Chapter 5
MARA
I’m not sure why the other nannies and the moms don’t like me.
Ever since I first dropped Sylvie off at her private school, I’ve noticed an atmosphere.
Sour glances, little looks that make me feel about two inches small.
I wonder if it’s because of my second-hand clothes.
Livia is paying me weekly, but I need that cash to catch up on some bills.
In a few weeks, I’ll get some nice new clothes but for now these will do.
Today, as I wait for Sylvie, I decide to test it.
It’s nerve-wracking and, honestly, it bothers me.
Why should I have to make the first move with these stuck-up snobs?
But I’m also self-aware, at least, I’m becoming more self-aware.
I know enough to understand my upbringing makes me prickly sometimes.
I spot Mrs. Kim. Sylvie is in the same ballet class as her daughter, so I’ve seen her here at the school and at the dance academy. Her daughter and Sylvie seem to get on very well.
I smile as I approach. She’s alone, and she looks annoyed by that.
Her head is on a swivel as if looking for backup.
I can imagine her thinking, Oh, no, I’m stuck with the poor.
She casually shoulders a Gucci bag with a stain on it.
The stain itself is like a status symbol, as if she’s so wealthy she doesn’t have to treat her things well.
“Some weather, huh?” I say. Lame, but it’s a start.
“Oh, yes,” she replies, a smile spreading across her face. Her eyes tell a different story. She almost looks scared. Is social status that important to these people? “Bring on the fall!”
“Tell me about it,” I say. “So, how do you think the girls will do at their recital? I know Sylvie’s excited.”
“She’s incredible,” Mrs. Kim says. “The best in the class!”
That seems a bit heavy. I reevaluate my opinion in real time. Maybe she’s just anxious.
“Your daughter is very talented too,” I say.
“Well, yes, I know that,” she replies. “But Sylvana Bellandi is a true prodigy.”
I’m not sure that’s fair. Sylvie loves ballet. She’s talented. But prodigy? That seems like an overstatement. I wouldn’t say this to my sweet girl, obviously.
Mrs. Kim breathes a sigh of relief when a teacher approaches us, clearly glad for the interruption. It’s Miss Belle, I remember from the package Livia gave me. Livia wrote a note beside her name, A teacher who actually cares. What a rare thing!
She’s a well-presented woman with flawless dark skin and a tight bun. “Hi, you’re Sylvie’s nanny?”
“Hello. Mara Keene. Nice to meet you officially.”
She shakes my hand. “Would you mind if we had a talk?”
“Is Sylvie okay?” I ask quickly, concerned.
“Yes, she’s fine.”
“Okay, then. After you.”
She leads me toward the school as parents reunite with their kids all around us. I feel eyes on me, then wonder if I’m being paranoid.
“How old are you, if you don’t mind me asking?” Miss Belle asks as we walk down a corridor lined with science projects.
“Twenty-seven,” I say.
“So young!” She beams.
I don’t feel young, but I’m not going to tell her that. Growing up with so much stress and uncertainty makes me feel twice my age sometimes.
“I imagined someone older, from the way Sylvie talks about you,” she says. “I didn’t mean any offense.”
“Are you kidding? None taken.”
I wish everyone would stop being so strange toward me.
She takes me into an office.
“Sylvie is with the after-school music class. I thought that would be best while we talk?”
“Sure,” I reply, taking a seat. “What’s this about?”
“It’s nothing to be worried about, but from the way Sylvie talks about you… well, she thinks the world of you.”
“I’m very happy to hear that.”
“So I wanted to make you aware of something. As I said, it’s not a big deal. I’ve been teaching for twenty years, and in my experience—”
“Shall we cut to the chase?” I cut in.
She flinches, as if I’ve upset her. Great.
Miss Belle hands me a piece of paper. It shows a little girl with a ribbon in her hair, clearly Sylvie, standing on the left side of the page.
Then there’s scribbled blackness, huge swathes of it like she’s angry.
Shadows covering the page, and at its center…
a man, a big red heart over a clumsily drawn suit jacket.
“Do you see?” Miss Belle asks.
I see instantly. This is Sylvie saying she wants to spend more time with her father. I think about two nights ago, when he was watching me from the end of the hallway. Either that or I’m going crazy and imagined his big bulk form moving through the semidarkness.
“Sylvie only ever has good things to say about her father,” Miss Belle says. “I’m not saying… well, anything. Except this is the sort of thing I make parents aware of. Or guardians. Or nannies.”
She’s sweating visibly, beads sliding down her forehead. Maybe she thinks I’m going to snap at her again. But I can only think about Sylvie right now.
“Thank you for bringing this to my attention. It was the right thing to do.”
She smiles in relief. “Really.”
“Thank you, Miss Belle. I’ll speak to Mr. Bellandi about it.”
Her eyebrows raise. Her smile turning tight. “Yes, that sounds correct.”
I thank her again, then leave the office. I realize I don’t know where the music room is, but then I hear Sylvie singing in a high-pitched voice. It’s off-key, and it might be the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
I need to figure this out, for her. I’m not sure what to do. Do I go straight to Ettore?
Maybe I should speak with Livia first.
“It’s a drawing,” Livia says stiffly.
“I think it’s more than that,” I say, my tone pretty darn reasonable.
Livia folds her arms, looking down at the drawing on the table. We’re on the back porch as Sylvie practices ballet in the garden, giggling as she pirouettes her way through this luscious estate.
“I’ll agree there could be certain implications. If you were looking for them.”
Is she being serious? “You don’t have to look very hard,” I tell her.
She looks at me sharply. “That tone could do with some improvement.”
My head fills with rage. She’s suddenly become every bad care home worker or foster parent I ever had, the ones who seemingly chose this path in life to talk down to kids.
“So, you’re going to do nothing,” I say, keeping my voice steady.
“What do you imagine I should be doing? Sending her to the psych ward?”
My hands twitch. I want to scream. I really, really hate when people try to twist my words. It reminds me of an ex I had. I won’t even think his name.
“You could tell Ettore.”
She tilts her head. “I’m sure you mean Mr. Bellandi.”
“Yes, fine, whatever. Tell her father.”
“I’ll take it under consideration.” She turns and walks back into the house.
Yeah, right, she’s going to consider it while leaving the drawing on the table.
I sit, chewing the inside of my cheek. A bad habit. The reasonable person in me knows to take this in stride. Not make a fuss. The money, honestly, is the most important thing about this job—
No, screw that. This little girl, who needs emotional support as well as all this grandeur, is the most important.
I take out my phone and snap a picture of the drawing. Attaching it in a message to Ettore.
Mara: Your daughter drew this at school today. A teacher called it to my attention. She made it clear it’s not a big deal, but she wanted to flag it in case it was a sign she’s lonely or needs more emotional connection. Full disclosure: Livia doesn’t want me to tell you. But I’m telling you anyway.
I hit send, then pace up and down the deck, one eye on Sylvie all the while. At the edge of the property, through the rear exit, a car pulls up, discusses something with the man at the gate, then leaves. That happens all the time.
Ettore: Noted.
My temper rises again. Noted. Noted? It’s so easy for adults to dismiss the concerns of children. He’s a good dad—I’ve seen him be a good dad. But what sort of reply is that?
Mara: Your daughter isn’t a notification on your phone you can just dismiss and never think about again.
This time, after hitting send, I realize I’ve gone too far. That wasn’t justified at all. I flip my phone face down as if that will make his reply any less severe.
Sylvie jogs over, a happy smile on her face. “Did you see my dancing?”
“Very good,” I say, smiling.
“It’s easy to dance in a studio,” she replies. “Anybody can do that. But dancing in nature is like a dragon breathing fire.”