The Nanny's Double Trouble

He thought of Grace suddenly, knew a stab of annoyance that kind of soured the companionable moment between him and Keely—and there it was again, that word: companionable. He’d felt companionable with his dead wife’s cousin twice in one night, and he didn’t know whether to feel good about that or not.

“What?” Keely asked. “Just say it.”

He went ahead and admitted what was bugging him. “Grace. She’s got one of the baby monitors in her room, so she had to hear what was happening. But she didn’t even come check to see if we needed her.”

“Yeah, she did. She came in the kids’ room before you. I knew she’d been out late and could use a little sleep, so I said I could handle it and sent her back to bed.”

He hung his head. “Go ahead. Say it. I’m a crap brother.”

Maisey chose that moment to get comfortable. She yawned hugely, stretched out on the floor and lowered her head to her paws with a soft doggy sigh.

Keely said, “You love Grace. She loves you. Ten years from now, you’ll wonder what you used to fight about.”

“Uh-uh. I’ll remember.”

“Maybe. But you’ll be totally over it.” Would he? He hoped so. She said, “When I was little, living with the band on my mother’s purple bus, I used to dream of a real house like this one, dream of having sisters and brothers. Family is hard, Daniel. But it’s worth it. And I think you know that it is.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “You’re right.”

Family was everything. But that didn’t stop him from fantasizing about totally non-family-related things. Partying till dawn, maybe. A game of poker that went on till all hours, with a keg on tap and all the guys smoking stinky cigars, telling politically incorrect jokes. A one-night stand with a gorgeous woman he’d never met before and would never see again, a woman who only wanted to use him for hot sex.

Now there was a big as if. He’d been with one woman in his life and was perfectly happy about that—until the past few years anyway. He just wasn’t the kind of guy who went to bed with women he hardly knew. The one time he’d tried that, six months ago, he’d realized at the last possible moment that sex with a stranger just wasn’t for him. His sudden change of heart had not endeared him to the lady in question.

And Keely was watching him again, a hint of a smile on her full mouth.

“I’m going to work on thinking positive,” he promised her, because she did have a point about his negative attitude.

She gave a whisper-chuckle. “Anything is possible.”

He clicked his tongue at Maisey and she dragged herself up on her stubby legs again. “Night, Keely.” He turned for his room at the end of the hall.

“Night, Daniel,” she whispered after him.

* * *

When Keely woke up it was ten after eight Sunday morning and no one was crying. She put on her vintage chenille robe over her pajamas and looked across the hall.

Both cribs were empty.

Downstairs in the kitchen, she found two smiling cherubs eating cut-up pancakes off their high chair trays and both Daniel and Grace at the breakfast table, neither one scowling.

Yes. Life was good on this beautiful, foggy-as-usual Sunday morning in Valentine Bay. She poured herself coffee.

Grace said, “I’m here till two, Keely, so if you need to run errands, go for it.”

“Keewee!” crowed Jake, pounding on his tray.

Keely stepped over and kissed his gooey cheek.

“Kiss, kiss, Keewee!” Frannie pounded her tray, too, and smacked her rosebud lips.

Keely kissed her as well, and then returned to the stove where a stack of pancakes waited. She put a couple of them on a plate. “Thanks, Grace. I’ll run by Sand & Sea and stop in to check on Aunt Gretchen.”

* * *

The gallery opened daily at eleven. Keely arrived at nine thirty. Her top clerk, Amanda, promoted temporarily to manager, joined her five minutes later. They went through the books and discussed the schedule. Sand & Sea was 3500 square feet of exhibit space on Manzanita Avenue, in the heart of Valentine Bay’s downtown historic district. With a focus on Oregon artists, Keely offered contemporary work in just about every form imaginable, from painting to printmaking, sculpture to woodworking. She displayed and sold artisan jewelry, furniture, textiles and photography.

Sand & Sea also hosted receptions and special events. Every month or so, she featured an individual artist or a group of artists in a themed joint show. The first Friday in April, she would hold an opening for a new group show with several top Pacific Northwest artists working in various mediums on the theme of the ever-changing sea. Everything was on schedule for that one so far. Amanda was knowledgeable, organized and more than competent, and they had almost three weeks until the opening. Keely needed to find help with Frannie and Jake for the opening-night reception party and the few days before it. But that should be doable, one way or another.

Feeling confident that Sand & Sea wouldn’t suffer while she focused on Daniel’s twins, she left the gallery at eleven thirty to check in on her aunt.

Gretchen still lived in the house she’d shared with her husband, the house where she’d raised her precious only child, Lillie. Keely considered the four-bedroom craftsman-style bungalow her childhood home, too.

Yes, she’d spent most of her growing-up years living on the tour bus. But now and then, Ingrid’s career would get a boost and the tour schedule would get crazy. Those were the times that Ingrid took Keely to Valentine Bay to live temporarily with Aunt Gretchen and Uncle Cletus. Keely loved when that happened. She was constantly begging her mother to let her live with the Snows full-time.

When Keely was fifteen, Ingrid finally gave in. Keely moved in with her cousin. At last, she got the settled-down life she’d always dreamed of in the seaside town she considered her true home.

Keely knocked on the green front door, but only to be considerate. She had a key and she used it, sticking her head in the door, calling, “It’s just me! Don’t get up!”

“I’m in the kitchen!” Gretchen called back.

Something smelled wonderful. Keely followed her nose to the back of the house. She found her aunt balanced on her good foot, one hand braced on the counter, as she pulled a tray of cookies from the oven.

Keely waited until Gretchen had set the tray on top of the stove and shut the oven door to scold, “You’re not supposed to be on that foot.”

“Sweetheart!” Gretchen turned and hopped toward her.

“You are impossible.” Keely caught her and hugged her, breathing in the familiar, beloved scents of vanilla and melted butter. Her aunt not only always smelled delicious, she was still pretty in a comfortable, homey sort of way, with smooth, pale skin and carefully styled hair she still had professionally colored to the exact Nordic blond it used to be when she was young.

Gretchen laughed. “You know you need cookies.”

Keely grabbed a chair from the table and spun it around. “Here. Sit.”

“Oh, don’t fuss.” Gretchen held on to Keely for balance as she lowered herself into the chair.

Keely tried to look stern. “You will stay in that chair. I mean it.”

Gretchen swept out a plump arm in the direction of the big mixing bowl on the counter. “I have two more cookie sheets to fill.”

“Stay where you are. I’ll do it.” She grabbed another chair and positioned it so that Gretchen could put her foot up. “There. Want coffee?”

“Please—and where are my babies?”

“At Daniel’s.” Keely filled a cup and set it on the table next to Gretchen. “Grace isn’t going back to Portland until this afternoon, so she’s watching them.”

“I miss them already.”

“I’ll bring them by during the week.”

“You’re a good girl. The best.”

Keely got to work dropping spoonfuls of dough onto a cookie sheet. “Looking after Frannie and Jake is no hardship. You know how I always wanted babies.” She’d been married once. A hot and charming driftwood artist, Roy Varner had come to town six years ago, before Keely opened Sand & Sea. Another local gallery had given him a show. Keely went to his opening. The attraction was instant and mutual. Roy swept her clean off her feet. They’d married within weeks of that first meeting. Roy traveled a lot to various art shows all over the west. Slowly Keely figured out that all the traveling wasn’t only about selling art. When he traveled, Roy behaved like a free man in every way. Including sleeping with other women. Keely had divorced him four years ago.

“Don’t you worry,” said Gretchen. “You’ve still got plenty of time. A good man and babies will be yours.”

Keely sent her aunt a fond glance over her shoulder. “Love you, Auntie G.”

“Love you more.”

“Heard from Mom?”

“Not since the other day.”

“So we still don’t know exactly when she’s coming?”

“Keely, I am managing just fine—and what about you? All settled in at Daniel’s?”

She considered mentioning Frannie’s earache. But the little girl had seemed fully recovered this morning, so why worry Gretchen? “It’s going great. And I’m all set up. I’ve got a bedroom across from the twins, and I’m using the room beside it as a work area—and you know, I’ve been thinking that we could get you some live-in help. Or you could move to Daniel’s temporarily.”

“I like my own house.”

“But—”

“Don’t start. I mean it. I’ve hired the boy next door to handle the yard. His sister will come in and clean when I need her. I’m having my groceries delivered. I’m used to doing things for myself, and I like my independence. Plus, in the Bravo house, all the bedrooms except Grace’s are upstairs. That’s not going to work with this foot.”

Keely scooped up another spoonful of dough. “I’ll call Mom, pin her down on when she’ll be here.”

“Don’t you dare. I will handle this. You’ve got enough to do, and you know it.”

“Auntie G, it’s just a phone call,” she said into the bowl of dough.

“Put down that spoon and look at me.”

Keely dropped the spoon back in the bowl and turned to face her aunt. “Yeah?”

“Your mother is coming, but she’ll be doing that in her own good time. That’s how she rolls and don’t we all know it.”

Keely stifled a laugh. “How she rolls?”

Gretchen’s blue eyes twinkled. “You know it’s true. Ingrid makes her own rules and sets her own schedule. Trying to change her at this late date? Never going to happen.”

Keely picked up a cooling cookie, took a bite and groaned in appreciation. “You shouldn’t be up making cookies. But these are so good.”

“I made lunch, too. It’s in the fridge. Don’t ruin your appetite.”

“No chance of that. Not when it’s your cooking—and were you on your feet to make the lunch?”

“Don’t nag, sweetheart. Nagging is not attractive.”

“What am I going to do with you?”

“Finish your cookie, get the rest of them in the oven—and then serve us both the amazing crab salad and crusty rolls I threw together.”

* * *

Keely got back to the Bravo house at a quarter of two, and Grace left for Portland a few minutes later. As usual, Daniel had stuff to do at the office. He promised to be back by dinnertime.

She stood on the porch, one twin on either side of her, waving as Daniel headed off down the driveway. The sun had made an afternoon appearance, so for a while she took the kids out back, where there was a big wooden playset that had been there for as long as she could remember. They played in the sandbox, slid down the slide and she swung them on the toddler-friendly swings.

Back inside, she gave them a snack and took them upstairs for diaper changes and nap time. They went down like little angels, reaching for kisses, settling right in and closing their eyes.

She got a full hour in her new studio, bent over her precious Bernina before Frannie started crying. When Keely went to check on her, she had a fever again.

* * *

That night, poor little Frannie didn’t sleep much. Neither did Keely or Daniel. Or Jake, for that matter. Frannie’s ear hurt, and nothing seemed to make it feel better.

The next day, one of the ladies from Gretchen’s church came by to watch Jake so that Keely could take Frannie to the pediatrician. Diagnosis: ear infection. Keely picked up the antibiotic and eardrop prescriptions on the way home.

Frannie had another bad night. All day Tuesday, she fussed and cried. Tuesday night, though, she only woke up crying twice.

“I think she’s better,” Keely whispered to Daniel when they tiptoed from the kids’ room for the second time that night.

“I hope so.” He had dark circles under his eyes. “We could all use a good night’s sleep.”

Wednesday morning, Frannie woke up smiling.

When Keely said, “I think you feel better, honey,” the little angel replied, “I fine, Keewee. I goo.”

And she really did seem fully recovered. After breakfast, Keely took both kids to see Gretchen, who still had no idea when Keely’s mom would be showing up. But Auntie G was all smiles to get to spend an afternoon with her beloved babies. She held them on her lap and sang the nursery songs she used to sing to Keely when she was little and staying with the Snows.

On Thursday, Jake got sick.

It was some weird flu bug. There was vomiting and a lot of mucus. Keely called the pediatrician, who suggested a humidifier, cool baths, cough medicine and Tylenol for fever. No need to bring Jake in, the doctor had said, unless his fever hit 104 or he wasn’t better within a week.

The next three nights were hell. Jake woke up crying and that woke Frannie. Keely and Daniel took turns looking in on them. The weekend went by somehow, not that Keely even cared what day it was. Making art with her sewing machine? Not even happening. And as for the original plan that she might go back and forth between the Bravo house and her cottage?

She never once made it home. In fact, she had to call a neighbor to water her plants.

She was exhausted, run ragged—and she found herself beginning to seriously admire Daniel. He worked all day and then stayed up with her all night to help with the kids. So what if he wasn’t the happiest dad on the planet? The man was dedicated to the well-being of his children. He mopped up vomit and changed diapers with the best of them.

By late Sunday, Jake had weathered the worst of it. He coughed less frequently and the mucus factory seemed to be shutting down. The sweet little guy was definitely on the mend. Sunday night, Keely actually slept straight through. The kids didn’t wake once, from bedtime until six the next morning.

Monday, Daniel woke her with a tap on her door.

“Ugh?” She blinked and yawned. “It’s open.”

He peeked in the door, looking almost rested for once. “Sorry to wake you.”

She yawned again. “It was bound to happen sometime. What’s up?”

“I’ll get them up and downstairs if you’ll start the breakfast.”

“Deal.”

She was at the stove when he came down with the little ones. She glanced over her shoulder to see him wiping Frannie’s streaming nose. They stared at each other across the gorgeous expanse of the soapstone island. “Oh, no,” she whispered, as though if she didn’t say it too loudly, Frannie wouldn’t be getting the bug Jake had just recovered from.

“No fever,” Daniel said. He didn’t add yet, but it seemed to her the unspoken word hung in the air between them.

By that afternoon, Frannie’s nose ran nonstop. By dinnertime, she’d thrown up twice and a persistent cough seemed to rattle her little bones. By then, she also had a fever. It hovered at around 101.

Keely and Daniel spent another night taking turns waking up to soothe a sick baby. Really, they were getting the nighttime nursing care down to a science, as though they had radar for whose turn it was. Keely barely stirred when it was his turn, and the master bedroom door remained shut when it was hers.

Once that night, she woke when it was his turn.

“This one’s mine,” he mumbled when she stuck her head out into the hall.

“Unh,” she replied and went back to bed.

On Wednesday, a week and a half into the endless string of illnesses the twins had been suffering, Daniel had a timber owner he had to go meet with. It was a small grove of Douglas firs ready to harvest, and Daniel would walk the grove with the landowner, explaining how Valentine Logging would maximize each tree to its full potential. The landowner wanted to meet at eight in the morning and Daniel wanted the contract, so at a quarter after seven he staggered out of the house, bleary-eyed, armed with a giant travel mug of coffee.

Keely spent the morning alone trying to keep her eye on Jake while doing what she could to ease poor Frannie’s misery. She dosed the little girl with over-the-counter meds, kept the humidifier running and gave Frannie cold-water sponge baths at regular intervals.

The day never seemed to end.

Finally, at around two in the afternoon, she got both kids down for a nap. To the soft hissing of the humidifier, she tiptoed from their room with Maisey at her heels. Across the hall, both of her doors were open. She cast a despairing glance toward her studio room. As if.

Right now, her beloved Bernina was the last thing she wanted to cuddle up with. The bed in the other room, though...

Nothing had ever looked so beautiful.

She dragged her tired body in there and fell gratefully across the mattress as Maisey flopped down on the rug right beside her. Blessed sleep settled over her.

She dreamed of walking the foggy beach not far from her back door—with Daniel of all people. They didn’t talk, just strolled along the wet sand, side by side but not touching, the waves sliding in, foaming around their bare feet.

“Keewee! Da-Da!”

“Wha—huh?” Keely shuddered, instantly wide-awake.

“Da-Da!” Frannie cried from the other room, followed by a long wail of sheer misery.

Keely shoved herself backward off the bed, raked her hair out of her eyes and hustled for the other room. Frannie was standing up in her crib, sobbing and coughing, snot running down her flushed little face.

“Oh, honey...”

“Keewee! Ow!”

Keely ran over and lifted the poor sweetheart into her arms. “Frannie. Oh, now. It’s okay...” She settled her on her shoulder.

At which point, Frannie threw up. It went down Keely’s back. That caused Frannie to wail all the louder.

“It’s okay. It’s all right,” Keely promised, though clearly it was anything but. Gently, she peeled the little girl off her shoulder. “Shh. Shh. Let me...”

It was as far as she got. Frannie hurled again, this time down Keely’s front. “Oh, bad!” Frannie wailed.

“No, no,” Keely promised her. “It’s not bad, honey. It’s okay.”

That was when Frannie threw up again, all over herself. She wailed even louder, “Keewee, I sowwy. I sowwy, sowwy, sowwy.”

From his crib, Jake cried, “Fa-Fa? Fa-Fa, oh, no!”

“She’s okay,” Keely promised and wished it were true. “Jakey, she’s going to be fine.”

Maisey appeared in the doorway to the hall. She moaned in sympathetic doggy distress.

Keely carried Frannie to the changing table and quickly got her out of her soiled clothes. “Jakey, we’ll be right back,” she promised the increasingly agitated little boy as she grabbed the little girl and a clean diaper. Holding both out and away from her vomit-soaked body, she stepped over Maisey and carried baby and diaper across the hall to her room, moving straight through to her bathroom, which had a traditional tub-and-shower combination.

Shoving the shower curtain aside, Keely lowered the little girl into the tub. “Here. We’ll get you all cleaned up.”

“’Kay.” Frannie sniffed.

Keely turned on the water. Once she had it lukewarm, she grabbed a washcloth and rinsed Frannie off.

Frannie was quiet, sniffling a little, watching her through wide eyes, as Keely dried her off and carried her—held out and dangling—to her own bed, where she put on the diaper.

“You feel better now, honey?”

Frannie solemnly nodded, eyes wide and wet. Keely scooped her up again and put her in the playpen she kept set up in the corner for any time she needed to corral the kids in her room.

“Fa-Fa? Keewee?” Jake cried from the other room.

“Coming, Jakey. Just a minute!” Keely called back.

A plush pink squeaky kitten lay waiting in the playpen. Keely squeezed it and it meowed. Frannie took it and hugged it close.

“I’m just going to go into the bathroom to clean up. I’ll be right back. Okay, honey?”

For that, she got another somber nod from Frannie. Though still flushed, her eyes red and her nose running, Frannie did seem much calmer at least.

Thank God, the vomiting bout seemed to be through.

Jake called again, “Keewee?”

“Just another minute, Jakey. I’ll be there. I promise!” Peeling off her smelly shirt as she went, Keely darted for the bathroom. Standing on the bathroom rug by the tub, she wiggled free of her bra, kicked out of her shoes and shoved down both her jeans and panties at once.

“Keewee!” Jake shouted.

“Jakey, I’m right here! Just a minute!” she called, as she hopped around in a ridiculous circle, whipping off one sock and then the other. Flipping on the taps, switching the flow to the showerhead, she got in under the still-cold spray and yanked the curtain closed.

Three minutes, tops, she was in there. Jake called her name repeatedly. Once or twice, Frannie did, too. Keely got the mess off, rinsed in record time, flipped off the tap and shoved the shower curtain wide.

She’d stepped, dripping wet to the bath mat, and reached for her towel before she happened to glance through the open bathroom door to the bedroom.

Jake in his arms and Maisey at his feet, Daniel stood by the playpen staring at her with his mouth hanging open.

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