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The Doctor's Fake Nanny

By:Tiana Cole

The Doctor's Fake Nanny
Tiana Cole

       Chapter One


Kayla



"It's fine. I don't understand why you're making such a big deal about this."



"I don't know, it just feels strange."



"It feels strange? What does that mean?"



"It just feels, well, it feels wrong. It isn't you, Kayla. I've never  known you to do a deceitful thing, not once since the first time I met  you.



That's not what we're about, girl. What about all of those talks we've  had about doing good things? That's why we work with kids, for Christ's  sake. How are you going to tell me that you spend your days teaching  children what it means to do right and what it means to do wrong and  then you're going to do something like this?"



"I know."



"It just doesn't seem right, that's all. It just doesn't seem right."



"I know. It's complicated, alright?"



The problem was that she was right. She was right and we both knew it.  I've never been the sort of person to be deceitful, to seek revenge.



I've never really wanted anything more than to make a difference. Yvonne  was right about that much. That's why I started working with kids.  That's why I loved working with the kindergarteners.They were so strange  and funny and hopeful. You couldn't fake things like that and they  didn't last for all that long.



I've spent a lot of time trying to foster that kind of thing in people,  not bring them down. The thing is, not everything is as easy as the  right and wrong as seen through a five year old's eyes.



Things change. When you lose something, when you lose the thing that  matters more to you than anything in the world, things change. Suddenly  it wasn't so black and white anymore.



"Kayla?"



"Yep, I'm here. You still going to be there for me if I do this? Even if you don't like it?"



"Girl, you know I will. Always, through thick and thin, right?"



God, I'm lucky to have a friend like Yvonne. She's never lied to me and  she wasn't lying to me then. She was with me through the whole thing,  even when she hated it. Which was a lot. I doubt that plots like mine  often worked out quite as planned. I knew mine didn't. For starters, I  had no idea how much of my life it would take up. It all started with an  interview. Something as simple and mundane as that.



"Hello?"



No answer. Go figure. That was so like a rich person, to assume that  they were important enough to blow a person off even after agreeing on  an appointment.



No, that wasn't fair. It wasn't all rich people, it was this rich  person. Couldn't blame everyone for the sins of one bad apple. And there  was always the possibility that he didn't hear me. I guess there was  always that, although I was leaning more towards the "he's an asshole"  line of thought. That seemed to fit a little better to me.



I rang the bell again, insistently, three times in rapid succession. It  was terribly rude, which wasn't like me at all, but I was feeling  especially impatient. I had a reason to be. I had waited long enough.



I thought about my sister, Nikki, while standing there on this guy's  doorstep, being ignored. It amazed me how a memory could be just as  jarring as a ghost.Out of nowhere she would just pop in my head and  everything I was doing would feel fake, like the pretense of a life that  didn't really exist.



She had died three months ago and sometimes I still picked up my phone  to call her. It wouldn't be till halfway through dialing that I would  remember she wasn't going to answer.



Three months and I would still think I saw her almost every day. You try  and wrap your head around the idea that your little sister isn't ever  coming back, that you won't get to throw her a bachelorette party or  hold her first kid. Three months of that and I had finally decided to  pull myself out of my ghost town and go to this interview, and he  couldn't be bothered to come to the door. So yes, I was a little  impatient.



"Fuck this," I muttered under my breath. If he wasn't going to be  polite, then what the hell? Maybe I wouldn't be either. I rang the bell  once more for good measure and then tried the door.



I was more than a little bit surprised, but it opened easily.Sure, leave  your door open when you live in a million-dollar house. That sounded  like a good idea. But open was open and so I let myself in quietly,  looking around in awe that I didn't want to feel but couldn't help.



I had to admit, this place was nice. Super nice. I had never been in a  place even close to this upscale before and it was a little bit  difficult not to be intimidated. There was the mess, though.The mess  helped. Yes, there was light marble and deep dark wood everywhere, tall  ceilings and impossibly long banisters, but there was also stuff  everywhere.                       
       
           



       



I mean everywhere. It looked like a little girl's closet threw up all  over this house fancy enough to be in a magazine. I was beginning to see  why he needed a nanny, that was for sure.



Clearly doctors didn't have enough time to pick up after their kids, and  if there was a maid, she wasn't getting the job done. But where was  she?



From the looks of the way things were strewn around the home this was  the wake of a little girl still very much in the middle of a tear so I  was pretty sure she had to be somewhere nearby. Which would mean that  her father was home too, unless he was the worst father in the entire  world.



That was something I was entirely ready to believe.



"Hello?"



I whispered it this time, suddenly very aware of the fact that I was  standing in the foyer of another person's home without ever having been  invited in. That was pretty much a criminal act, so yelling out probably  wasn't the best plan.



Shit.Maybe Yvonne was right. Maybe I hadn't thought this thing through  quite as well as I should have. I didn't have a whole lot more time to  think it over though, because that's when I heard a little girl's sweet  little scream.



"It hurts! Daddy, Daddy, where'd you go to? It hurts and I need you to fix it!"



That would be the proud owner of the multitude of dolls all over the  floor, the little ruby red slippers tossed casually by the grand front  stairway. Cute. I had always been a huge fan of The Wizard of Oz and  from the looks of it this little girl was, too. That was a good sign.



Kids could be kind of harsh sometimes and having some good common ground  could make things easier. They had very particular taste, kids. It was  one of the things I really enjoyed about them.



I heard the light pounding of little feet announcing the arrival of the  little princess in question and looked up to watch. It was worth it.



I had to put a hand up to my mouth to keep her from seeing my laugh. You  wouldn't like it if someone just started laughing at you, right? Well  neither did children. They liked to be taken seriously just as much as  the last person, and making her think I didn't wouldn't make the best  first impression.



"Who are you? Do you belong in here?"



Now I couldn't help it, I laughed. But just a little, and she didn't  seem to mind all that much. Truthfully, she seemed to like the  attention. It wouldn't surprise me if her dad didn't give her much.  Whether that was true or not, it was a good question. It was the perfect  question, really.



"Do I belong here? Well, no, I guess not. I'm not totally sure. I have  an interview with your dad but he didn't answer the door. I sort of came  in to see what was up."



"What's up is my finger."



She held it up with fat little tears rolling down her cheeks and one  hand on her little hip. It made quite the impression. Messy blonde hair  up in a high ponytail, plastic jeweled crown sitting lopsided on her  head, and to top it all off, a bright pink tutu over a superman tee  shirt much too long for her. I might have loved her right then and  there. Such a precocious little thing, I could tell already.



"Aw, what's wrong with it, sugar? Can I see?"



Yes, as it turned out, I could. She was ready and willing to accept  sympathy and I was more than happy to give it. I was familiar with the  wounds of children. Small wounds with mighty importance. She ran  straight for me and I knelt down on the ground to meet her.



I've always felt like it was best to get down on a child's level when  you spoke to them, so they know you think of them as your equal. She met  me that way and promptly settled herself on my knee, holding the  offending finger up for me to get a better look. It was maybe a little  bit red, but there was certainly no blood. It didn't matter. I was  pretty sure I could take care of it anyway.



"Look at it! My trike tricked me and I fell right on it. Think it's broke?"



How like a doctor's kid to ask a question like that. She looked very  serious, however, and so I treated the finger with all of the serious  attention of an impending operation. Her tears had already begun to dry  up and she seemed much more curious about me than she seemed worried  about the injury.

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