The Guests on South Battery (Tradd Street #5)(8)
She nodded slowly. “Well, that’s a start anyway. And I’ve already made appointments with several agencies to start the job hunt. It’s just a long process with background checks and all, and I really want the sale of the house behind me before I start working full-time. And I can’t buy a new place until it sells.”
I was busy writing down notes, including reminders to talk to Jack and my mother about Button Pinckney and her family, and their connection with Jayne Smith. “What is it that you do?” I asked absently.
“I’m a certified professional nanny.”
The lead from my mechanical pencil snapped. “A nanny? Like, for small children?”
She laughed. “Are there any other kinds? But yes, a nanny for small children—and older ones, too. Some people find it odd that somebody raised without siblings would want to be a nanny, but I think that’s why I am. I was in lots of foster families, and I always ended up taking care of the younger children. I guess even back then I knew that would be my only chance at having siblings—at least for a short time.”
I placed the pencil down on my desk and leaned back in my chair. “What is your take on sleeping and feeding schedules for infants?”
“A definite must. Schedules are incredibly important to growing children. They need regular feeding and sleeping times.”
“Family bed?”
“A bad idea.”
“Bottles in the crib?”
“Never. Rots their teeth.”
“Spanking?”
“Time-out chair is more effective.”
“Cloth or disposable?”
“Disposable.”
“Baby French lessons?”
“Ridiculous.”
“Infant beauty pageants?”
Jayne sent me a sidewise glance. “Seriously? You don’t seem the type.”
I smiled. “I’m not—just checking.” I pushed my chair back from the desk. “So, it just happens that I’m looking for a nanny for my ten-month-old twins. Their last one left rather suddenly and we’re a bit desperate, I’m afraid. It seems as if we agree on many child-rearing issues. If you’re interested, I’d love for you to come meet them and allow us to get to know each other better. Perhaps even make it a permanent thing if it all works out.”
She practically beamed and I had to restrain myself from doing cartwheels around the room and giving myself fist bumps. “I’m definitely interested,” she said.
“Good. I’ll have to do a background check, of course.”
“Absolutely. I can give you all the contact information from my agency in Birmingham, as well as references from my last three families. I think you’ll be happy with my past performance.”
I pulled out one of my business cards from the holder on my desk and handed it to her. I waited for her to say something about the multiple phone numbers, but instead she responded by sliding her own card across the desk toward me. I picked it up and saw that she had two cell phone numbers. I looked at her and smiled, feeling as if I had finally met a kindred spirit.
“Because you never know when one phone will stop working or has a dead battery,” she explained.
“Exactly.” My smile widened. “It’s so nice to finally meet somebody who thinks ahead. Everybody else seems to only understand how to live in the minute.”
Jayne stood, too. “I know, right? It can be annoying to be the only one prepared for the ‘just in case’ scenario.” She reached her hand across the desk and we shook. “It’s a pleasure meeting you. I’ll get all my information together and bring it over later today so you can get started with my background check. And call me anytime to set up an appointment to meet your children and husband.”
“And to go over and look at the Pinckney house. I’ll check with Sophie about her availability and let you know.”
Her smile dimmed. “All right. I guess the sooner we start, the sooner we can get it sold.”
We said good-bye and I returned to my desk, spotting the pink slips Jolly had given me. Two were from my annoying cousin and Jack’s ex-girlfriend, Rebecca, and one was from the journalist at the Post and Courier, Suzy Dorf, who had an abnormal interest in me and my house. Since I would have preferred to stick a knitting needle into my eyeball rather than speak with either of them, I folded each note up into tiny little squares, then placed them in the bottom of my trash can.
It was only when I picked up the phone to call Sophie that I realized the presence was gone, leaving only the fresh scent of rain as evidence that it had ever been there at all.
CHAPTER 3
Despite my battered and bruised feet, I nearly skipped home. It had been a long day, the bright spot being Skyping with Jack while he fed the babies their lunches of strained peas and pureed peaches. He’d still worn the T-shirt and pajama bottoms he’d slept in, but I refrained from commenting. I’d come to understand that writers had a few eccentricities I had to learn to live with. Not scheduling certain things like dressing in the morning or vetting one’s sock and underwear drawer on a monthly basis were just a few of the quirks to which I was making an effort to adjust.
I couldn’t wait to get home and kiss my babies and tell Jack that not only did I have a lead on a nanny, but I had three new clients—in addition to Jayne Smith—and six house showings already scheduled for the rest of the week. They’d all seen the ad I’d placed in the latest edition of Charleston Magazine, for which Nola had suggested including a picture of Jack and me, all three children, and the dogs in front of my Tradd Street house. She said it would make people believe that I knew what people meant when they said they were looking for a family home, and that I understood that historic homes were meant to be lived in.