The Sitter Read online

“Oh, wow. Clay again?”

  “You guessed it. He called me twice last night. He’s really starting to piss me off. Listen to this. He called my mother and got my address out here.”

  “Oh, good. Thanks, Mom.”

  “Well, it’s not her fault. She doesn’t know what’s going on. But I—”

  “Why did you go out with Clay in the first place, Ellie? Pardon me for asking, but have you always had such rotten taste in men? I mean, hel-lo. He’s a fucking tax accountant.”

  “You want to know the real reason? This is the honest truth, Teresa. Why I went out with Clay. He can juggle.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “He can juggle. He’s a tax accountant who can juggle. Don’t you see?”

  “No.”

  “He had something special. He wasn’t ordinary. At least, that’s what I thought. He . . . I don’t know how to say it. He had another dimension.”

  “A juggling dimension?”

  “Will you give me a break? You’re so not funny. It’s what I always wanted, Teresa. Instead of just being me. ‘There’s Ellie. What you see is what you get.’ My sister, Wendy, was always off being a superstar. And there I was, just being me. I always wanted another dimension, too. I wanted to be me who also did something else, something surprising, something terrific.”

  “Wow. This is getting heavy. It still doesn’t explain Clay.”

  “He was so much fun when we first started going together. And he was cute. Really. Like a big teddy bear. But now—”

  “Bears can be dangerous, Ellie. Don’t you watch the Discovery Channel?”

  “Well, I’m going to change my number in town. And—”

  “And if he follows you to the Hamptons, you’ve got to tell the police.”

  “I made it really clear to him on the phone last night. I really don’t think he’ll follow me out here.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. Definitely. I’m sure,” I said. And I wondered if I sounded as phony on her end of the line as I did on my own.

  “You just have to remember that the bay is to the north and the ocean is south. There’s only one main highway that cuts through—twenty-seven. So you can’t really get lost. If you hit water, turn around, and you’ll end up back on twenty-seven.”

  I knew Abby meant to be helpful, but the instructions didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. I guess I must have looked confused, because she put her hand on my shoulder and said, “I’m really sorry, Ellie. I wish I could go with you and show you around. But I have to drop the kids off and take the Porsche in to be serviced and—”

  “No problem,” I said, waving the map. “As long as I’ve got this, I’ll be fine. I’m a good map reader. Really. When my family went on long car trips, I was always the navigator.”

  I climbed into the white Taurus. Mmmm. It still had its new-car smell. I hadn’t driven a car even once in the year I’d lived in the city, and it felt good to be behind the wheel again.

  And I was very pleased when, ten minutes later, I was rolling the car through Main Street in Southampton, with its small shops and restaurants on both sides.

  I’d been here two Sundays ago for my thrilling interview at Country Modes. But I hadn’t had time to look around.

  This must be a movie set for a chic little beach town, I thought. If I look behind the stores, I’ll see that it’s all fake fronts.

  I passed a Saks Fifth Avenue, across the street from a couple of antiques stores. The sidewalks were crowded with shoppers and casual strollers. I passed a bookstore, a fudge store, several jewelry stores. I wondered, do people really come out to the beach and go jewelry shopping?

  I pulled into a parking spot in front of an old-fashioned-looking hardware store. There were black Mercedes parked on both sides of me. Glancing down the row of cars, I saw Mercedes, Jaguars, a few Range Rovers, lots of other expensive SUVs.

  Hildreth’s Department Store stood a few stores down from the hardware store. Abby told me it was maybe the oldest department store in the country, from like the 1800s. English people started settling Southampton in the 1690s. I guess they couldn’t resist the beautiful beaches, either.

  The little department store looked friendly and inviting, the way I’d pictured old-fashioned shops. I stopped to look into the big display windows in front. Talk about a time warp—canopy beds and bolts of cloth and brightly patterned curtains.

  People strolled by in shorts and T-shirts and sandals. A young man walking a gray standard poodle stopped to talk to two girls wearing Wesleyan sweatshirts. The girls fawned over the dog and pretty much ignored the guy.

  It was a warm day for the beginning of June. But suddenly, I felt a chill. The back of my neck prickled.

  I spun around. Why did I feel that someone was watching me?

  Shielding my eyes from the sun with one hand, I glanced up and down the street. Such a strange feeling. It came over me so quickly, like a warning.

  But no one seemed to be paying any attention to me.

  I climbed the wooden steps and pulled open the windowed front door. A bell rang above the door.

  I pushed through the kitchen housewares department jammed with people outfitting their summer homes. I wandered toward the back of the store. Again, the hairs on the back of my neck tingled.

  That feeling again.

  I spun around, my eyes surveying the crowd of shoppers. No one watching me.

  I took a deep breath to calm myself. Ellie, what is your problem?

  I found the linens department near the back.

  Abby had ordered some sheets and pillowcases over the phone and wanted me to pick them up. I went to the register at the back desk and looked around for someone to help me.

  In the aisle across from me, a platinum blond woman in black tights and a silvery sweater-top—maybe the skinniest woman I’d ever seen!—held up an orange-and-yellow throw pillow. “Do you have one that isn’t stained?” she was calling across the store. “Do you have two that aren’t stained?”

  I sighed and leaned against the counter. This could be a long morning. I saw dozens of shoppers and only two salesgirls.

  “Oh!” I jumped as a hard, cold hand grabbed my wrist.

  “Hello. I’ve been looking for you.”

  13

  I turned quickly—and found myself staring at an elderly woman. Her round face was very pale, her white hair piled up in a tight bun. She wore square glasses with very thick lenses that caught the light from the ceiling and made her pale blue eyes look enormous.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” she repeated. Her voice was smooth and somehow younger than her appearance. She wore a navy blue jumper, a lacy white blouse with a red, jeweled flower pin on the collar, and a blue-and-yellow-striped scarf around her neck.

  I squinted at her. Her face was powdery, etched with deep cracks and crevices. But her eyes were wide and alert, piercing. She didn’t blink.

  “Excuse me?” I said. She was standing too close, invading my space. I could smell onions on her breath. I took a step back.

  She grabbed my arm again with those hard, bony fingers. “You’re the Harpers’ new nanny.”

  “Well . . . yes. Yes, I am.” I took another step back. “Uh . . . why have you been looking for me?”

  A dry-lipped smile stretched slowly over her craggy face. I thought of craters on the moon, so dry and pale and sandy.

  “I’m the old nanny,” she said, blue eyes flashing behind the thick glasses. “That’s me. Mrs. Bricker. The old nanny.”

  “Really?”

  She pulled my arm. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “Come, let’s have a chat. What’s your name? I’ve been watching for you. I want to tell you some things.”

  “Things?” I pulled free. “I’m really sorry. I—I can’t. I have too many chores. I just arrived and—”

  Her eyes narrowed. Her smile faded quickly. The powdery face seemed to grow hard, like cement drying fast. “Listen to me. I’m trying to help you, dear.”

  �
��Help me?”

  “Yes. I’m Mrs. Bricker, the old baby-sitter. I came to help you. I know things.”

  I stared hard at her. Was she crazy? Totally whacked?

  “Things? What kind of things?”

  “Find another job.”

  “Huh?”

  “It isn’t safe there, dear. Listen to me. I know what I’m saying.”

  I took a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Bricker. I really don’t understand. You’re telling me it isn’t safe at the Harpers’ house?”

  She straightened the scarf with her bony fingers. Her chin quivered. The unblinking blue eyes locked on mine. “Listen to me. Get away from the boy. Stay away from him. I know. I know. It’s in the guest house. The guest house. Get away now. Now!”

  14

  I didn’t sleep well that night. The crisp, new bedsheets were scratchy. The pillow was too hard. I kept kicking the quilt onto the floor.

  But I knew the bed wasn’t the problem. It was just being in a new place, in an unfamiliar room, with a family that wasn’t mine.

  A little after two in the morning, I climbed out of bed and walked to the window. I could hear the steady wash of the ocean waves beyond the dunes. A soft, cool wind fluttered the curtains beside me.

  I leaned out and peered down to the backyard. A haze covered the pale half moon. The sky was an eerie yellow, and there were no stars. The tall grass on the dune rustled in the wind.

  Yawning, I shut my eyes and let the cool, salty air caress my face. Relax, Ellie. Listen to the waves; feel that soft air. Let it relax you.

  But when I opened my eyes, I gasped. I gazed down, openmouthed, as a figure floated into view from the pine trees at the top of the dune.

  Who’s out there?

  I leaned farther out the bedroom window, squinting into the darkness. Bathed in the hazy moonlight, the figure moved slowly closer.

  A man.

  Walking toward the house.

  No. A boy.

  As he floated closer, head down, I saw dark hair. A long coat, a raincoat, too long, trailing behind him on the ground.

  He stopped suddenly, in the middle of the yard, the tall grass blowing around his ankles, and raised his face to the house.

  Brandon?

  Outside at two in the morning?

  Has he totally lost it?

  Shivering, I pulled my head in. I tugged down my long nightshirt with both hands, turned, and ran barefoot out of my room.

  Down the hall, with my hands clenching and unclenching at my sides. I bumped hard into a little table against the balcony wall, invisible in the dark. “Ow!”

  Pain shot up my side. Ignoring it, I crept silently down the stairs, holding on to the slender railing. A square of yellow moonlight spread over the living-room floor.

  I turned and headed through the kitchen, alert now to every sound. The hum of the refrigerator. The clink of the ice maker beside it. The faint whistle of wind around the side of the house.

  I turned the lock on the kitchen door, pulled the door open, and stepped onto the deck. Into the night air, cool and wet. A sudden explosion of noise—the chirp of a thousand crickets.

  The deck felt cold under my bare feet. I hurried to the railing and peered through the milky light.

  My voice came out in a choked whisper, “Brandon? Are you out here?”

  Below the deck, a hedge of rhododendrons shivered and shook. The patches of tall grass in the yard shifted one way, then the other. The symphony of crickets grew louder.

  The whole yard is alive, I thought.

  But where’s Brandon?

  My eyes searched the darkness. No one there now.

  “Brandon—are you hiding from me?”

  I waited a few seconds. Watching. Listening. The only sound: the harsh grating of the crickets, all around me, warning me to keep away. Finally, I swung away from the deck railing and ran back into the kitchen. Still shivering, I carefully closed the door and turned the lock.

  The wetness of the night air clung to my hair. I pushed damp strands of it back off my face with both hands.

  And then I heard a sound. A soft breath. Somewhere in front of me in the dark kitchen.

  “Brandon? Are you inside?”

  No reply.

  I held my breath and listened.

  I could hear the steady breathing, slow, a whisper of air in and out. Closer now.

  “Brandon? Are you trying to scare me?”

  Silence.

  And then the soft, steady breaths again. Close. So close.

  “This isn’t funny!”

  I fumbled against the wall, searching for a light switch. None there. I didn’t know this kitchen. It was all so unfamiliar, so strange.

  I could feel him next to me. Feel someone there. Could hear the breaths, irregular now, growing harsh.

  “Who’s there?” My throat suddenly so dry. “Who’s there? Who is it?”

  And then the lights flashed on.

  15

  Abby?”

  She stood in the kitchen doorway, in a satiny, pink robe, her hand still on the light switch beside the door. She squinted at me, her tanned face wrinkled with sleep.

  “Ellie? You scared me to death. I heard someone in the kitchen. I thought—”

  “I—I’m sorry,” I stammered. “But Brandon . . .”

  I turned, my eyes still adjusting to the bright ceiling lights.

  No one there.

  No one breathing beside me. No one in the kitchen.

  “I thought I saw Brandon out in the yard. So I came down. But he wasn’t outside. Then I thought I heard him in here. But I couldn’t find the light switch, and . . .”

  I stopped. I realized I sounded totally mental.

  Abby pulled the front of her robe tighter. She tilted her head as she squinted at me. “Brandon? Outside in the middle of the night? Ellie, what are you talking about?”

  “Really, I—”

  “Let’s go see.” Shaking her head, Abby turned and trotted up the stairs. My legs trembling, I pulled myself up after her.

  Abby pushed open Brandon’s door. We both tiptoed in.

  He lay sound asleep on one side, snoring softly, quilt pulled up to his chin, a small teddy bear clutched in one hand.

  I gazed at him from the side of the bed. He wasn’t faking. He was really asleep.

  My mind spinning, I followed Abby out to the hall. “I’m so sorry,” I whispered. “I don’t really know how to explain it. I—”

  “You’re trembling, dear,” she said softly. “Don’t be upset.”

  “I didn’t mean to wake you up,” I muttered.

  “Was it a dream, Ellie? That’s very normal, being in a new house. You know. The stress of a new job. And . . . well . . . this is a difficult thing. With Brandon acting so strange and all.”

  “I . . . no . . . it wasn’t a dream,” I said. “I definitely saw something.”

  I thought of Mrs. Bricker, that crazy old lady in town. Stay away from the boy. It’s in the guest house. . . .

  That’s what she had said.

  The boy . . . the guest house . . .

  I suddenly felt so weary. Weary and embarrassed.

  “I’m really sorry I woke you up,” I said, avoiding Abby’s eyes. “I’m usually not crazy. I mean, I’m really very calm and responsible. You’ll see. I promise.”

  “I’m sure of it,” she replied. “Do you want some hot tea or some cocoa or something?”

  “No. Thanks. You’ve been so nice.”

  “Let’s forget this whole thing,” she said, walking me down the hall to my room. “A fresh start tomorrow—okay?”

  “Okay,” I said. I thanked her again and returned to my room.

  The next morning, sunlight poured through my open window. I glanced at the bed-table clock—nearly eight, and the room was hot already. My nightshirt was damp and twisted around me.

  I could hear the crash of waves at the beach and, closer, Heather screaming for more juice downstairs.

  I sat up i
n bed and stretched. I felt achy, still tired. I gazed around the unfamiliar room. Some of the shorts and tops that I’d bought in town were still tossed over the dresser.

  My first words of the morning—“I’m not crazy.”

  I saw something last night.

  I don’t hallucinate. I’ve never hallucinated in my life.

  Even during the long nightmare after Will died, even through all the guilt, all my crazy, irresponsible behavior, all the bad years, I always kept my hold on reality.

  I never went crazy.

  I never saw things that weren’t there.

  So what had I seen last night?

  I shook my head hard, as if forcing the thoughts from my mind. I pulled on some of my new clothes—a pair of white shorts and a pink sleeveless top.

  “I’m all new,” I told myself. “A fresh start today.” Isn’t that what Abby said?

  Okay. You got it, babe. A fresh start.

  I brushed my hair, made my bed, gazed out the window at the sparkling sunlight, and started to the stairs. My mobilephone rang.

  I felt a shiver of dread. Was it Clay?

  I checked the caller ID. “Hi, Teresa,” I said.

  “Ellie, hi. You didn’t change your number.”

  “No. Not yet.”

  “I’m standing outside my office. I don’t want to go in yet. It’s so hot here in the city. The sidewalk is melting. Really. My shoes are sticking. You’re so lucky to be at the beach. Hey, I thought you were changing your number.”

  “I didn’t get a chance. Everything took so long in town.”

  “Well, did Clay call again last night?”

  “No. Actually, he didn’t. Something else happened. I—”

  “Yaaaay. Maybe he was hit by a bus and dragged for twenty blocks, then flattened under the tires.”

  I laughed. Teresa always made me laugh. “Always look on the bright side, right?”

  “That’s me. Miss Mary Sunshine. Listen, Ellie—”

  My line beeped. Another call? I was popular this morning. “Teresa, catch you later. I’ve got another call.”

  “Later. Bye.”

  I clicked the FLASH button. “Hello?”