if he didn’t walk, count, or speak… I’d be proud. I knew that. The kid could be minimally accomplished, and I’d think he was a genius. But I could already see him growing up to be an engineer, or architect. Maybe an athlete, Olympian, or… astronaut! One day, he’d be something great. I knew it in my bones. He’d be strong and powerful.
Not the heir to the Underworld.
“You’re going to be great, one day,” I whispered, more to myself than anything.
I should have kept that an inside thought, though, because saying it out loud made the tittering hens turn their heads, their tit-length hair swishing around their shoulders. Fuck .
I could feel the competitive mom vibes.
Nothing ever made a bored, upper-middle-class mom bristle than the idea that their child wasn’t the best ever. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything at all. Not within earshot of the plastic bitches.
“You should really put a scarf on him.”
They were obviously talking to me. I had once tried to ignore them, and keep to myself, but that didn’t work. If I didn’t answer, they’d make their presence known.
“He won’t keep it on,” I said, flatly, hoping that was enough for them to leave me alone.
I didn’t need mom advice from women who put Baileys in their drive-through iced coffees.
“Well, you should make him,” she chided, giving her fellow bitties a side eye, as they nodded in agreement.
That whiny upspeak had the grating quality of being both condescending, and incredibly annoying. We weren’t in the San Fernando Valley. We were in Massachusetts. I bet their real voices didn’t find an r they didn’t drop.
“When you get him home, put him in a hot bath right away, that’ll stop him from getting sick.”
What was it with women like this telling me how to raise my kid?
“That’s not how colds work,” I said, turning to walk away, but then she tsked .
Legitimately tsked.
No one had ever tsked at Kira Kekoa. No one ever told her anything. I imagined that if I had continued as Kira Green, no one would look at me sideways without quivering in fear, as the menace I had married stared them down. I missed having someone in my corner like that. I missed someone calling me the lady of the house, and acting like a chivalrous knight.
There were days my old life just didn’t seem to fit in this skin.
Anna Jones was too much of a fucking push over, and I hated it.
“You haven’t been a nanny very long, have you?” she said, with a shake of her head as if she was doing me a favor.
I stared at her, and blinked. The head Jessica-Tiffany-Ashley Pumpkin tossed her hair then pursed her lips with a smug little expression, as if I was nothing but a peasant in her midst.
She could go fuck right off.
“Actually, I found him in a cart at the grocery store,” I said, just to wipe that smug idiocy off of her botoxed face. “I’m not even sure what his name is.”
She soured, like a grape that had been ignored in the sun.
I turned back to Cillian, assuming that would be it. They tittered, probably baffled by my sarcasm.
It was always the fucking same. If you weren’t exotic the way they wanted you to be, an exotic that elevated them to a position of “taste”, then you were nothing.
The exoticness that the upper class had seen in me when I walked them through art museums made me seem rare and knowledgeable about Hawaiian beliefs, as part of their pathetic search for meaning in religions that their own pigment didn't start. How many white people had quoted their bizarre-o sense of what ho'oponopono was, attaching the recitation of some bullshit English prayer about forgiveness, thanks and love?
Just recite some sounds, and follow the white gurus with their singing bowls, and ohms , and you’d find enlightenment over your other smug friends…
As long as people like me never talked back to them.
“I’m here to report a kidnapping.” The words from Miss Pumpkin pulled me from my thoughts, as my head snapped to glare at her.
What did that bitch just say?
“Yes, she said she took him from a shopping cart.”
Was she fucking serious?
It was definitely time to scram.
“Come on, Cillian.”
He didn't want to go. He wasn’t done counting and looking at the numbers. He loved counting. He loved seeing numbers in the wild, and saying them one by one.
“No! I’m not overreacting, you need to get here now,” Vanilla Pumpkin whispered harshly into the phone.
“Yup, definitely time to go,” I said, as my son fussed in my arms.
He kicked, trying to squirm out but I held him close. I kissed him and he settled, never one to deny a cuddle when it was offered to him. He put his cold gloves on my cheek and we nuzzled noses.
“The kid obviously doesn’t know her…” Pumpkin kept on chirping, as her friends seemed to bob their heads in agreement - as if the dispatcher could fucking see them. Idiots.
If I was still Kira Green, I would have stood my ground. But Anna Jones couldn’t. Anna Jones was weak. She was typical.
Bitches . All of them were fucking bitches.
As I got up, the head pumpkin followed me, as she directed one of her minions to watch her brat who was eating wood chips off the ground.
The cop came fast - certainly faster than they had to. They came with sirens blaring, surrounding me as I tried to step towards my car.
“Ma’am?” A cop stepped out of the black and white car, one hand on his gun, and the other out towards me like I was a lion that escaped the zoo.
“Shit,” I said under my breath.
“Shi’!” my son mimicked, as I cursed myself.
I could not get arrested. Not as Anna Jones. My cover was good, but it wasn’t that good. My fingerprints were still what they were, and if Paradigm didn’t get to it in time, my real name would get flagged. It would only be a matter of time before I was found.
“Ma’am, is that your son?” he said, with a brow lifted, already believing that he was not my baby. “Do you two have some form of ID?”
“Of course, I do.” I rolled my eyes. “He doesn’t. Or do you think two olds have driver’s licenses?”
A second car careened up, stopping with one wheel on the pavement. Another man came out, hand on his gun as well.
“She said that she found him in a cart and it’s not her son!” Tiffany-Karen-bitch said, as she yelled at the cops, that smarmy look on her face made me wince.
One moment of sarcasm and now my kid would go with child protective services… or worse, he’d go into Eoghan’s care. All for the sin of not looking like his mother.
Fuck. Fuck!
“Want to do a DNA test?” I said, irritated. “That bitch assumed I was his nanny!”
In this day and age, there was no excuse for that.
I looked at her, the woman who was hell-bent on having my child taken from me for the sin of not sharing her complexion, and gritted out, “You’ve seen us here before. You’ve seen us come here for over a year!”
I wanted to spit in her face.
The cop looked at me, obviously bristling at the implication. Thank God we lived in Massachusetts, and not in another state where the silent part would be seen as a challenge.
“Ma’am,” the policeman said, suddenly slightly placated, having made a strange assessment of the kid who had his arms wrapped tightly around my neck. “Listen, do you know anyone who could vouch for you?”
No. No, I didn’t. I had no one.
No family. Magda was probably home but I couldn’t bring her into this. I couldn’t risk her knowing that I might ping a different name. If she knew my real name, then she’d be under threat as well. God knows what Eoghan might do to get information on me.
“It’s just me,” I said, helplessly.
“Because she’s lying!” Tiffany-cunt-bitch said.
I rolled my eyes. The slightly perturbed police officer, who had swung in thinking he was a hero, was now in the middle of two women fighting over a baby. He was definitely no King Solomon, able to dole out wisdom.
“He’s my son,” I said.
As if to back me up, my sweet Cillian nuzzled his face into my neck, whispering, “Mama.”
The police officer looked annoyed. Almost scared, especially when he looked around and saw all the phones that were out, pointing at us. I tried to shield my son, turning my backs against those vultures. I was shielding myself too.
“If no one can vouch for you, ma’am, I’ll have to bring you down to the station until we’re sure.” His shoulders slumped. “You understand, don’t you?”
No. I didn’t understand.
I didn’t understand at all.
If I went to the station, I’d have to send up a flare. I’d need to contact the emergency line, and feed them the code word. Trinity .
Then we’d all be truly fucked.
“If I accused her kid of not being hers, would you bring her in too?” I asked, looking at Cunt-Face whose kid was one of the rugrats swinging near the sandpit, paying her no mind.
The look on the cops face was helpless. Downright helpless.
Because we both knew the answer and there was no justice in it.
I would get taken in, but she wouldn’t. Because her child looked like her. While mine looked like his pale, golden-haired father. Beautiful, but so different from me. A carbon copy of the devil of New York City. He wouldn’t need a DNA test to verify that.
“I can vouch for her!” A voice called, as a flannel came barreling up. He had a cigarette in his hand, and he put it out on the nearby trash can, before dumping it inside. “That’s her son.”
He’d put on a tight fleece jacket, that did nothing to hide his gorgeous body. Broad shoulders, slim waist, defined, square pecs, and abs that would make any woman weak in the knees.
I stared into the blue-flecked eyes of Aaron Jackson, striding in like a fucking hero. His crooked smile, emphasized by his crooked nose, gave him a devilish appearance as he gracefully gave me a wink, before he extended his open palm to the police officer.
“Come with me, officer…” He looked down at the man’s name badge, and smirked. “Doherty. Irish, yes?”
The officer nodded, lifting a single brow.
Again, I shivered. Irish. Irish. Irish like…
I wasn’t naive enough to think that every Irishman was related to the man I’d abandoned. But the threat was still there. What would you do if you found us? Would you take Cillian from me?
“Let’s have a chat.” Aaron Jackson passed me with a wink, placing his hand on the cop’s arm and turning him back towards his black and white cop car. “I’m sure we can resolve this.”
I watched helplessly, as my sweet boy tried to squirm out of my hold by turning himself into a stiff straight line, straightening his legs until I had to let him go. I ran after him, as he took interest in a nearby bush, its red berries catching his eye.
As I kept Cillian from eating the unidentified - and most likely poisonous to babies - berries, I kept a wary eye on Mr. Aaron Jackson and his uniformed conversation partners. Ash-Tiff-bitch-face and her friends had their phones out, still filming as if they had done nothing wrong. Shameless.
I wondered how long it would take before I could finally get the fuck out of here.
Aaron slipped something from his pocket, showing it to the cop, whose eyes widened, before he nodded. With a signal to the other cop that loitered by his car, the two left without a word.
Whatever Aaron had shown them was put back in his inner pocket, and Tiffany hmmed with dissatisfaction.
I overheard Aaron say, “Just a misunderstanding.”
With that, he seemed to dismiss the officer of the law, and returned to my side.
When Aaron turned to me, his face was calm. Serene, even. Or maybe that was me. Maybe I was projecting because I was so grateful. I could kiss the plump lower lip that smiled under the coppery beard. My heart leapt as his sparkling brown-green eyes looked at me, then dipped down to my lips. It was brief, but it was there. I bit my lower lip, looking down as my son came to wrap his hands around my thigh.
“Hey, little man,” Aaron’s eyes widened, his mouth gaping open.
“Monster!” Cillian said, pointing his fingers up to the man who I owed my life to.
“I’m so sorry,” I said, taking his hand in mine and pulling it toward me. “It’s a compliment, I swear. He likes monsters.”
Aaron didn’t take his eyes off of Cillian, as if he’d never seen a child before.
“He looks like you,” Aaron finally said, when his eyes came back up to me. “Beautiful.”
My heart leapt. No one had ever said my son looked like me. But he meant it. There was no deception in his expression. He truly did believe that Cillian looked at me.
“You two have a nice day,” Aaron said, smiling at me, then at my son. “No one will bother you from now on.”
“What did you just say to them?” I asked, not sorry in the least for Tiffany being in some kind of panic, but also not sure how scared I should be of this man. “Are you a cop too?”
How ironic would that be? After years of deception, and living among the mafia, a cop comes into my life.
“No, I’m not,” Aaron said, with a small shrug. “I know a lot of cops, though.”
I could feel Aaron’s gaze on the side of my face, his hands buried in his jacket pocket.
“How old is he?” he asked, nodding towards my boy, who was nuzzled at my neck, apparently as exhausted by today’s events as I was.
“He’s two years old.”
“Well, he’s a giant!” There was a sadness in his voice that cracked my heart. “I’m guessing he didn’t get that height from you.”
I laughed, because now that I had given up my high heels, I stood maybe five foot four, though pregnancy seemed to have made me shorter.
“Independent little thing, isn’t he?” said Aaron. “I was watching you in the playground. Not in a creepy way.” If I had wanted to think of him as a creep, the playful wink would have made all of that fade away. “But you two were the most interesting thing in the park. He seemed quite… self-sufficient.”
“Yes,” I admitted. “It’s tragic, really.”
“Tragic?” he lifted a thick, brown eyebrow and I shrugged.
“The tragedy of motherhood is that the moment you give birth to them is the moment you start losing them.”
He looked perplexed by that. “Say more.”
“When he was a baby, I was all that he could see when I held him and fed him.” I remembered those glorious early years. They were exhausting. But now, my womb ached at the memories of all the moments I had not loved as much as I should have. The time when I had been his everything. “Everything he tasted and touched was up to me. Then he walks and talks. He sees other people, develops other relationships. Bit by bit, I become less important. One day, he’ll stop thinking of me when he thinks of his family. He’ll envision a spouse, a child of his own, and I will become extended family.”
That was a feeling that built in the pit of my stomach - the knowledge that I’d become irrelevant to the person I loved more than anything in the world.
“He’ll always be my baby,” I sighed. “But I will become less and less until, eventually, he’ll be able to live without me. And I will never live without him.”
Aaron gave a solemn nod. He almost looked sad, as he gave my son one final glance and said, “It’s tragic, when affection isn’t returned.”
There was a wound in his eyes, coupled with a fast downturn of his lips. But in a blink, it was gone.
“I’m sorry if you’ve felt that way,” I said, with genuine remorse. “That must be painful.”
“Well.” He shrugged, and smiled. “It is what it is.”
I wanted to reach out to him, and to touch his beard. I wanted to place my hand over his heart and look into his eyes. But that wasn’t possible with Cillian here. Not when one part of me always had to be on him, and what mischief toddlers can get up to.
The image of Eoghan flashed in my head. Him and the Vasilieva woman - tall, Amazonian, and every bit a queen he could admire.
I heard myself say, “Do you want to get dinner sometime?”
I felt my eyes widen, as the words surprised even me.
“I mean, maybe a coffee?”
His eyes widened, and then brightened like the sun peaking through clouds.
“I’d love that,” he said, his smile big and bright, and I couldn’t help but smile back.
His expression and happiness was contagious. Even Cillian seemed affected by it. Maybe this was what I really needed. Someone who was more sunshine than darkness. Maybe it would be okay, after all, to move on.
“Great, I’ll…” But the lump in my throat choked me before I could ask for anything more. “I’ll see you around.”