Hannah

“Tell me everything,” Lysanne said in Dutch as she pulled her pillow into her lap, her face sparking with anticipation and cheeks high as she waited for me to join her.

I laughed and set my bag by the door of her bedroom. “I’ll be out of your hair in the morning. I got the job.”

She waved her hand at me, and I climbed into her bed and sat across from her.

“Och. I loathe for you to leave, but I’d rather you not be deported. It took me two years to convince you to come here in the first place.”

With another laugh, I grabbed a pillow too, mirroring her as we leaned toward each other like little girls.

“How are the children?”

“They’re perfectly lovely.”

“I can tell by the jam on your sweater. Perfectly lovely.”

I glanced down, having forgotten. “I walked into pandemonium. The cook had been watching them, but she couldn’t give them the attention they needed and do her job too. They only wanted someone’s time, so I gave them mine. It was simple really.”

Lysanne shook her head, tucking her long, dark hair behind her ear. “You’re the best of us all. I almost killed Sydney today.”

I chuckled. “No, you didn’t.”

She nodded earnestly. “Oh, but I did. She fought me all day about everything—getting dressed, eating lunch, brushing her teeth, taking a bath, going to bed. I practically had to wrestle her into her nightgown as she wailed about not wanting to sleep—they always do that when they’re the most tired—and she wouldn’t stay in her room, not even for a heartbeat. The moment I left, there she would be, pulling the door back open. I swear, I’ve never met a more willful six-year-old in all my days.”

“All your long, long days in twenty-two years?” I teased.

She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, you likely would have just smiled and sung her a song and not have been bothered at all.”

“Oh, you know I can be bothered. You test the limits of that daily.”

She laughed and whacked me with her pillow before tucking it back into her lap. “Tell me about the dad,” she said, her tone sobering and smile flattening. “He must have been all right if you took the job.”

“Yes, I think he’s all right.” I sighed. “In the moment, it felt right. My instinct said it was safe, that I was safe, that it was a good match. But since the second I left, I’ve been feeling like I made a mistake. I was hasty to agree without thinking about it, but something about them made me want to say yes. They need my help, and based on what I saw when I walked in, they need my help now. The children are sweet, and Charlie is … I don’t know. Lost, I think. Something in his eyes … they’re the deepest brown, bottomless, sad.”

Her brows rose. “Charlie, huh? With the bottomless eyes? Yeah, that sounds like there’s no danger at all. He’s handsome then?”

Another sigh slipped out of me. “Yes, he’s handsome. Tall, blond, wealthy, and a single dad.” My stomach sank like a stone. “This really is a terrible idea. Do you think … should I refuse? There’s still time.”

“Well,” she started thoughtfully, “you really do need the job, and who knows when another one will come available? This one took weeks. Is he better looking than Quinton?”

At the sound of his name, my heart stopped, starting again with a kick. “I never thought Quinton was handsome.”

“Ninety percent of the au pairs we know would have been flat on their backs for him in thirty seconds.”

I gave her a look. “Quinton is married. And there are two types of handsome men—the ones who know they’re handsome and exploit it whenever possible and the ones who are handsome because they don’t exploit it. Quinton is the former.”

“And Charlie with the bottomless brown eyes is the latter?”

I nodded. “I think so. Plus, the cook told me he’s very busy with work and is hardly home. When he is, he locks himself in his office. She only had the best and kindest things to say about him, which is another reason I agreed. Quinton treated everyone in the household like property, even the children. They were expected to be seen and not heard, like a pair of matching statues to put on the mantel for display. But Charlie cares very much; it’s plain to see on his face, in his body, hear it in his voice.”

“And you got all that in an afternoon?”

I shrugged. “It’s just a feeling, you know?”

“You’ve always been that way. I suspect it’s why you’re so good with children; you have a sixth sense for those kinds of things. I would trust in that. You knew the second you walked into Quinton’s house that it was going to end badly.”

Goosebumps crept up my arms, and I rubbed my forearm to warm them away. “I didn’t feel anything at all that gave me pause at Charlie’s. And I was ready to say no; it was on my lips before he opened the door. But then he opened the door,” I said simply, as if it explained everything.

“And if it doesn’t work out?” she asked, the look on her face telling me she knew she wouldn’t like my answer.

I reached for her hand. “Then it’s time I went home. I think we can both admit my coming to America has been a disaster.”

She wound her fingers in mine. “I still think you need to give it more of a chance. You’ve only been here a few months. Don’t they say you have to reserve judgment until you’ve been somewhere for six months?” she asked hopefully.

“Well, most people don’t step off the airplane and into a situation like I did. I should have turned around the second I passed the threshold of Quinton’s house.”

“Maybe this time will be different.”

“I hope so. And I hope I can fall in love with this city like you have. I just … it’s not what I thought it would be. Things never are, I suppose, but I didn’t expect to feel so … separate. Isolated. I don’t belong here, and I don’t know if I’ll ever feel like I do. And, if things don’t work out with this position, I’ll go home and not be sad about it, outside of missing you.”

She looked worried, so I squeezed her hand and smiled.

“Don’t worry about me. Worry about Sydney. I suspect she’s in bed, plotting on ways to ruin your day tomorrow.”

Lysanne laughed. “Oh, I’m certain of that, the little shrew. Fortunately for her, she’s adorable.”

I leaned over and pressed my cheek to hers. “I say that about you every day.”

I climbed out of bed to get ready for sleep, my mind busying itself with musings of the day to come, the weeks to come, the hopes and fears and uncertainty.

And when the lights were out and sleep crept in, so did the truth of my situation. It was far more dangerous than I’d admitted to myself. But that truth slipped into the sand of slumber, and when I woke, it was hidden away and forgotten, waiting for the wind to uncover it again.