All because a random man I met on a bench told me he could get me an interview with the Sinclairs. This could be anyone’s home. I’m going to be snatched, right here, right now. The more I think about it, the dumber I feel.
Before I get too lost in my head, the door opens to reveal a beautiful middle-aged woman. Blanche Sinclair. My relief is immediate as I take in the sight of a familiar face. With the extensive research I’ve done on this family, she feels like an old friend. My grin widens as I realize the odds of being kidnapped today are much less likely.
“Hello, dear! You must be Lucy. I’m Blanche. Blanche Sinclair,” she says, holding her hand out for a shake.
“It’s so nice to meet you, Blanche!” I say, taking her hand. “Yes, I’m Lucy. Lucy Sommers.”
“Well, it’s lovely to meet you, darling. My, my, aren’t you a beauty? Absolutely perfect for my vision.” She pauses to look meup and down, but her attention is interrupted by the sound of a baby screaming inside. “Oh goodness, please come in, come in.”
I follow her command, crossing the threshold of one of the nicest houses I’ve ever seen. She leads the way through her house, asking basic questions: where I’m from, how old I am, and what my daily schedule is. I’m about to answer her question about my experience when we walk into what must be the nursery. At first glance, it looks like a tornado came through this brightly themed room. There are three babies, all in their own cribs, with a fourth crib empty.
Blanche reaches down to pick up the crying baby, and the screaming subsides. I take the moment to respond to her last question. “That’s what I was going to ask you about, Blanche. I’m not exactly sure what…”
Before I can continue, another tiny baby starts crying.
“Oh, you’ll be fine, dear. Here, hold her, please,” she says, handing me the wailing bundle.
I haven’t been around many babies in my life, so I mimic Blanche’s rocking, and before I know it, the tiny thing is asleep.
“Ah, you’re doing lovely. You’ve already gotten her to sleep,” Blanche says as she makes her way toward me, holding a baby of her own. “Back to what I was saying. I think you’ll be the perfect fit for this role. No need to worry…”
Wait, what role is she talking about?Looking down at the sleeping bundle in my arms, I’m hit with the realization that I’ve just signed up to be a babysitter.Fuck.I am most definitely not qualified for this.
“...I hope you don’t mind living in the guesthouse. It’s very important that the two of you bond, so proximity is integral to the role…”
Two of us?I guess I’m just in charge of one baby. That makes sense. The Sinclairs are wealthy enough to afford a nanny foreach child. I wonder if I’ll have the same baby all the time or if we’ll alternate.
“...The other helpers won’t be staying on-site, so it will mostly be the two of you…”
Am I getting this baby in my arms? Is this the favorite? Would Blanche have a favorite? Everyone says they don’t, and maybe it’s just because I’m an only child, but I feel certain I would have a favorite.
“...Anyway, that will be about all. You can head over to the cottage now if you want. Or I’m sure you’ll need to go get your things. I didn’t see a car outside. I’ll give you a couple of nights to get all settled in, and we can start the day after tomorrow. I’ll give your script to you as early as I can!”
I haven't even fully agreed to this, and Blanche is already handing me a key. She takes back her granddaughter and gives me a hug. “This is going to be such a fantastic project. My life’s work. We’re going to have a ball.”
Life’s work?Strange way to talk about your grandchildren, Blanche, but whatever, I guess. She gives me directions to her guesthouse as we say our goodbyes, and I go in search of my new home.
It doesn’t take me long to reach the cottage, and although it’s much smaller than the main house, it’s cuter than anywhere I’ve lived. I’m excited to see what the interior must look like, but when I unlock the door, I’m met with disappointment. It’s nice enough, but drab. The decor is monochromatic and angular andnothinglike the nursery I just came from. I’m not trained for early development by any means, but I know a child should be exposed to more color than this.
A quick walk through the rest of the cottage confirms there is no life in any room. Maybe this is the first time Blanche is trying this. The babies did seem pretty young. I’m sure she wouldn’t mind if I took some liberties to zhuzh the place up abit. Sitting on the bed, I pull out my phone and start making a list of things I need to pick up from the home store. I’m about to schedule a rideshare to pick me up when I see boots on the floor of the closet. Upon further inspection, I find a full closet of monochromatic men’s clothes that must have belonged to the last guest here. It’s just like a man to leave his things for someone else to deal with. I add closet reorganization to my to-do list, take a deep breath, and call a ride. There’s no use wasting any more time. The sooner I can start work and find out more about my dad, the sooner I can go home.
Chapter five
I never thought I’d be so happy to arrive home to a one-bed, one-bath cottage, but here we are. After a weekend back home to sign paperwork for Dad, I’m ready for a little peace this afternoon and a solid night’s sleep before filming starts tomorrow.Filming.Since apparently now I’m an actor.Yeah, right.I take a deep breath, reminding myself it’s an honor that my sister’s mother-in-law was so impressed by my fucking at her son’s sex club that she cast me as her late husband in her film.Right.
It’s better than going back to the family business. A nice break, a place to live without worrying about security or noisy neighbors, and the cottage isn’t that bad. Maybe a little sparse, but that’s all I need. Unlocking the door, I can already feel the glass of vodka in my hand and a long hot shower. Except…
The usually monochrome living room looks like a crayon factory exploded in here. Gone are the abstract art pieces that had lined the walls, replaced with big, cartoonish depictions of the alphabet. Ladybug pillows and a garish yellow smiley-faceblanket adorn the couch, and a fuzzy purple rug completes the look.
Glancing into the kitchen, I see even more yellow, as if someone had a few hundred dollars and an hour in a home store to decorate this place. If they were color blind. Or wanted to torture me, specifically. There’s a sunflower hanging on the wall with “Live, Laugh, Learn,”for God’s sake.
Not that I hate yellow, it’s just sobrightin here, andwho the helldid this?
“Ah!”
“Ahh!” I answer the bloodcurdling scream with one of my own, taking a defensive stance before seeing that a woman covered in spackle is the not-so-scary source of my fright. Immediately, she decides I’m not a threat and gives me a warm smile, holding out her hand to shake before realizing she’s holding tape and a hammer, and settling for waving the hammer instead.
“Hi! I’m sorry for screaming at you. I wasn’t expecting anyone, but obviously, you have a key, so you can’t be that scary,” she says, barely taking a breath. Her dark blonde hair is pulled messily on top of her head, and the freckles across her nose are somewhat obscured by the paint smeared across her cheeks. She’s wearing a faded crop top with a tiny pair of shorts, and even my reply doesn’t deter her.
