Chapter 12

I watch Ava stumble out of the kitchen. I feel bad. Maybe I was too harsh on her. It was a misunderstanding. A comedy of errors. I’ll have my secretary send over some flowers. A peace offering.

My wife is a mess. I’m a mess. Maybe I was never meant to have a wife or a kid. What did I get myself into? I silently curse my father for forcing me to get married.

I squeeze my temples with my fingers, trying to ward off the headache that’s brewing behind my eyes. I turn to Nurse Marley. “I’m sorry for my wife’s behavior. And for mine.”

“Please, Ned, no apologies needed. It’s understandable. You’re both under a lot of stress. New parents…a challenging baby…you with your high pressure job…and Ava is battling postpartum depression.”

“You think Ava is depressed?”

“Totally. You can tell by the way she cries so easily. The way she gets overwhelmed. Her feelings of inadequacy. The paranoia. I’ve seen this before in many new moms. Some even have suicidal tendencies.”

I inwardly shudder at her last words. While our marriage has been stressful, I don’t want to lose Ava. Maybe we need more than a night nanny. Someone to watch over both our baby and Ava twenty-four-seven.

I glance down at my watch and see it’s almost ten thirty.

My eyes flit back to Marley. “It’s way past the hours you’re contracted for. You must be exhausted. You should be heading home.”

“Actually, I’m fine. Do you have time to talk?”

“Sure…what’s on your mind?”

Isa has fallen asleep in our night nanny’s arms. Marley gently removes the bottle from the baby’s mouth and sets her back in the stroller before returning to her seat at the island. Her mesmerizing violet eyes lock with mine.

“Ned, your wife is very fragile. She doesn’t have the physical or emotional wherewithal to take care of your daughter.”

After this morning’s episode, I don’t need to be convinced.

“What are you suggesting?”

“I’m suggesting I become your full-time live-in nanny.”

I digest her words. “For how long?”

“At least for the next month or so, until Ava regains her strength.”

“Funny, I was just thinking the same thing…that we need more help.”

She flashes a smile. “Great minds think alike.”

She tells me her rate. Forty dollars an hour. That’s a lot of money, even for someone like me.

“Let me think about it. I need to talk it over with Ava.”

“Fine. But just know, I have another offer to take care of twins in the afternoons. I have to let the couple know if I’m available by tomorrow.”

A short stretch of silence follows. She breaks it. “I have an idea. Why don’t we do an experiment? Let me come back to your house this afternoon and see if Ava likes having me here during the day…free of charge, of course.”

I weigh her offer. “I like that idea.” There’s nothing to lose.

“Great. I’m going to call for an Uber.”

She reaches for her phone. I snatch it from her.

“Don’t bother. I’ll drive you home.”

“Didn’t you leave your car at the hotel where your meeting was?”

“I have more than one car.”

“Thanks. I don’t live far. It’s about a twenty-minute drive straight down Sunset.” She gazes down at the sound-asleep Isa. “Let me settle Isa in her crib.”

“Do you think it’s safe to leave her alone with Ava?” I’m surprised by my own words. Maybe I’m caring-father material after all. I certainly didn’t inherit that trait from my father. The only thing he cared about was getting me out of trouble so I wouldn’t embarrass him.

She nods. “Yes. I’m sure. After a feeding, newborns tend to nap for at least two solid hours; they’re worn out. I’ll be back before she wakes up.”

“What about Ava?”

She smiles again. “Don’t worry, Ned. She’ll likely be fast asleep too.”

“Wow! This car is amazing!” Nurse Marley takes in all the deluxe features of my bright-yellow, hard-top Lamborghini. Touching and marveling at the buttery leather seats, the burl wood console, and more. “Though I wouldn’t exactly call it ‘family friendly,’” she adds.

I chuckle. “That it’s not.”

“I hope you have one that is.”

I have five cars—all classic sports cars. I’m a collector. Cars have been my passion ever since I can remember. I began collecting Hot Wheels as a kid and into my teens. Then, once I got part of my inheritance, started buying real versions of the pocket-size ones I collected.

“Actually, I don’t,” I tell my awed companion. “Ava was supposed to get a Range Rover, but because she’s been incapacitated the duration of her pregnancy, she’s been unable to get behind a wheel and test-drive one.” The truth is, I’ve dreaded getting that hideous beast of a car.

“Ned, even if you had the Rover, I wouldn’t trust Ava—in her condition—to drive the baby, let alone go shopping. It would be way too dangerous. In case of an emergency, I have a reliable four-door car with a brand-new infant car seat. Another reason for me to become your live-in nanny.”

I weigh her words. Guilt spills through me. With my work schedule and Ava’s ailments, we’re not geared up for a baby. As new parents, we both deserve a big fat red “F.”

Passing the Chateau Marmont at the base of my street, I make a mental note to have some lackey from my office pick up the McLaren I left there. Worst-case scenario, I can jog down our street to Sunset Boulevard and pick it up myself. There’s no doubt in my mind they’ll take good care of it given all the money I dump at that place. Now a members-only club, I’m happy the famed hotel didn’t get turned into a condo complex. It was my parents’ favorite place to dine al fresco. There are even photos of them hanging on the lobby walls. I’ve made so many deals there. Dreams come true at the castle-like Chateau. Maybe one night I’ll take Marley there…

Stop it!

I’ve programmed our night nanny’s address into my GPS. While I’ve lived my entire life in LA and spent time downtown while I was at USC, I’m not that familiar with Silver Lake, where she lives. I’m also happy to avoid traffic jams. With all the building and road construction going on, there are always unexpected time-sucking snags.

On second thought, a traffic jam would give me more time to spend with this alluring woman. And get to know her.

“There’s a massage feature,” I tell her as I shoot down Sunset Boulevard, heading east, appalled by all homeless encampments and litter.

“Really? That’s incredible!”

I explain the various settings and how to activate them.

She chooses the rolling lumbar setting and within seconds, her back arches and her head lolls back. Closing her eyes, she moans. “Oh God. This feels so good.”

Jeez. I slam a brake on my lurid thought and force myself to focus on my driving. We come to a red light. One of the many in LA that seems to last forever. She turns the massager off and looks at me.

“What are you thinking about, Ned?”

I fumble for words.

“Are you sure you really want to work for us full-time?” Why am I trying to make her doubt herself? Maybe I’m afraid of temptation. The consequences.

“Absolutely. I’m already super-attached to Isa, and it’s in everyone’s best interest.”

Maybe not mine.

As I continue east on Sunset, I make a right onto a street called Micheltorena. “I should remind you…Ava’s mother, Rena, will be coming shortly for a few days. She’s a handful.”

That’s a euphemism. The woman is a thorn in my side. A bloodsucker.

Marley shoots me a wry smile. “Don’t worry, Ned. I’ll handle her.”

“Maybe you can magically make her disappear.”

“Abracadabra.” She snaps her long fingers. “See ya, Rena!”

I laugh at her little, offbeat rhyme. If it were only that easy.

A few minutes later, we reach her house. It’s a single-story Spanish-style bungalow situated on a small piece of property. I’m shocked by how run-down it is. The sickly pea-green exterior paint is peeling and the blotchy front lawn is in need of watering. So are the wilting roses lining the cracked walkway that leads to the front door. At the end of a cul-de-sac, there’s a vacant house for sale next door on the right, and to the left, an empty lot. Not a particularly safe place for an attractive single woman to live. To be honest, it could be the site of a grisly murder. Maybe there’s been one.

“You own this place?” I ask, banishing that chilling thought.

“No, it belongs to a friend. I’m housesitting. I’m planning on moving to a more child-friendly neighborhood soon.”

Grabbing her handbag, she cranks the door handle and hops out of my Lambo. It is one of the few models that doesn’t have those obnoxious scissor doors that fly open like switchblades.

I watch as she jogs up the few steps to her house. I store her address both on my phone and in my head, then roll down my window.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take you to your mechanic?”

“It’s okay. He’s walking distance and I could use the exercise.” She shoots me a smile. “Thanks again for the lift.”

“No problem.”

“And thank you for trusting me with your baby. You’ll have no regrets.”

My skin prickles. Maybe I’d be better off with a nanny who looks like Mrs. Doubtfire.