Kelly McClymer-Must Love Black (9 page)

They were enjoying their research, so I did not interrupt it to force them to have “fun,” but I knew I would have to cajole them into some other kinds of activities soon, or I would have nothing to report back to Mr. P when he asked how the fun was going. Figuring out a “fun” activity that wouldn’t make them miserable was proving as hard as I’d expected. If I were a pastel nanny or a nanny in tan, I might have just pulled out the dolls or the dodgeball ball and forced the twins to play along. But I wasn’t that kind of nanny—I was a nanny who
loves black—so I wasn’t going to force that kind of summer on them. Or on me.

As I watched Triste and Rienne doing their research I felt a certain awe at how self-contained they were. They didn’t seem to have any doubts about what they were doing or how they would accomplish their goal. I’d only known them for a few days, but I had a feeling I knew exactly what their response would be to the idea of planning fun: a big fat “Why?”

I decided to make a list of everything the characters in the many books I’d read had considered fun. (I didn’t count Tom Sawyer’s fence painting.) It wasn’t a short list, but I suspected that the girls would very quickly whittle it down to nothing if I allowed them any veto power. Some things were typical summer “fun” things, such as swimming, going to the zoo, and having a bonfire on the beach. Some things were more educational, such as learning to dance or paint or make jewelry. There were some things that wouldn’t go well with the be-unseen-and-unheard rule. I starred those.

After the girls went to bed I took my list and a yogurt from my little fridge to bed with me. Sarah hadn’t e-mailed or called since that first morning when we’d talked, which wasn’t a big surprise; she was probably bonding with her parents on the long drive south. They liked to play the alphabet game and the license plate game when they traveled. Gag me.

Even though it hadn’t been foggy since my first night at Chrysalis Cliff, I’d been electing to sleep with my window closed and the curtains pulled. I didn’t need any more ghosts visiting me.

By the time I’d made my morning cup of coffee the next
day, I had decided how I would approach the subject of fun with the girls. My brainstorm had come from my dreams. No ghosts, no weddings, just my dad and me at the rail of a whale boat, watching the shore grow tiny as we chugged out on the ocean to catch sight of whales.

My dream had reminded me that pre-Krystal my dad and I used to go to Bar Harbor whenever we couldn’t bear to stay in the house. One of us would get that restless feeling and say, “I wonder if the ocean’s still there?” It was a question I’d asked as a kid, and Mom and Dad always teased me about it long after I understood that the sea comes back on the tide. Surely Triste and Rienne, cooped up as they were, had to feel a bit of that restlessness? It was only day four for me, and I already did. Maybe if I bribed them with the promise of ice cream cones in town, they would come along and fall into having fun without even realizing it.

I looked at the twins, hunched over their cereal bowls, reading. I didn’t think their father would be satisfied just hearing that we made a trip into town. He was probably going to want them to smile and volunteer that they had actually had fun. In other words, I was going to have to get them on board with the idea of fun as a useful and practical method of relaxation and rest. So I gritted my teeth and said as brightly as I was able, “Today we’re going to have fun.”

“Fun?” Rienne said.

Triste sighed. “Father again?”

Well. I hadn’t expected that. They already knew the secret reason I’d been hired. Would that make things easier? Or much harder?

Rienne shook her head. “When will he learn?”

I didn’t have an answer for that one. I also didn’t have to give a speech anymore about the value of fun. Apparently they’d already heard it. So I opted to wield the nanny hammer. “We’re going to town. End of story. It won’t be that bad.”

Through the magic of the computer intercom system I asked Havens if we could get a ride into Bar Harbor. The chauffeur was busy taking guests to the airport, but we arranged for Geoff to take us at noon, when he had to run in for some gardening supplies anyway. The gardening store was right next to an arcade, so I led the reluctant twins inside while Geoff did his shopping. I’d passed the arcade a zillion times with my dad and was never once tempted to go inside. But something told me Mr. Pertweath would approve. Maybe it was the word “fun” stenciled on the window. Three times.

Fun, apparently, requires a lot of coins and a lot of noise. The three of us stood watching the binging, trumpeting, chiming machines. I ignored the twins’ horrified but mute pleas to escape before my insane idea deafened them forever. Fun. Yep. It said so on the sign.

Triste liked one game that involved shooting and fighting and required you to solve something to get to another level. Rienne liked the car simulator.

And what did I enjoy? That Geoff came to rescue me after an hour. He probably just considered that he was picking us up to take us home. I definitely considered it a rescue.

Of course, it wasn’t the rescue I’d expected. He strolled into the place, breathed in deeply, and headed straight for the
Dance Dance Revolution machine. You know, the one where you play with your whole body, trying to follow loud music and flashing lights. I’d never thought much of making a fool of myself by trying to keep up with insanely paced music and flashing signals. Seemed pointless.

Until I watched Geoff handle the machine like a master—with a huge smile on his face. I couldn’t help but smile too.

Apparently, Triste and Rienne were also impressed, because they stopped asking me if we could go and started watching Geoff dance. “How does he know how to . . . ?” Triste leaned forward. “Oh. I see.”

Rienne also leaned forward, which was when I noticed I made three. I hoped Geoff didn’t let it go to his head that all three of us were enthralled by him. But I suspected, from the looks he flashed me from time to time, that he was. Typical guy.

There was just something about him. Even when he started to glisten with sweat he didn’t stop dancing. Maybe because Triste and Rienne clapped when he cleared the steps without any mistakes. Or maybe it was me that spurred him on.

Whatever, he danced till the end of the song and finished with a flourish and a bow. Then he held out his hand to us. “Who would like to join me for the next dance?”

All three of us shrank back. Geoff laughed and challenged me. “Come on. You want to show the girls some fun, don’t you?”

No. No, I didn’t. Really. I wanted Geoff to show the girls some fun and I wanted to take the credit for it.

I looked at Triste and Rienne and tried to pretend I would
have been willing to get up on that contraption. “Triste, you try it.”

She shook her head. “You first. You’re the nanny.”

Darn. I
was
the nanny. Which meant one of my duties was to show them how to have fun. Too bad I’d forgotten how to let go and enjoy myself a long time ago. All I could think about was how stupid I was going to look trying to follow the arrows and the music and to jump, twist, and step.

Geoff wasn’t going to let me wiggle out of it. He held out his hand to me, daring me with his eyes. I ignored his hand and got up on the platform next to him. “I’ve never done this before, so pick something slow,” I said, wondering if Laurie was going to go nuclear over my dancing with her guy.

He grinned and slotted some coins. “As madam wishes.”

“Slow” is a relative term. My score was nowhere near the “perfect” that he got. But I didn’t fall off the platform, either. As a perk of being the nanny, I got to leap off when the song ended and send Rienne to try out her skills. Triste was next. By the time we left the place, we’d actually had a little fun. We were also hot, thirsty, and ready for a treat.

We went to Ben & Bill’s for ice cream. More “fun.” I had the macadamia brittle—and it was all the sweeter because I didn’t have to listen to dad complain about the dentist bills looming in my future. And because Geoff was right there beside me, licking a chocolate chip cone and winking.

When we tossed our used napkins into the trash and headed for the door, I realized I didn’t want to go. I wanted to stay there, in that moment, forever. I hoped Geoff felt that way too. Maybe it was my imagination, but I thought he looked a
little sad when he said, “Time to go, girls,” and we all climbed into the truck. Too bad he was into Laurie. Fun with Geoff was actually . . . fun.

When we came through the door at Chrysalis Cliff, I noticed the time. Oops. The girls were almost late for their family dinner. Still, we’d come in giggling, so I hoped our having had fun—even though it had come from me making a fool of myself—would give me points.

Laurie didn’t seem to agree. She gaped at us for a moment, which was when I noticed the twins hadn’t managed to clean all the ice cream from their faces. Oops, bad nanny. I’d have to remember to get some of those wet wipes to carry around with me.

“Sorry we’re late. We went to the arcade to have some fun, stopped for ice cream, and lost track of time.” Laurie gave me a dirty look and quickly grabbed the girls. All giggling stopped. Triste and Rienne put on their normal lugubrious faces and hurried into the family dining room.

I started to head upstairs, planning to ditch dinner for a shower, but Laurie came running after me. “Mr. Pertweath requires your presence at dinner. It’s your job.”

“Okay.” Not really. I just wanted to go take a quick shower, change my sweaty clothes, and think about Geoff, the newly revealed dancing fool. I’d even considered using the time the twins were with their dad for a quick dip in the pool in the hope Geoff might be swooping leaves out of it. It would give me a chance to thank him for helping me find a way to get “fun” on the daily schedule.

I went into the dining room, expecting the kind of
dinnertime my dad and I had shared pre-Krystal. Some food, some pointed questions about school and homework, dessert. It wasn’t always as grim as it sounds, though. Dad had even been known to whip up fancy ice cream sundaes for us, when he was nostalgic for his boyhood job at Dairy Queen.

The restaurantlike room was heavy and dimly lit, with the scents of dinner in the air. There was fluty music playing very low, almost impossible to hear. The dining room table was huge enough to seat twenty people. Mr. P sat at one end, Lady Buena Verde at the other. The twins were in the middle, looking lost in a sea of mahogany. Apparently I was going to throw off the symmetry, because my place was set beside Triste.

Lady Buena Verde was humming, but as soon as I sat down, the hum changed to a chant. “Free our spirits of sadness, O Great Mother. Free our spirits of sadness.” She went on like that for a few minutes, which gave me time to realize that she was offering thanks for the meal. It also gave me time to wonder why Mr. Pertweath’s domineering business partner was attending “family dinner.” Poor Triste and Rienne clearly never got him to themselves.

Lady Buena Verde stopped chanting without warning, and my ears rang. Weird effect. Everyone else at the table had their eyes closed, but I kept mine slitted open because I didn’t like the feeling of not being able to see. I didn’t know these people at all, after all.

“Let us raise our hands up to the mother and release our gratitude to the sky.” I followed the others and raised my hands but stopped short of wiggling my fingers like they were doing.

The food was served immediately: some kind of roast meat that smelled wonderfully of rosemary, potatoes that were small and crispy, and baby carrots and green beans. A balanced meal. I looked at the twins, wondering if they would eat it. Most of the kids I babysat for ate things like chicken nuggets, peanut butter sandwiches, and macaroni and cheese from a box. The girls ate without complaint. Dessert was blueberry gelato. Yum. And then . . . dinner was over. Mr. Pertweath hadn’t asked the girls a single question about their day. He didn’t even ask what we’d done to have our prescribed fun. He spent the whole dinner tapping at his laptop and nodding at Lady BV’s business talk.

“The girls and I had fun today,” I announced.

Mr. Pertweath smiled broadly. “How nice.”

But instead of asking how we’d had fun, he turned back to his laptop, which ramped up my annoyed to full-on mad. I continued on as if he’d asked for details, as if he were a father who cared. “We went to an arcade and played Dance Dance Revolution. And we ate ice cream. Triste had the green tea flavor and Rienne tried celery.”

Unbelievably, even the weirdo flavors of ice cream didn’t catch his interest. “Wonderful,” he said absently.

Yeah. Wonderful. Too bad he didn’t notice how disappointed his daughters looked when he didn’t even ask them if my report was true.

I thought about saying we’d also caught a killer whale, just to see if he was listening. I’d done that with my dad before. But my dad couldn’t fire me. Mr. Pertweath didn’t have to put up with me. So I didn’t say anything.

Laurie hurried into the room and shepherded Mr. Pertweath and Lady BV to the next important thing on their schedules. I checked the grandfather clock. We hadn’t been here even a half hour yet. Some family dinnertime.

I guess it was a good thing they’d asked me to join them for dinner,
I thought, as the girls and I headed back up to our domain/prison/witch’s tower, since I’d have just about been in my bathing suit when it would have been time to retrieve the girls and get back into nanny mode. Not that I’d want to abandon them to the silence of that dining room alone. And next time, even if Lady Buena Verde glared, we were going to have a real conversation.

We passed by the pool, sparkling with light, and I sighed. Sometimes fathers are clueless.

CHAPTER EIGHT